Chance of a Lifetime Read online

  About the Book

  Daniel and Sione have been given the chance of a lifetime to be coached by Australian rugby union star, Israel Folau. Can they make it count?

  Daniel and Sione come from very different backgrounds, but both boys eat, sleep and breathe rugby union. When they are selected for a representative rugby team, Daniel and Sione’s worlds collide. At first the boys are awestruck by Izzy, but soon they grow to see him as a friend. Unfortunately things on the field don’t go as smoothly.

  Will Daniel and Sione learn how to adapt to their new team? Or will their big break turn into a missed opportunity?

  Includes training tips from Izzy!

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Chapter 1: Daniel

  Chapter 2: Sione

  Chapter 3: Daniel

  Chapter 4: Sione

  Chapter 5: Sione

  Chapter 6: Daniel

  Chapter 7: Sione

  Chapter 8: Daniel

  Chapter 9: Sione

  Chapter 10: Daniel

  Chapter 11: Sione

  Chapter 12: Daniel

  The Valley Team

  Izzy Folau

  Izzy’s Training Tips: Passing

  Also in the Series

  Copyright Notice

  Loved the book?

  BAM! The forwards slammed into the scrum machine. It creaked and rocked backwards as the eight boys in their deep-green rugby jerseys pushed against it with all their might.

  ‘Whoa, whoa! Hold it!’ Mr Richards shouted. The boys relaxed and stood up, watching as their coach lowered one of the thick pads on the front of the scrum machine. Daniel watched him and waited.

  The scrum machine wasn’t really a machine so much as a huge bulk of metal arms that held soft padding at shoulder level. By pushing against it, the forwards were practising how to form a scrum with an opposing team, just like on game day.

  To finish that afternoon’s training session, Mr Richards had wanted the boys to practise getting the ball from the scrum to the distant wing as quickly as possible. Daniel, the team’s captain and fly-half, knew exactly what he needed to do. If only the forwards would hurry up and get their act together.

  ‘All right, one more time,’ Mr Richards said.

  The forwards put their arms around each other, bent down and slammed into the machine, panting and grunting. The scrum-half fed the ball to the scrum by throwing it into their collection of feet. The ball came out the back and he expertly passed it to Daniel. Daniel ran forward a few steps, imagining the opposition charging towards him, before shooting the ball to the inside centre. From there, the ball zipped all the way down the line of backs that were spread out across the field, ending up in the hands of the winger on the far side. He put the ball down over the tryline, signalling the end of another sweaty training session.

  ‘Well done!’ Mr Richards shouted, clapping his hands enthusiastically, then waved for his team to gather in front of him. Once the players sat on the ground, the coach continued. ‘Great work today, boys. We’re starting to remove those kinks in our back line. Remember to watch Daniel – he’s the key. As soon as that ball is fed, you should be watching and ready, but don’t move off your line early.’

  ‘No, sir,’ the boys replied.

  ‘Right, well, the last game of the season will be our toughest – everyone knows that – but St Martin’s are the only thing standing between us and an undefeated season, and I know we’ll be ready on Saturday.’

  ‘Green. And. WHITE! Green. And. WHITE!’ the boys chanted in response.

  ‘Now, before you go home, I have some good news and some bad news.’ Mr Richards looked behind him and saw that most of the boys’ parents were now waiting in the distance. ‘The bad news isn’t unexpected – Johnno still hasn’t fully recovered from his tonsillitis, so William will be in the centre – no big deal, we’ll be fine …’

  Daniel sat in the grass, watching the late-winter sun slowly disappear behind a grey cloud. He shivered with excitement, anticipating what was coming next.

  ‘But now for the good news,’ Mr Richards announced.

  Daniel looked up at his coach’s face and their eyes met.

  ‘Daniel, could you come up here, please?’

  It’s actually happening, Daniel thought, glancing over at his dad. He walked around his teammates’ sprawled legs and stood next to Mr Richards. ‘We all know about the rep team – how the selectors were here to watch us play. Well, this morning I received a telephone call advising me that our very own Daniel has been selected to play for the Valley rep team at the State Championships in a few weeks.’

  The other boys cheered and clapped. Whoops echoed around the field. But, best of all, Daniel could hear his dad shouting congratulations from two hundred metres away.

  Mr Richards smiled. ‘I was also informed that the team will be going on a two-week tour before the Championships begin, and that the team will be coached by …’

  Izzy Folau! Izzy Folau! Daniel repeated over and over in his mind, wishing it might actually be his all-time favourite rugby player.

  ‘Israel Folau!’

  The team clapped and cheered again as Daniel’s jaw hung open. ‘What! Really?’ he said. ‘Are you serious, sir?’

  ‘You bet!’ Mr Richards shook Daniel’s hand. ‘You’ll be getting your rep jersey at tomorrow’s assembly. Congratulations, I’m sure you will do Barton Grammar proud.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Daniel answered before he was mobbed by his team. All the boys slapped him on the back and said how jealous they were of him. Daniel tried to soak it all up, but he was in shock to think that he was going to be coached by the greatest of the greats – Izzy Folau.

  Soon enough, the cheers died down and one by one the others walked off the oval until Daniel was the only player left on the field. He looked up at the gigantic goalposts and tried to settle his thoughts.

  This was a big deal. It wasn’t just the fact that he was going on a trip with Izzy Folau. Daniel knew that being selected for the rep team was the first step to becoming a Wallaby himself. It was all he’d ever wanted. Now, just as his dad had predicted many times, his dreams were starting to come true.

  Daniel picked up the football from near the touchline, along with his kicking tee. He decided to start with a hard one. He put the kicking tee at the corner of the touchline and the 22-yard line. He looked at the goalposts and exhaled slowly. It would be hard to get the distance let alone the angle, but he wanted to try. He thought back to just days before, when he’d watched Izzy being interviewed on TV after a loss.

  ‘We tried our best,’ Izzy had said. ‘We didn’t win, but we gave it our best shot and that’s what matters most.’

  Daniel sighed, remembering how his dad had grunted when he’d heard Izzy say that. He’d called it ‘loser talk’. Daniel looked at the posts again. Whether he kicked the goal or not, he wanted to give it a go – just like Izzy – no matter what his dad thought about him.

  He considered the ball and sniffed it. The smell of a rugby ball always made him smile. He flicked the ball into the air, making it spin briskly as it popped upwards before falling back into his hands. He flicked it again, watching as it seemed to hang in the air, almost magically.

  A voice echoed across the empty grounds, shaking him from his thoughts. ‘Daniel! It’s goal-kicking practice, not time-wasting practice. Let’s go!’

  He turned to see his dad watching him, his phone pressed to his ear as always. Daniel nodded and put the ball on the tee before measuring his run-up. He stood at his spot, breathing deeply. He looked at the ball, then at the goalposts and back at the ball, imagining how best to kick it. He replayed the goal kick twenty times i
n his imagination before going for it. Finally, he jogged towards the ball, balanced his body and let his foot forcefully yet gently connect with it.

  It was a great goal.

  His dad clapped on his knee from the stands, and Daniel smiled his biggest smile since Christmas as he ran after the ball. The rep team, the tour and Izzy Folau – it was almost too good to be true.

  Sione lay on his bed, holding his football. It was hardly white anymore. He thought back to when he’d first got it, before all the scratches and scuff marks, to his birthday over six months ago, and smiled. He’d been so excited, even though the gift wasn’t a surprise at all. He remembered his aunt handing him the football-shaped present and laughing about how hard it had been to wrap. It hadn’t mattered to Sione, though. He’d been so grateful for the ball that he’d actually hugged Aunty. And that was probably the first time he had ever hugged her – or anyone, really.

  He flicked the ball above his head, watching it spin in the air for that split second as it hovered. It was almost like magic.

  For the millionth time, Sione wished he could fly like a football. That way, he’d be able to go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. When things got tough, he could just rise above it and hide in the clouds for a while.

  Sione kept throwing the ball into the air, remembering the first time he’d thrown it, and the squeal he had let out when it landed in mud. The other Tigers had laughed at him then. They’d thought it was hilarious that Sione should treat his new ball like a newborn baby. But of course he would – it was special.

  Now, each splat of mud or scratch from a football boot was like a badge of honour, a mark that told a story of an amazing try or a thumping tackle.

  Lost in his daydream, Sione missed catching his ball and it bounced across his bedroom floor. He sighed and rolled over, his eyes coming to rest on the Izzy Folau poster taped to his wall. The Wallaby was smiling wide and running across ANZ Stadium, on his way to a match-winning try beneath the posts.

  Sione had studied that poster so often that he’d invented names for all the tiny specks of faces that he could see in the crowd behind Izzy. He could smell the wet grass, he could feel a thumping in his chest. He wished he was on the Australian team, running alongside Izzy.

  The phone in the kitchen rang, and Sione could hear his dad walking towards it. Those footsteps were unmistakable; the heavy work boots almost shaking the house as he walked, unlike his little sister’s slap-slap-slapping across the floorboards, or his aunt’s quiet padding.

  Sione couldn’t make out the words but it was a long conversation. That meant it wasn’t a salesperson. It was probably a relative, or maybe even his mum. Sione closed his eyes tight, trying to lift his body off the bed and into the clouds with the power of his mind.

  ‘Sione!’ his dad called.

  Sione’s eyes snapped open and he sat up.

  ‘Sione! Get your butt out here!’

  He stood up as his little sister’s slapping footsteps approached at double speed.

  Mele burst into the bedroom and tugged at her brother’s rugby shorts. ‘Sione’s butt! Sione’s butt!’ she sang, pushing him into the hall.

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m coming!’ Sione followed Mele into the kitchen, where their dad stood, leaning on the counter, his back to them. His dad had the usual dirt marks all over his legs and was wearing his neon-green work shirt. Sione wondered if each of the marks told a story like the ones on his football did.

  His dad turned around, looking exhausted as usual. He stared at Sione without saying anything. Mele ran up to his dirty, hairy legs and he swung her up in one swift movement.

  ‘Sione …’

  Sione braced himself for what sounded like bad news. But the fact that his dad wasn’t shouting meant he wasn’t in trouble. So what is it? he thought to himself.

  ‘That was Terry,’ his dad continued. ‘Sione …’

  What’s wrong? Why is it so hard for him to spit it out? Have I been kicked off the team?

  ‘Son, you’ve been picked for the rep team.’

  ‘The rep team?’ Sione repeated.

  ‘The Valley team. You’ve been selected to play for Valley at the State Championships!’

  It took Sione a moment for his brain to register what he was hearing, and then he remembered. His coach, Terry, had put some names forward to the selection committee; selectors had even come to watch the Tigers train and play a game. But Sione hadn’t given it another thought – he’d never dreamed he would be selected.

  ‘Why me?’ he said. ‘I’m not even good enough to play for Valley.’

  ‘Don’t be so down on yourself, Si,’ his dad said, lowering Mele to the ground. ‘You’re good.’

  Those words echoed around the kitchen as if it were a cave. No matter how many times he heard them, he would never believe it.

  ‘If I’m so good, why aren’t you smiling?’ Sione asked.

  His dad sighed. ‘Before the Championship weekend, the Valley team is going on a two-week tour. They’ll train together, play other teams from around the country, do all this team-building stuff. Oh, and Izzy Folau will be their coach.’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Each team in the state has been assigned a famous player to coach them, and apparently Valley got Izzy.’

  This is amazing! By the end of the two weeks I’ll be best friends with my favourite player of all time! ‘Are you kidding me?’ Sione said. ‘That’s awesome!’

  His dad shook his head. ‘It’s true, but the thing is … most of what you need is covered – they give you the uniforms and the kit – but each player’s family has to cover the cost of sending you on the trip around the country and, well …’ Sione’s dad leant against the kitchen counter. He didn’t finish his sentence – he didn’t need to.

  Sione fought back tears, turning his eyes into brick walls that nothing could pass through. He was good at doing that – hiding his emotions. It was something he had done many times.

  Why did Terry put my name down for this? he thought, clenching his fists and looking away from his dad.

  An unexpected noise sounded as the front doorknob clicked and turned before Sione’s aunt bustled in.

  ‘You’ll never guess what –’ She stopped mid-stride as she stared at her brother and nephew standing silently in the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, placing a bag of groceries on the floor.

  Sione looked up at her, his face burning.

  ‘What is it, Sione?’ she asked.

  He screwed up his eyes, trying to respond without letting a tear fall. When he finally spoke, his voice was cracked and high-pitched.

  ‘I got selected for the rugby rep team,’ he said. With that, he walked down the hall, slammed his bedroom door and collapsed onto his bed.

  Friday assemblies were usually the most boring thing on earth. The school hall was a large, cavernous room that became hot and stuffy when a thousand boys crammed in after lunch each week. Daniel and his friends always tried to sit in one of the back corners, out of sight from teachers, where they could whisper about their next rugby match. Today, Daniel sat right in the middle of the assembly hall, where the headmaster would be looking in his direction the whole time, but Daniel didn’t care. This assembly was going to be sweet.

  Once the hall was full, the school captain called for everyone to rise. The headmaster and deputy principal walked in, up the stage steps and stood facing the students, awaiting the national anthem.

  Soon, I’ll be up there too, Daniel thought.

  He usually couldn’t be bothered singing the anthem, but today he sang each word loud and clear. His friends on either side of him did the same. They all stood straight and tall, proud of Daniel and the fact that he – now destined for great things – was their friend. Knowing this made Daniel sing even louder.

  His best friend, Steve, glanced over and laughed. ‘What’s up with you, Mr Opera Singer?’

  Eventually, the headmaster announced the big news that Daniel Masters had made the rugby rep t
eam. The entire crowd of students broke out into applause in a way Daniel had never heard. He couldn’t help but grin as he walked down his row and out into the aisle, lapping up the attention.

  Everyone was still clapping as he stepped onto the stage. Barton Grammar prided itself on rugby, and Daniel was now one of its stars. Mr Richards appeared from somewhere backstage and was holding a roll of green material that Daniel assumed was his new rep jersey. Green – just like Barton’s colours, he thought to himself.

  It felt so foreign to be up there, but Daniel was loving every second of it. A thousand faces were looking at him. He could only just make out his empty chair in the middle of the hall.

  Mr Richards leant in to the microphone. ‘It gives me great pleasure to present Daniel with this jersey. I am proud of all he has accomplished this season; his representative selection is well deserved. I know that he will represent Valley – and Barton Grammar – as brilliantly as anyone can.’

  He then shook Daniel’s hand as Mr Varnes, the school photographer, snapped away. The jersey unravelled, and Mr Richards and Daniel each held up one shoulder and sleeve of the precious garment as more photos were taken. Daniel didn’t think his cheeks could handle much more smiling.

  ‘And now,’ the headmaster said to the school, ‘I would like to read out an email that we received this morning from Israel Folau, the Valley team’s coach.’

  Excited whispers filled the hall.

  ‘Congratulations, Daniel,’ the headmaster read aloud, ‘on your selection to the Valley team. I can’t wait to meet you and start training together in preparation for the State Championships.’ Daniel’s chest puffed out and his hands grew clammy. ‘Every time I have faced a new challenge, I have felt anxious and unsure, but also extremely excited. I hope you are pleased with your selection and are looking forward to all the fun we will have as a team. Izzy.’