Penalty Shootout Day

Tuesday morning arrived with considerably more suspicion than Monday.

Mrs Brand looked at Barry over her cereal bowl.

Barry looked back with the innocent expression only a four-year-old could produce after accidentally causing an entire primary school to conduct a missing-child search the previous afternoon.

“You remember the rules today?” she asked.

Barry nodded enthusiastically.

“No disappearing.”

“Correct.”

“No talking to scarecrows.”

“…Also correct.”

“No supervising vegetables.”

“Excellent.”

“No looking for treasure.”

Mrs Brand smiled.

“I think we’re making progress.”

Barry frowned.

“What if treasure looks for me?”

Across the table Alfie quietly sighed into his porridge.

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“You can’t prove it.”

Mr Brand hid behind his newspaper. He had spent years arguing cases in court but had absolutely no idea how to win an argument with Barry before 8 a.m.

Marjory knocked on the door.

“Marmaduke’s ready.”

Marmaduke wandered in wearing football boots…on the wrong feet.

Barry looked impressed.

“I’ve never thought of doing that.”

Marjory crouched down.

“Why are your boots on the wrong feet?”

“I wanted to see if they preferred it.”

“They don’t.”

“Oh.”

Coach Liam greeted everyone with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Good morning, football stars!”

Barry whispered to Marmaduke.

“He definitely means Alfie.”

Coach Liam continued.

“Today’s our favourite day…”

The children cheered.

“…Penalty Shoot-out Day!”

The playground erupted.

Even Alfie smiled.

Coach Liam explained the rules.

“There’ll be lots of different penalty stations.”

Station One: Accuracy Challenge.

Station Two: Beat the Goalkeeper.

Station Three: Speed Kicks.

Station Four…

“…our Mystery Challenge!”

Barry’s eyes became enormous.

“Mystery.”

Coach Liam immediately regretted saying the word.

Alfie’s group began with proper football drills.

He listened carefully.

Passed accurately.

Encouraged teammates.

His coach whispered to another teacher, “Honestly, if every child behaved like Alfie I’d retire happy.”

Meanwhile…

Barry’s group was practising penalties.

Coach Amy placed the ball carefully.

“Remember…”

She demonstrated.

“Plant your standing foot…”

Barry looked down.

“…beside the ball.”

He planted both feet.

On top of the ball.

It rolled away.

Barry didn’t.

Gravity took over.

THUMP.

He landed in a heap on the grass.

“I meant to do that.”

Coach Amy nodded politely.

“Of course you did.”

Marmaduke stepped up.

He took an enormous run-up.

Much larger than was strictly necessary.

He kicked with all his might.

He completely missed the ball.

The ball remained exactly where it was.

Marmaduke spun around twice before sitting down.

Coach Amy helped him up.

“Maybe a slightly shorter run-up?”

“How short?”

“Much shorter.”

Barry nodded wisely.

“I think twelve miles was too much.”

The morning improved.

Barry actually scored two penalties.

One by accident.

One because he’d closed his eyes.

“I score better when I can’t see.”

Coach Amy decided not to question the technique.

If it worked…

At morning break, the children gathered for juice.

Coach Liam wheeled out something covered by a giant blue sheet.

The children gasped.

“After lunch…” he announced dramatically.

“…we’re unveiling our Mystery Challenge!”

Barry couldn’t stop staring.

“It must be amazing.”

“It could be anything,” Marmaduke whispered.

“A dragon.”

“Schools don’t have dragons.”

“You’ve checked?”

“…No.”

The rest of the morning crawled by.

At least it did if you were Barry.

Alfie was enjoying himself too much to notice.

He had scored in every mini-game and even volunteered to referee one match.

Barry spent most of his time asking,

“Is it lunchtime yet?”

“No.”

Five minutes later…

“Now?”

“No.”

Another four minutes.

“Definitely now?”

“No.”

Coach Amy wondered whether time itself had slowed down.

Finally…

Lunch.

The children sat together under the shade.

Barry remembered every promise he’d made.

He stayed sitting.

He didn’t wander off.

He even waited until Coach Liam dismissed everyone.

Mrs Brand would have fainted with pride if she’d seen him.

Alfie noticed.

“You’ve been brilliant.”

Barry beamed.

“I’m trying.”

“I know.”

It was one of those rare moments when Alfie forgot Barry’s ability to create chaos and simply saw his little brother trying very hard.

Naturally…

That was when the loudspeaker crackled.

“Could all campers please assemble by the sports hall for the Mystery Challenge.”

Coach Liam whipped away the giant blue sheet.

The children gasped.

It wasn’t a dragon.

It was…

…an enormous inflatable football goal.

Nearly twice as tall as Coach Liam.

With giant coloured targets that lit up whenever a football passed through.

The children cheered.

Barry looked slightly disappointed.

“I thought it might breathe fire.”

Coach Liam smiled.

“This is much safer.”

“We don’t know that yet,” Barry replied.

The inflatable goal was connected to a huge electric fan.

It hummed loudly, keeping everything inflated.

Coach Liam explained.

“Hit the red target…”

PING!

“…ten points.”

“The blue…”

PING!

“…twenty points.”

“The tiny golden target…”

PING!

“…fifty points!”

Everyone oohed.

Except Barry.

Barry had spotted something else.

A large silver button on the side of the fan marked:

DO NOT PRESS. EMERGENCY STOP.

Barry stared at every word.

His eyes widened.

He whispered,

“Buttons always do something.”

Marmaduke looked alarmed.

“We’re probably not meant to.”

“I know.”

“So…”

Barry looked at the button.

The button looked back.

At least Barry was fairly sure it did.

“It must be very important.”

Barry nodded thoughtfully.

“Exactly.”

The problem with Barry wasn’t that he wanted to be naughty.

It was that his curiosity was roughly the size of Jupiter.

Coach Liam called out, “Right everyone! Who wants to go first?”

Every hand shot into the air.

Including Barry’s.

For once…

The mysterious button would have to wait.

“One at a time. No pushing. No climbing. No touching the equipment unless you’re told.”

Coach Liam looked directly at Barry.

Then at Marmaduke.

Then back at Barry.

Experience was a very effective teacher.

Barry smiled reassuringly.

“I know.”

Coach Liam did not look reassured.

The first few children took their penalties.

PING!

Red target.

Cheers.

PING!

Blue target.

More cheers.

One older child even hit the tiny golden target.

The crowd erupted.

Barry looked impressed.

“I could definitely do that.”

Alfie raised an eyebrow.

“You said that about gymnastics.”

“I could have.”

“You landed in a beanbag.”

“Exactly. Safely.”

When it was Alfie’s turn, he approached the ball with calm determination.

No dramatic speeches.

No unnecessary dance moves.

No pretending to be an international football superstar.

He simply concentrated.

KICK.

PING!

Blue target.

Twenty points.

The crowd cheered.

Coach Liam applauded.

Alfie smiled modestly.

Barry screamed loud enough to concern nearby birds.

“THAT’S MY BROTHER!”

Alfie blushed bright red.

“Thank you, Barry.”

“YOU’RE WELCOME!”

Then it was Barry’s turn.

He placed the ball carefully.

He stepped back.

Then further back.

Then further.

Coach Amy frowned.

“Barry, perhaps that’s far enough.”

Barry nodded.

“Professional players need space.”

He took a run-up approximately the length of a small runway.

He sprinted.

Kicked.

Missed the targets completely.

The ball rolled gently underneath the inflatable goal.

Silence.

Barry looked thoughtful.

“I was aiming for the invisible target.”

Coach Liam sighed.

“Of course you were.”

Marmaduke stepped forward.

He looked nervous.

Barry whispered from the sidelines.

“You can do it.”

Marmaduke smiled.

He took a sensible run-up.

A very sensible run-up.

Possibly because he’d learned valuable lessons from yesterday’s spinning incident.

KICK!

PING!

Red target.

Ten points.

Marmaduke gasped.

“I DID IT!”

Barry celebrated as though Marmaduke had just won the World Cup.

They hugged.

Then fell over.

Friendship was beautiful.

Occasionally hazardous.

As the competition continued, Coach Liam announced a short water break.

Children scattered towards the benches.

Teachers handed out drinks.

Everyone relaxed.

Everyone except Barry.

Because Barry had remembered the button.

The button labelled:

DO NOT PRESS.

Buttons, as every adult knows, are rarely improved by pressing them unnecessarily.

Barry did not possess this knowledge.

Or if he did, he chose not to use it.

He wandered closer.

Marmaduke followed.

Naturally.

“Do you think it’s an emergency?” asked Marmaduke.

“No.”

“Then why does it say that?”

Barry considered this.

“I think grown-ups like labels.”

Marmaduke accepted this explanation immediately.

Just then another teacher appeared carrying a giant plastic container.

Inside was an industrial bubble machine.

Huge.

Magnificent.

Covered in warning stickers.

Coach Amy clapped.

“For our grand finale we’ll have a bubble penalty shoot-out!”

The children cheered wildly.

Barry stared.

His eyes grew even wider.

“Bubbles.”

Marmaduke stared too.

“Bubbles.”

This was becoming complicated.

Because now there was both a button and bubbles.

Life was asking a lot of Barry.

Coach Liam plugged in the bubble machine.

He turned to help another child tie a shoelace.

Coach Amy was organising footballs.

Mr Edwards the caretaker was adjusting the inflatable goal.

For approximately eight seconds…

No adult was directly observing Barry.

History suggests this was an error.

Barry pointed.

“What do you think that button does?”

Marmaduke immediately answered with astonishing wisdom.

“I think we shouldn’t.”

Barry nodded.

“Good point.”

He paused.

Then added,

“But what if it’s helping?”

Marmaduke hesitated.

Curiosity was infectious.

Especially Barry’s.

“It’s probably helping,” Barry concluded.

He reached out.

Pressed the button.

WHOOOOMP.

The giant fan switched off instantly.

The inflatable goal began collapsing in dramatic slow motion.

Children screamed.

Not frightened screams.

Excited screams.

The kind usually reserved for water parks and unexpected cake.

The enormous football goal slowly folded sideways like a giant sleepy elephant.

Mr Edwards spun around.

“Oh for goodness’ sake!”

At exactly the same moment—

because timing had apparently given up—

Coach Liam accidentally knocked the bubble machine switch.

The machine roared into life.

Thousands upon thousands of bubbles exploded into the air.

Bubbles everywhere.

Gigantic bubbles.

Tiny bubbles.

Enough bubbles to make it appear that the entire school had been swallowed by a very cheerful cloud.

The children went absolutely wild.

Barry stared.

Marmaduke stared.

Neither had expected this.

Barry smiled slowly.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It really is,” whispered Marmaduke.

Coach Liam blinked.

Then looked around.

Then made a decision.

A very sensible decision.

If chaos couldn’t be stopped…

…perhaps it could be organised.

“Bubble Penalty Shoot-out!” he shouted.

The children cheered even louder.

Footballs flew.

Bubbles floated.

Children laughed.

Teachers laughed.

Even Mr Edwards was smiling.

Although he was also muttering something about risk assessments.

Barry and Marmaduke stood in the middle of it all.

Covered in bubbles.

Grinning.

Alfie walked over.

He folded his arms.

“Were you responsible?”

Barry considered lying.

He really did.

Then he sighed.

“A little bit.”

“A lot bit?” asked Alfie.

“…Possibly.”

Alfie looked around.

Nobody was upset.

Nobody was hurt.

Everyone was laughing.

He sighed.

“You cannot keep accidentally improving events.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“I know.”

That was the problem.

At home that evening the adults listened carefully to the story.

Mrs Brand closed her eyes.

Mr Brand rubbed his forehead.

Marjory took a very long sip of tea.

“You pressed an emergency stop button?” asked Mrs Brand.

“Yes.”

“You knew you shouldn’t?”

“Yes.”

“And then there were bubbles.”

“Also yes.”

Marjory looked at Marmaduke.

“And you?”

Marmaduke looked ashamed.

“I was being supportive.”

Marjory sighed.

“One day I’d like you to support sensible ideas.”

“I support Alfie too,” Marmaduke added.

Everyone looked at Alfie.

That was true.

Mrs Brand finally smiled.

“No more pressing buttons tomorrow.”

Barry nodded.

“No more buttons.”

“No touching mysterious equipment.”

“Okay.”

“No emergency stops.”

“Definitely.”

Mrs Brand narrowed her eyes.

“What are you thinking?”

Barry looked up innocently.

“Do schools have emergency starts?”

Mr Brand laughed so hard he nearly spilled his tea.

Marjory laughed too.

Even Alfie smiled.

Because despite everything—

the disappearing,

the vegetables,

the bubbles,

the buttons—

Barry never caused trouble because he wanted to be naughty.

He simply looked at the world and believed every single part of it deserved investigating.

Marmaduke believed adventures were less scary with a friend.

And Alfie believed someone had to keep them alive long enough to reach adulthood.

It was, admittedly, an exhausting arrangement.

But it was working.

Mostly.