Making the Team by Scott Prince Read Free Book Online Page B

smelly.
    Remember Chloe who works for the Broncos? Coach Griffin feels sorry for Justice and still believes that he’s an orphan. He has asked Chloe to give him a job over the holidays.
    Justice barges through the gym door, sliding an esky. “Drinks time!” yells Coach Griffin. Justice starts handing out bottles of sports drink. The icy cold liquid is refreshing as it dribbles down my stubbly chin and over my ripped pectoral muscles. I drink as much as I can in one gulp. Justice passes me another full bottle and gives me a wink. He knows I need it. I might have special powers, but it’s still hard keeping up with grown men. Especially when we’re lifting weights.
    â€œNice work fellas, big effort today,” Coach Griffin says, clapping at the same time. We’re sitting in pools of our own sweat, our bodies limp from exhaustion. “You can all hit the showers now,” says Coach Griffin. The players high-five each other, proud of our efforts.
    The change room smells so bad, it makes Fluffy’s buttsmell like roses. Twenty men have dropped their stinking training gear on the floor. Walking through here is dangerous. The players head for the showers. It’s a bit embarrassing. I think I’ll hold off and have one by myself. They’re all laughing and talking about today’s training session. Clouds of steam fog up the entire change room. I see the shape of a person in the doorway with a trolley. He wheels the trolley in and stops in front of me.
    â€œH-hi,” he says. He’s nervous. I’m towering over him. His head is only up to my shirt sleeve. “You’re Deadly D,” he says.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œCan I please have your autograph?” he asks, taking a pen from the basket of the empty trolley.
    â€œSorry, gotta shower,” I reply, stepping around the dirty underwear and walking towards the shower. Then I turn and ask, “You’re the new washroom assistant, right?”
    â€œY-yes,” he manages to say.
    â€œWell, just so you know, all the players like their underwear handwashed. Got it?”
    â€œGot it, Mr Deadly.”
    â€œMake sure you use fabric softener as well,” I add.
    â€œOf course, Mr Deadly,” he replies, nodding at me with every word. His head goes up and down like one of those bobble-head characters that people have on their car dash.
    â€œOne more thing,” I say. “When you iron the underwear, we all like a crease down the front. It gives us good luck,” I explain.
    â€œYes Mr Deadly, anything you want,” he says, still nodding. I walk over and pat him on the shoulder.
    â€œThanks, Jared. And I hope you’re being nice to my pals Dylan Conlan and Justice Jones.” Jared Knutz stands with his mouth wide open, watching me walk away.
    â€œHey, Mr Deadly, how do you know my name?” he yells out. But there is no answer. The water gushing from the shower is too loud for me to hear him.
    THE END

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
    Firstly, a massive thank you to our awesome editor Sue Abbey and the deadly team at black&write!, including Linda McBride, Ellen Van Neerven and Katie Woods. Much love to all the team at Magabala Books, especially Margaret Whiskin, Nic Murray and Lisa Burton. Big respect to the supportive and inspirational Dr Chris Sarra. To another inspirational elder, Uncle Graham Dillon, thank you always for your stories and guidance. To Shelley Whittaker and Gazza Downing, we appreciate your advice on Maori and New Zealand culture, chur bro. Ten out of ten to Alex at Toscani’s Robina, and Jamie at Lambar Pizza Chirn Park for fuelling our editing sessions with some great food! Of course we would like to thank our respective families and friends for their ongoing support. In writing this book we acknowledge our mob, the Kalkadoon and Barunggam people.
    To the players and the coaches we have mentioned throughout the story, thank you for entertaining, inspiring and being