Tekkers E-Book

Seth Burkett

• Herausgeber: Arena Sport
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: Tekkers
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Seitenzahl: 319

Beschreibung

One video can change your life. When Zak isn't scoring goals for his local football team, Redwood Rangers, he is endlessly working on his freestyle videos with his dad. And when one of those videos goes viral, his whole life changes. As the views come rolling in, everyone wants a piece of him. Barcelona want him to shoot an advert with Messi. Major sports brands want to endorse him. Suddenly his face is on every sports channel. But as his celebrity status grows, Zak begins to realise that online fame isn't all it's cracked up to be. Tekkers is an amusing and entertaining story about the power of social media with the core message that followers are great, but friends are even better. This is the first book in a planned trilogy of books following Zak on his football and YouTube journey.

Leseprobe

This edition first published in 2020 by

POLARIS PUBLISHING LTD

c/o Aberdein Considine

2nd Floor, Elder House

Multrees Walk

Edinburgh

EH1 3DX

Distributed by

Birlinn Limited

www.polarispublishing.com

Text copyright © Seth Burkett, 2020

ISBN: 9780957507692

eBook ISBN: 9781913538002

The right of Seth Burkett to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

The views expressed in this book do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions or policies of Polaris Publishing Ltd (Company No. SC401508) (Polaris), nor those of any persons, organisations or commercial partners connected with the same (Connected Persons). Any opinions, advice, statements, services, offers, or other information or content expressed by third parties are not those of Polaris or any Connected Persons but those of the third parties. For the avoidance of doubt, neither Polaris nor any Connected Persons assume any responsibility or duty of care whether contractual, delictual or on any other basis towards any person in respect of any such matter and accept no liability for any loss or damage caused by any such matter in this book.

Every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and obtain their permission for the use of copyright material. The publisher apologises for any errors or omissions and would be grateful if notified of any corrections that should be incorporated in future reprints or editions of this book.

All names and trademarks are the property of their respective owners, which are in no way associated with Polaris Publishing Ltd. Use of these names does not imply any cooperation or endorsement.

Panther Sports is a fictional company. Any association with real life individuals, companies and organisations is entirely for fictional purposes and does not imply any cooperation or endorsement.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library.

Designed and typeset by Polaris Publishing, Edinburgh

Printed in Great Britain by Clays, St Ives

CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

‘Top bins again. Watch this.’ Chloe swept her blonde hair from her eyes, checked her target, took two steps to the left and then curled the ball towards the goal. Its battered panels arced through the air, crashing against the playground wall in exactly the correct spot: the top right corner of the marked goal. Marcus, rooted to the spot in his scuffed black school shoes, never stood a chance of saving it.

‘Sick!’ Chris cried.

‘Mad!’ yelled Marcus.

‘Absolute tekkers!’ Josh added.

Zak watched his best mate with a mixture of pride and envy as she nonchalantly went to retrieve the ball from where it had landed. It should have been the keeper’s responsibility to get the ball. It was only fair, seeing as they’d been scored past. But Chloe was never one for wasting time when she could be practising. Now she jogged her way toward the ball, her long limbs seamlessly weaving in and out of the other pupils as they moved in all forms of chaos around the playground. A few yards away a teacher blew sharply into her whistle. Mrs Turnbull. ‘No fighting!’ she roared in the direction of one particularly savage pile-on. Zak afforded himself a smile. If the pupils at Redwood Community College weren’t playing football at lunchtime then they were testing the limits of the teachers. ‘He grabbed me tie, miss!’ a year 11 called Tom protested as Mrs Turnbull broke up the mass of bodies.

‘You see that?’ Zak asked Chloe as she returned to the marker they were using to practise their free-kicks.

‘I was just about to get involved!’ Chris complained. His friends all turned to look at him quizzically. Even Marcus, outraged by what he’d heard, had taken a step away from his goal. Chris wasn’t only the youngest in their school year – still months away from turning 13 – but also the smallest.

‘Maybe if it was the last thing you ever wanted to do,’ Josh replied. ‘If you jumped into those year 11s you’d be flattened. Even Zak’s twice as big as you and he’s tiny!’

‘I was going to!’

‘Okay, okay, all right children.’ Chloe spoke with authority. It was often left to her to defuse situations. Yes, they all agreed she was the sensible one. The hardest working. The one with the immaculate uniform and the perfect ponytail. And, according to at least half of their school year, the best footballer in the whole of Redwood. ‘What you got, Zak?’

‘Yeah, go on Zak. You always say you’re better than Chloe. Now prove it.’ Josh liked to egg on situations. At times, Zak felt as if their mate delighted in disputes. But this wasn’t the time for a dispute. This was another chance to prove that he was an even better footballer than Chloe. The latest in an epic series of battles that had seen them grow from best mates in nursery to partners in crime on the playground, in the classroom, on the pitch for Redwood Rovers FC.

‘Ha, that was nothing,’ Zak replied. He liked to play up the rivalry. It was healthy, driving them both on to become better – Redwood’s own version of Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi. ‘Pass us the ball, Chloe.’

Chloe smiled as she handed him the battered ball. Every single lunchtime it had been booted around the playground – except on the rare occasions it had been confiscated by Mrs Turnbull for a rogue shot into a gaggle of year 7s or been stolen by a group of bored year 11s. Fortunately such occasions were few and far between. Zak and Chloe’s little group were respected in the playground. By and large, they were allowed to get on with their football games. Panels were peeling off and the Panther Sports branding had long since faded. Hadn’t it looked so shiny on that first day at Redwood Community College! Now there remained just a faint outline of the Panther logo, drawn just above the valve. Zak placed that valve just above the tarmac. To get the best dip on his shot, that was exactly where he needed to strike it. Like Chloe before, he took two steps to his left. He readjusted the black headband that separated his brown curls from his boyish face. He could feel his heart rate spiking. He’d done this thousands of times, yet each time he found the process exhilarating. Nothing motivated Zak more than proving he was the best.

Than being the best.

Marcus was slightly right of centre in the goal, weight forward so he could spring into action. The hard tarmac floor didn’t usually bother him. There were holes in the knees of both legs of his trousers, marks of previous attempts to save Zak and Chloe’s free-kicks.

‘Oi!’ Chris yelled at a group of year 7s wandering into the goalmouth. ‘Get out of the way or else!’

‘I bet they’re really scared of you,’ Josh said, rolling his eyes.

‘Did the job, didn’t it?’ Chris retorted as the year 7s turned back from where they came and were swallowed up by one of the school’s long corridors.

Zak shut everything out. There was only one thing that mattered. Not the specks of rain that had begun to fall from the moody sky. Not the wandering year 7s. Nor Mrs Turnbull’s new whistles as Tom, the year 11, ran around in delight, twirling his friend’s tie above his head. No, all that mattered was him and the battered old ball. He looked at it, checking once more where the valve was, where the goal was, where Marcus was. And then he let loose.

The right laces of his black trainers connected with the ball right on the valve. The ball flew into the air. It looked too high, as if it was going not just over the goal, but over the playground wall and into old Mr Tulip’s rhododendron bush. The amount of times they’d had to jump the playground wall to get their ball back from that bush! It was rumoured that Mr Tulip had once locked a pupil in his shed for two days when he caught them in his rhododendron bush. Not that anybody at Redwood Community College could actually remember it happening. But now, now the valve was working its magic. The ball dipped dramatically. Marcus, having shuffled to his left in preparation, now became more desperate in his movements. He dived but it was too late. The ball had already crashed off the playground wall in the exact place it had been aimed at: top bins.

‘Sick!’ Chris cried.

‘Absolute tekkers!’ Josh added.

‘Argh, my knees!’ Marcus yelled as he landed with a crash onto the grey tarmac that now had small specks of red dripping onto it. The hole on the left knee of his trousers was now a gaping hole, a red graze where his knee had made devastating contact with the surface.

‘There’s no separating them!’ Josh responded, ignoring Marcus’s cries.

‘Marcus, get the ball for us. Zak, Chloe, what else you got?’ Chris asked.

‘Fat chance of that, I think my knee is falling off!’

Chris sighed. Marcus had a tendency to be dramatic. ‘Fine, I’ll get it myself then,’ he moaned. ‘Oi! Excuse me! Pass that ball, will you?’ Chris had caught the attention of a small boy by the school gates, his backpack twice as big as his upper body. The boy picked the ball up and threw it to Chris. ‘Well, that’s my best trick,’ Chris admitted. ‘Josh, you got anything?’

‘A few things,’ Josh said with a knowing smile. ‘But best to leave it to the experts, eh? So go on then Zak and Chloe, what you got? And hurry up, the bell is about to go.’

Zak took hold of the ball and gave Chloe a knowing look. There was definitely one area where he had an advantage over her. He dropped the ball at his size 6 feet and just as quickly flicked it back up by stamping on it with his heel. The ball rotated backwards, floating up toward his green school blazer. ‘Yeahhh!’ Chris cheered as Zak then caught the ball on his chest in one swift movement. He held the pose for a few seconds, the ball perfectly still, and then flicked it forward so it was now back onto his right foot. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Zak’s keepy-ups were one flowing motion, his slight legs never in danger of letting the ball drop to the floor. He could feel the eyes on him in the playground. Not just Chloe, Chris, Josh and Marcus, but also other pupils and teachers. He could sense that they were impressed. Time to impress them even more. One around the world. Zak kicked the ball up with his right foot and then circled it with his entire right leg before then kicking it again with his right foot. Two around the worlds. His leg circled around again, drawing its own orbit through the air. Three around the worlds. Now he was into his groove. After the tenth around the world he caught the ball in his hands and locked eyes with Chloe. ‘Your turn,’ he winked.

‘Ohhh!’ Chris and Josh yelled in excitement, attempting to egg Chloe on.

‘My knee is in so much pain,’ Marcus complained, but nobody heard him. All eyes were on Chloe.

‘Party tricks are for seals,’ Chloe responded dryly. ‘You can’t score a goal with an around the world.’

Across the playground the bell sounded, signalling the end of the lunch break. Zak and Chloe bumped their fists together as a mark of respect, just as they always did after competing against each other.

‘Saved by the bell!’ Josh commented.

‘Yeah, whatever.’ Chloe dismissed him with a smile.

‘See you lot after school, yeah?’ Zak asked.

‘’Course,’ Chloe responded. ‘You don’t think I’m going to let you finish on that, do you?’

It was Zak’s turn to store the ball in his locker. He took it into his grasp and then walked toward his form room, hastily redoing his tie so as not to ignite Mrs Turnbull’s anger. The specks of rain were falling more heavily now. Zak removed his headband, knowing he wouldn’t be allowed in the school building with it. There was a uniform policy for a reason, he’d been told many times.

‘Yo, that was epic.’ Chris caught up with Zak as he steered his way into the corridor. ‘Like, serious. That was even better than Baller B!’

‘Who’s Baller B?’ Zak asked. Chris stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide in surprise.

‘You don’t know Baller B?’

‘Nah, who are they?’

‘Serious?’

‘Serious.’

‘Mate, you need to check him out. The guy is sick. He does videos on YouTube. Mainly he does freestyle football videos but the stuff he does is nowhere near the same level as what you do. And he gets millions of people watching his videos. The guy makes millions of pounds from it!’

Zak knew that people made money from videos on YouTube. He watched videos on YouTube himself. That’s where he learnt many of his skills. From compilations of Redwood’s own Abou Trabt, his favourite player who’d honed his skill in the streets of Redwood before signing professional forms with High Grove FC, to footage of icons like Ronaldinho and Diego Maradona. He trawled through tutorial videos, breaking complex skills down and copying them until he got them right. But the internet was a big place.

‘Like the F2 Freestylers?’ Zak asked.

‘Yeah but newer, younger. The F2 have been around for ages. Baller B has been big for about a year now.’

‘How does he make so much money then?’ Zak was impressed and sceptical in equal measure. Chris liked to exaggerate. If he said millions, he probably meant thousands. Which, to be fair, was still a whole load of money.

‘YouTube pay you when people watch your video. So do advertisers. Fans donate to their favourite YouTubers. Then when they get big enough, the YouTubers bring our their own merch. Baller B has got his own clothing line.’

‘And you honestly reckon I could do it?’ Zak’s interest was growing.

‘Mate,’ Chris said in his most serious voice. ‘It’s not like me to exaggerate.’

Zak couldn’t concentrate in double science at the best of times. The science block was the last remaining part of the original school. While the rest of Redwood’s buildings had been bulldozed and updated in line with the most modern of comprehensives, the science department evoked the memories of a long gone age. The classrooms smelt of history. Large, single-glazed windows provided welcome distraction as Mrs Sprockett stood at the front of the class and droned on about atoms and electrons. Millions of pounds. The thought bounced around his mind. Zak knew that he had talent. What was the worst that could happen? He’d film a video and put it up on YouTube and nobody would watch it. It would hardly be devastating.

‘Oxden!’ Zak was shaken from his thoughts by Mrs Sprockett’s piercing voice.

‘Yes, miss?’

‘Are you paying attention?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Then you’ll be able to tell me about electrovalent bonds?’

Busted.

Zak retrained his view from the window to the wooden desk in front of him. A faint smell of gas lingered in the air. His classmates liked to turn on the Bunsen burners to annoy Mrs Sprockett when she wasn’t looking. How he could do with a distraction right now. He stared at the names carved into the desk, names from years and years ago. His own father’s name was even carved into one of the tables in class 3A.

Adam, class of ’82

Claire rocks, IDST

Keith <3s Patricia

They all stared back at him. Memories of all those in the past who had been unable to concentrate in double science.

‘Oxden, if you were listening you’d be aware that an electrovalent bond is one made when an electron from one atom is transferred to another atom.’

‘Oh yeah, that sounds right, miss,’ Zak smiled. It had the intended effect. Mrs Sprockett’s anger lessened. Zak’s classmates often observed that he was given special treatment because he was the school football team’s captain. They had a point.

‘Don’t zone out again, that’s a warning. Next time your name will be on the board.’

Zak nodded in agreement and spent the final hour of the class doing his best to give the impression that he was paying attention. Something about covalent bonds. Something about currents. Copying out of a textbook. And then finally, finally, the bell blared out and it was time to pack up.

Chloe was waiting for Zak as always. They fist-bumped and then unchained their bikes from the shed.

‘I can’t wait until I no longer have to do double science,’ Zak complained. ‘Honestly, it’s so boring.’

‘You could learn a lot from science, you know,’ Chloe retorted. ‘There’s a lot of science that helps you to get better at football. Different training methods, sport science, recovery.’

‘Yeah, but not electrovalent bonds,’ Zak pointed out.

‘Probably not.’

It wasn’t a long bike ride home. The main difficulty was leaving the school. With over 1,000 pupils, the bike shed became a free for all. Pupils climbed over each other to get to their bikes first and leave as quickly as possible. Inevitably, the year 11s were first out. ‘Careful!’ Mrs Turnbull screamed in vain. ‘You’re representing the school. Kirsty, are those trainers?’

Once out of sight of Mrs Turnbull, Zak put his headband back on. His black trainers, disguised as school shoes, remained unspotted. Chloe took the lead, pedalling quickly. Everything had a purpose when it came to getting better at football – even cycling home. The traffic thinned out as the pair left the bulk of the school traffic and rolled along the high street, past the hodge podge of betting shops and charity shops, acknowledging the pockets of workers dotting the cafes and pubs with their bacon sandwiches and their English breakfast teas. As the tired shopfronts turned to red brick houses the pair signalled right, emerging onto Upper Street. The road rose gradually, a steady climb that gave a panoramic view over their modest town. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs. The red brick houses where their friends and families lived, the mini roundabouts that frustrated even the calmest of drivers, their school, standing proud as one of the few signs of modern times. From here, Zak could see the Redwood Rec, home of Redwood Rovers FC and site of so many of his and Chloe’s victories over the years. On the horizon, the abandoned car manufacturing plant, its empty tarmac spaces sprawling over the green moors, eating away at the town: a constant reminder of the devastation that had come when the factory owners shut the plant down and moved their operations to Eastern Europe, where the labour was cheaper. The town had never quite recovered. The workers sought different jobs, Zak’s dad included. From building work to call centres to gardening, they spread across different industries, all of the time missing the friendship and sense of community that came with clocking in at the plant.

‘Later then.’ Chloe’s voice, slightly out of breath from the effort of the climb, snapped Zak from his thoughts. They’d reached Glenn Close, the turn in to Chloe’s tree-lined cul-de-sac. The nice part of town, made up of a collection of large new-build houses sitting on plenty of private land.

‘Yeah, sure. Give me an hour or so,’ Zak shouted back.

First, he had a scouting mission.

As soon he walked through the front door of his terraced house on King’s Lane, he sat at the kitchen table and fired up his laptop. It was an old laptop and while he waited for it to load he poured himself a glass of water and grabbed a handful of custard cream biscuits. It had been a long day at school and he deserved a treat. Still, the laptop loaded. That was the problem with old laptops. Distracted, Zak looked to see if any of the letters on the chipped kitchen table were addressed to him. Bill. Unpaid bill. Rent statement. Nothing. All boring letters to his dad. Finally, the screen blinked back at him, a collection of icons with a background image of Abou Trabt in action. Zak clicked on the Internet Explorer icon, then moved the mouse to the search bar and typed in ‘Baller B.’ 3,193,000 results came up on Google. At the top were three videos, followed by Baller B’s official YouTube channel and his Wikipedia page. Zak couldn’t help but notice that Baller B’s date of birth was just two years before his own.

He clicked onto the first video that came up. An advert filled the screen. Zak sighed with frustration. He really needed to install an ad blocker. It wasn’t even a skippable advert. He watched on the screen as a dentist told him why Perfect Whites was the perfect solution for healthy teeth. Finally it faded to black and Baller B’s video started.

A lanky figure brimming with energy filled the screen. Straight away, Zak could see that his positivity was infectious. ‘Welcome, yo!’ Baller B yelped into the camera, his hands playing out every word. Dressed in a black hoodie with the hood up and a snapback with the hashtag #BALLR_B that covered his messy blond hair, Baller B wasn’t just the height of energy – he also looked pretty cool. ‘Today we’re going to be taking some goalshots!’ Every word was almost shouted. Boom! An explosion filled the screen as the video transitioned from Baller B covering to the screen to him taking his goalshots. ‘We’ve got Z2K in net’ Baller B observed as the camera zoomed to the goalkeeper, also wearing a #BALLR_B snapback. Another YouTuber, Zak presumed. ‘Now, watch this,’ Baller B urged as he struck the ball toward the goal. Z2K dived over the shot as it rolled along the ground. ‘Oh!’ Baller B screamed in celebration, running first to the keeper and then to the camera in celebration. ‘Ballers only!’ he whispered. His catchphrase, as far as Zak could make out. The video played out more ‘goalshots’, more ‘Ballers only!’ As Zak watched he could tell that Chris was right. Baller B’s skills were fairly basic. A garden gnome would have saved plenty of his shots, rather than Z2K who specialised in jumping over the ball. With goalshots done, Baller B moved on to his skills. They were good, but nothing that Zak couldn’t do. Baller B caught the ball on his neck, did an around the world and caught it on each foot a few times. ‘Ballers only,’ Z2K whispered into the camera. Zak could see the appeal of Baller B’s videos. They were fun. They were skilful. The more he watched, the more he was convinced that Chris hadn’t been exaggerating. And then he searched for Baller B’s earnings and he really did find out that Chris hadn’t been exaggerating. Baller B really did make millions of pounds a year. And yet he could do better. What was there to lose?

‘What you watching, son?’

Zak had been so immersed in the screen that he hadn’t noticed his dad walk in the front door. He’d thrown his toolbox down on the floor and taken three short strides to the kitchen. The house wasn’t big – two downstairs rooms and two upstairs rooms – but it was big enough for just the two of them. His dad picked up the scattered letters on the table and sighed as he read them.

‘Good day at work?’ Zak asked, turning quickly as if to show he had been fully aware of his surroundings. His dad snorted in response.

‘Any day is a good day. It’s not easy to get jobs with the way things are at the moment. Nobody can afford to do any building work because of the recession. Still, on we go.’

Zak’s dad hadn’t always looked so defeated. Zak remembered a time when his mum was still in the house and his dad still had his regular work at the factory. Both of his parents were full of joy and excitement. Full of life. Zak had only been young when his mother was taken by illness, yet he hung on to the memories of her. His dad’s joy had become desperation, and then, finally, acceptance. He couldn’t change the past. He could only change the present, and that meant Zak. Zak knew he was lucky to have a father who cared for him. He came to watch every single match he played in, took him to every single training session, helped him to train in the back garden. They were a team.

‘So what’s this about?’ he continued, pointing towards the screen. His hands showed a lifetime of manual work. They were firm, his arms muscular. Yet signs of his age were also starting to show. His hair was disappearing. His shoulders sagged. His whole appearance slightly crumpled.

Zak felt a thrill of excitement as he turned back to face the laptop as YouTube autoplayed the next Baller B video. They were a team when it came to football. Maybe they could also become a team when it came to shooting football videos.

‘It’s this guy called Baller B,’ he explained. ‘My mates at school told me to watch him.’

‘Why? He’s not very good.’ Zak’s dad gestured dismissively toward the screen. ‘I’ve seen you do better skills in the garden.’

‘Yeah, but do you know how much he earns?’

‘As in, how much money he earns? This kid actually earns money from this?’

‘Dad, just look at the views. Millions of people watch this. Chris told me all about it. At first I didn’t believe him, but then I searched online and he was telling the truth. Baller B earns millions of pounds every single year.’

‘How can he do that?’ Zak’s dad looked genuinely confused. Social media was new to him. He’d only recently made his first Facebook page and seemed to use it only occasionally.

‘Lots of different ways. YouTube pay you for getting views. Advertisers pay you. Fans pay you. Baller B is so popular he even has his own merch.’

‘Merch?’

‘Merchandise. Baller B snapbacks, hoodies, backpacks. Everything.’

‘And people buy them?’

‘Loads of them!’

It wasn’t often that Zak’s dad was lost for words. His eyes seemed to be operating outside his body, his cheeks puffed out in astonishment. Eventually, he regained his composure.

‘Well, son,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you give it a go then?’

The first warning sign came when Zak’s dad tried to film him with the lens cover still on the camera. Once that was removed, he then managed to take a picture instead of a video. Chloe watched on in quiet amusement as Zak and his dad tried and failed to shoot a video in their back garden. The sun was still high in the sky, the clouds clear. For anyone else, it would have been an ideal condition to film in. ‘Just back a bit more,’ his dad requested.

‘I can’t go any further back!’ Zak protested, raising his arms in exasperation, as if to show just how small the yard was. He was almost perched against the back wall of their yard. ‘I told you we should have gone over to the park. There’s no room here.’

‘There’s plenty of room. You and Chloe are always practising out here.’

‘Yeah, Zak, stop finding excuses,’ Chloe added from behind his dad. Dressed from head to toe in training kit, she absent-mindedly rolled her ball from foot to foot while watching on. The pair of them had a kickabout planned but that could wait. She was enjoying watching on too much.

‘Well at least take down the washing line,’ Zak said. ‘I can’t have your big pants appearing in my first ever video.’

‘Okay, Zak. I think we’re ready to rock and roll,’ his dad announced from behind the camera, leaving the pants firmly on the line.

That was the cue.

In the background, Zak could see Chloe giving him a thumbs up. Finally, they were actually filming. Relieved yet nervous, Zak put a spring into his step as he approached the camera, doing his best to approach it from an angle that wouldn’t show the pants.

‘Yes, yes guys. This is Zak, and I’m going to be showing me some tekkers,’ he said into the camera with all of the energy of Baller B.

‘Stop!’ his dad announced. Chloe’s quiet amusement had turned into much louder amusement.

‘Showing me some tekkers?’

Zak cursed himself and kicked the ball against the wall in anger. The camera was making him nervous. ‘Let’s go again,’ he announced.

This time he got it right, proceeding to flick the ball up into the air with his heel. He readied his chest in anticipation, watching the ball carefully as it floated upwards. Only this time the ball didn’t nestle onto his chest. Just like the red end of two magnets, the ball repelled itself from his body and bounced straight off.

‘Argh!’ Zak cursed himself again.

‘Come on, Zak,’ Chloe said from behind the camera. ‘You do this all the time.’

She was right. He did do it all of the time. But usually he didn’t have a camera pointing at him. The camera was making him think carefully about every single movement when usually he did everything naturally.

‘Forget we’re here,’ his dad pointed out.

‘Yes, fine,’ Zak said in frustration, looking up to the sky and willing himself to perform as he knew he could. Once again he announced himself to the camera with plenty of energy, once again he flicked the ball with his heel. This time the control worked. The ball rolled to a halt on his chest and Zak held the pose for five seconds, knowing he was in perfect balance. Next up was the party trick: exactly the same as it had been in the playground. His body thrusted forward, the ball dropping to his right foot. Kick up, leg up, around the world. One, two, three. Ten times. He was in his flow. He was killing it. On the tenth around the world he kicked the ball into the small goal his dad had erected by the wall of the yard. ‘Tekkers,’ he winked to the camera.

‘Awesome.’ Zak’s dad smiled with pride.

‘Nice one,’ Chloe added.

‘Let’s have a look,’ Zak said as he raced over to the camera. His heart was pounding. He’d done it! Every skill nailed. It’d look good, he knew it. Already he could imagine it up on YouTube, his friends all liking and commenting.

‘Oh,’ his dad announced. ‘How do you look at it?’

‘Give it here,’ Zak said. ‘You need to press that button that looks like play.’ He pressed it and there he was, up on the camera’s mini screen. ‘Yes, yes guys,’ he heard himself announce. There was room for improvement, that was for sure, but Zak noted that he looked full of energy, just like Baller B. The flick up with the heel – yeah, that worked well. Then the chest. Wait. Zak watched on the mini screen as the ball bounced off his chest.

‘This isn’t the right one!’ he protested. ‘Where’s that one we just filmed?’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No! I didn’t drop the ball, did I?’

‘Not that I saw.’

‘You did press record, didn’t you?’

‘Well, my memory is a bit fuzzy.’

Chloe could barely conceal her laughter. She bent over with her hands to her mouth, trying to make sure his dad didn’t notice. Nothing could disguise that the last routine had been a waste. Nobody other than Chloe and his dad would ever see it. There was nothing else they could do but repeat it once more, this time with the camera on record.

On the sixth attempt, Zak finally managed to nail the routine. Immediately, his dad produced the proof that it had been recorded and they both breathed a sigh of relief. They’d done it.

‘All right, thanks Dad,’ Zak said. ‘I’m going over the park to practise with Chloe. Tea in an hour, yeah?’

‘That’s right. Come back whenever though. I’ll get this video put onto the computer in the meantime,’ his dad replied. ‘I’m going to try and do some editing.’

‘As long as you don’t delete it,’ Zak pointed out before turning to Chloe. ‘Sorry about that. I didn’t think it’d take that long.’

‘Don’t apologise to me,’ Chloe responded. ‘That was a good laugh. Now, let’s stop those seal tricks and do some proper practice, eh?’

‘Good with me. I’m not sure I can face doing another take.’ Zak smiled. He was looking forward to focusing on his training with Chloe. They had an important county cup game on the horizon for their team, Redwood Rovers. They’d both need to be at their best. Winning the county cup was the ultimate goal of any season. And maybe, just maybe, this would be their year.

Zak’s tea lay cold and forgotten on the table. Fish fingers, beans and potatoes. Not the toughest of meals to cook but one of Zak’s favourites. It was only upon seeing the lonely plate that the hunger hit him. All of that training had worked up quite an appetite. Two hours of passing, control and shooting, on top of his filming from before. The voice of his commanding Redwood Rovers coach, Mr Jones, came into his head as he greedily licked his lips. ‘Food is the fuel for young footballers. Once you’re low on fuel, you need to top up with top quality carbohydrates.’ Well, top up he would. He placed the plate into the microwave and turned the dial to three minutes, hearing the reassuring buzz as the plate rotated slowly round and round. When he became rich and famous he’d pay some brainy scientist to invent an instant microwave. He hated having to wait for food.

A blitz of music startled Zak. He hadn’t noticed his dad deep in concentration on the sofa, the laptop perched on his knees.

‘Dad!’ he exclaimed. ‘I didn’t notice you.’

‘Oh, sorry son. I didn’t hear you come in.’

As the music continued to play, the tune became recognisable. ‘Gangnam Style’ by K-pop artist PSY.

‘Dad, why are you playing that stupid song?’ Zak asked, chuckling to himself.

‘Here, come over. Look at this.’

Intrigued, Zak moved to his dad on the sofa. There he was. On the screen Zak was juggling the ball. He watched on as he caught the ball on his chest, then worked it on to his right foot for the round the worlds. It felt surreal to see himself on the screen. Friends had always told him he was good at skills, but until now he’d never been able to see what his skills looked like from their viewpoint. Baller B had nothing on him. The thought made Zak smile. Until he realised why the music was playing.

‘Have you put ‘Gangnam Style’ over my skills?!’ he demanded, suddenly feeling a mixture of desperation and exasperation.

‘What do you think, eh? Pretty rock and roll?’

‘You are joking, right? Do you think someone like Baller B would have that cheese playing over his videos?’

‘Well, maybe if he did he’d make billions rather than millions.’

‘No, just no.’ Zak didn’t want to entertain his dad’s suggestions. YouTube wasn’t made for people his age. It was the pursuit of the young. The new generation’s online voice. He could never understand. But then again, maybe he could. Because although the music selection was terrible, his editing job wasn’t bad at all. He’d cut it at the right moments and had made Zak’s voice clearer. ‘It does look sick, though.’

‘Thanks, son. I’ve visited a few online forums for some tips. I even watched some “how to” videos on YouTube.’

‘Look, you see here.’ Zak stopped the video just after his on-screen persona said showing you some tekkers. ‘Right here we could add an explosion.’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘It gives the video energy. That’s what Baller B does, anyway.’

‘Well, if that’s what you say. I think I did a tutorial on that.’ He fiddled with a couple of buttons and sure enough a red ball of fire exploded on screen. ‘Just let me add the sound.’

BOOM.

Yes, this was looking good. The microwave had long since pinged, yet Zak was now distracted. The pair sat in the dark, staring into the laptop screen. They watched the video through once more, this time without the background music.

‘This is really good,’ Zak commented, both surprised and satisfied at his earlier performance. All of those takes had been worth it in the end. Even the pants on the washing line had been edited out. Tremors of excitement were beginning to flit through his body.

‘It is, son. Well done.’

‘Now we just need a new song. What about that track by Dave? “Location”.’

‘I don’t know that one.’

‘Listen.’ Zak took control of the laptop and browsed YouTube for the song. He clicked play and the music started up. Melodious. Bass pumping. Everything that PSY wasn’t.

‘It’s a bit slow, isn’t it?’

Zak sighed audibly. His dad was many things, but cool wasn’t one of them. ‘It’s cool. That’s all that matters.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ His dad clicked on a few more buttons and soon enough the new backing track was uploaded.

Now Zak was beyond excited.