About the Book

  Meet Willa and Woof

  Join these best friends for a story full of adventure, imagination and loads of fun!

  There are competitions galore in Willa’s world, but not everything goes to plan. Can Willa find a way to be part of things and make a new friend too?

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One: Practice makes not so Perfect

  Chapter Two: Mr Babbar’s Big Idea

  Chapter Three: Evie

  Chapter Four: Nailed It

  Chapter Five: A Surprise

  Chapter Six: Exit Strategy

  Chapter Seven: The Announcement

  Chapter Eight: Emergency

  Chapter Nine: Sad

  Chapter Ten: Tournament of the Ages

  Chapter Eleven: Lessons Learned

  Read more Willa and Woof

  About the Author

  Jacqueline Supports

  Books by Jacqueline Harvey

  Imprint

  Read More at Penguin Books Australia

  For Phoebe, who inspired this story and for Ian, who has been known to laugh out loud at Willa and her antics.

  My name is Willa Jane Tait and this is Woof. He’s been supervising while I practise for my first ever proper gymnastics competition. (By ‘proper’, I mean against kids from other clubs, not just Hibiscus Gardens.)

  It’s a teams’ event, and our gymnastics teacher, Miss Nadia, says the winners of each level get a trophy. There are individual medals too, so I really want to do my best.

  Being a good team member is important – I played in the soccer finals last season even though I had a humungous blister on my toe, because if I’d given up we wouldn’t have had enough players. My toe was killing me for days afterwards, but I didn’t mind, because I saved a goal and we won!

  For the competition, I’ve got to do three routines. One on the floor (that’s my best), one on the balance beam (I’m kind of okay with that) and the last one is on the vault. That’s the hardest because I don’t have the right equipment at home, so I haven’t been able to do any extra training.

  For my floor routine, I marked out an area on the grass with one of Dad’s white spray-paint cans and I’ve been practising every day. The only problem is the bindis – they prickle my hands and feet and make me itch like crazy. Still, I’ve improved a lot. I don’t have a balance beam, but the garden edging is about the same width – it’s just not very high – but I can practise there.

  I’ve been looking in the garage for things to use as a vault, and I’m almost ready to set everything up. Dad says I’m an ideas girl, and he’s right.

  A few years ago, my mum was seriously into aerobics. She bought a mini tramp and this step thing that you can make higher or lower. They’re almost perfect for my vault – I just need something to make the step a bit higher. There are some old bricks down near Dad’s junk pile that will work.

  (The junk pile is much smaller and tidier since Dad cleaned it up after the bushfire. I’m not even that scared about the dragon who lives there any more. I think he might have moved out.)

  It’s hot work carrying everything out to the backyard. My old mattress is especially heavy, but it’s the best thing to use in place of gym mats. Mum was going to put it out for the next council clean-up so it’s lucky she hasn’t yet.

  I grunt and groan and push and pull.

  ‘You could help you know!’ I call out to Woof. He’s my dog and right now he’s asleep under the frangipani tree near the back deck. He’s an albino Irish wolfhound and he’s the smartest and kindest dog in the whole world, but he’s not very helpful setting up gymnastics equipment. He’s so tall and strong he’d actually make a good vault platform, but I wouldn’t want to break him.

  Making a vault in the backyard is important because Mum says that the only way to get better is to practise. She’s right – I can do cartwheels and handstands and front walkovers now, which all took me ages to learn. I still can’t do a backflip or a front handspring on the vault (at least not without help), but Miss Nadia says that I’m getting there. I hope so, because there’s this older girl from my school called Evie who can do three backflips in a row and I really want to be as good as her.

  I’d hate to be as mean as Evie though. I’ve heard her laughing at me and giggling behind her hand with her friends. It makes me feel hot and sweaty just thinking about it. Worst of all, she’s one of our school captains this year, so she thinks she’s the boss of everyone.

  I overheard Mum telling Soo-Min, Tae’s Mum, that Evie’s mother is always up at the office complaining, and that our principal, Mr Newton, is scared of her. I wonder if that’s why Evie got the job – so he didn’t have to put up with her mum being mean to him. Her mum is also the president of the P&C, so she thinks she’s the boss of all the parents too.

  It takes a while, but finally I’ve got everything for my vault out on the grass. I’ve built up the platform for the step, but the bricks are a little bit wobbly. I add a couple more – that should help.

  I can hear the vacuum going inside. Mum’s on a big cleaning spree and Dad’s at an emergency call-out. He’s a plumber and he’s always busy because there are a lot of blocked drains in Hibiscus Gardens – maybe it’s all the toddlers flushing their toys. Dad says he pulled eight Hot Wheels cars out of a sewer pipe last week. My brother Sam is at a basketball camp. He does more sports than anyone I know.

  I test out the trampoline with a few small jumps, then I do a bigger bounce.

  For my first vault I’m going to run up, jump onto the aerobics step and then down onto the mattress to practise my landing pose. You have to put your arms in the air and arch your back with your feet together. It sounds easy but it’s not really.

  I’ll do some harder things after I’ve got the landing sorted out.

  I check the vault again and walk back down the yard, dodging a patch of bindis. I take a deep breath and run as fast as I can, then jump onto the mini tramp . but instead of bouncing up onto the vault platform I land back on the trampoline. I feel a bit squirrelly in the tummy. I don’t know what the matter is.

  I jump off again and head back down the yard. I tell myself to stop being such a wuss – if I can’t even do this, how can I go in the competition? The vault platform looks slightly wonky, but I’m sure it’ll be okay.

  I run as fast as I can and jump high on the mini tramp, propelling myself forward onto the platform. But just as I land it topples over – and so do I. I crash onto my back on the mattress, my leg twisted beneath me. The bricks that were holding up the step bounce on the ground. One almost hits me on the head.

  ‘Ow!’ I yell. My leg really hurts. ‘Ow, ow, ow!’

  ‘What’s the matter, Willa?’ I hear Frank call from over the fence. He’s our next door neighbour and my best old-age friend.

  He pushes through the gate and next thing I know he’s standing above me, blocking out the sun. Woof is right beside him. I think my yelling woke Woof up.

  ‘Heavens, Willa, are you trying to get yourself killed?’ Frank asks with a big frown on his face.

  I shake my head. Thank goodness my leg doesn’t hurt as much any more. ‘I’m practising,’ I say.

  ‘For what?’ A trip to the hospital?’ he asks.

  I rub my leg and roll off the mattress onto my feet.

  Mum is on the deck. She has her hands on her hips, and from the look on her face she’s not happy.

  ‘Good grief, Willa – that looks dangerous,’ she says. I can hear the worry in her voice.

  Frank turns to me. ‘I think you should forget about using this set-up, Willa.’

  Mum nods her head. ‘I agree, Frank.’

  ‘But if I don’t practise, I’ll be hopeless,’ I protest.

  ‘And if you practise using this, you’ll break your neck,’ Frank says.

  ‘Frank’s right, Willa – no more home-made gymnastics equipment,’ Mum adds.

  ‘I just need to make the platform steady!’ I say.

  ‘No, Willa, you don’t,’ Mum says.

  ‘Well, you’d better start calling me a loser because that’s what I’ll be at the competition,’ I yell and stamp my foot, then charge up the stairs onto the deck. Woof is right behind me. I know he’s upset too. He follows me inside and we run down the hall to hide out in my room – forever.

  ‘How are your gymnastics routines coming along, Willa?’ Mr Babbar asks when Tae and Woof and I arrive in the office at Sunset Views.

  We go there to cheer up the residents every Monday after school. Woof is the support-dog superstar and I’m his professional animal handler, while Tae (my best same-age friend) is my assistant in charge of treats.

  Today Tae’s dressed up as an old-fashioned detective with a funny hat and a big magnifying glass. He says he’s Sherlock Holmes, who was a great detective. That’s because Tae’s name means ‘person of greatness’ in Korean and every week he tests out what sort of person of greatness he’s going to be when he grows up. It’s a lot of pressure for an eight-year-old.

  ‘Terrible,’ I reply. Woof makes a strange noise that sounds like he’s agreeing with me. I tell Mr Babbar all about my home-made equipment disaster.

  Mum and Frank tried to cheer me up yesterday after I went to my room – forever (forever only lasted until dinnertime), but unless I can have a million more lessons before the competition, my vault routine is going to be hopeless. I hate the idea of letting m
y team down.

  Tae looks up from where he’s been examining the hair on Woof’s back. ‘You should have waited for me to help you.’

  I frown and remind him that he was staying at his grandma’s house for the whole weekend.

  Tae’s eyebrows jump up. ‘Oh, yeah.’ He points his magnifying glass at me, making it look as if he has an eye the size of a giant.

  For the smartest kid in our class, Tae is a bit forgetful some days.

  Mr Babbar seems unusually happy. Most of the time he looks stressed out. That’s because his boss, Mrs Wilson, has a bad temper. I used to think that it was only when she was wearing high heels with pointy toes, but I think she just has a mean streak – like Evie, who’s horrible to me for no reason at all.

  ‘Has Mrs Wilson gone on holidays again?’ I ask Mr Babbar.

  He frowns at me. ‘No, why do you ask?’

  ‘The last time you were this happy she was on her long service leave,’ I explain.

  The man grins like a five-year-old child at Christmas. He leans down close to Tae and me.

  ‘I have an exciting project. And I have the two of you to thank, after what you did for Grandparents’ Day at school,’ he whispers. ‘Best of all, Mrs Wilson has approved it.’

  Tae and I frown at each other. Our school had its very first Grandparents’ Day a few months ago, at the same time Mrs Wilson was saying Sunset Views couldn’t afford to take residents on outings any more. It was a bit tricky. Some of the kids were miserable because they didn’t have anyone to bring to the school’s special assembly, so I started Willa Tait’s Grandparents for Hire. It worked out perfectly. Kids got someone to bring to Grandparents’ Day, the residents got an outing and we raised money for the retirement village. Of course, Mrs Wilson pretended everything was her idea.

  ‘Remember that your principal said that he hoped Grandparents’ Day would be the start of a long friendship between Hibiscus Gardens Primary and Sunset Views?’ Mr Babbar says.

  I nod. ‘What are you planning?’

  ‘Oh, Willa – it is going to be wonderful. We are hosting the very first Tournament of the Ages – a day of friendly contests between the children and the residents, followed by a delicious barbecue lunch and cake – there will be lots of cake,’ Mr Babbar explains.

  ‘What sort of competitions are you thinking?’ Tae asks. I can see he’s as confused as I am. I can’t imagine running races or swimming or cross-country. There are way too many dodgy knees and tricky hips among the Sunset Views community.

  ‘Things that children and older people can enjoy together – for example, ring toss and croquet, card games and board games,’ Mr Babbar says. ‘Perhaps you can help me add to the list.’

  He beckons for us to follow him into the staffroom, where the whiteboard is covered in ideas. It looks like when we have a brainstorming session at school.

  Some of the things are crossed out and I can understand why. A soccer match is an ambulance ride waiting to happen. Tug of war has a line through it and so does musical chairs.

  ‘What about musical statues?’ I ask. ‘That’s not as dangerous as musical chairs.’

  ‘Yes, Willa, you are right. At least Mr Allen won’t be tempted to push anyone off their chair, like he did the last time,’ Mr Babbar says, raising his eyebrows so high they almost touch his turban.

  Tae and I look at each other in surprise.

  ‘What about for the people who aren’t as active?’ I ask. ‘Could we have a baking competition, or maybe cake decorating?’

  Mr Babbar picks up the whiteboard marker and spins around to add those to the good ideas column. ‘Brilliant.’

  ‘What about balloon volleyball? There are two teams and everyone sits in chairs and there’s a net in the middle, but instead of a ball they use a balloon – it’s really fun,’ Tae says.

  ‘Great idea.’ I nod.

  Mr Babbar’s eyes light up and he quickly writes that down.

  ‘Are there prizes?’ Tae asks.

  ‘I have been thinking about that,’ Mr Babbar says. ‘If we want this to be the first of many Tournaments of the Ages, then there should be a trophy – we can have it engraved – and there would be points for each competition, and an overall tally. Imagine the excitement when we announce the winning team. We can have the newspaper come and take photographs.’

  Mr Babbar raises his arm in the air. ‘I can see it now. “And the winner is .”’

  ‘Well, clearly not you,’ Mrs Wilson says gruffly and stares at Mr Babbar. It’s almost like she’s magic, the way she appears from nowhere without making a sound. Tae and I shrink behind Woof.

  ‘I just got off the phone with that lovely principal, Mr Newton. We’ve decided to bring the date for this tournament of yours forward to next week.’ There’s an evil grin on Mrs Wilson’s face. ‘He was worried that you mightn’t have enough time to organise everything, but you’ll manage, won’t you?’

  Mrs Wilson glares at Mr Babbar. Her caterpillar eyebrows (who I call Bert and Hilda) look as if they’re having a crawling competition to see who can get the closest to the middle of her forehead.

  ‘But that is so soon,’ Mr Babbar replies. ‘I was thinking next month.’

  Mrs Wilson wrinkles her nose and stares. ‘Nonsense. You’ve got a meeting at the school tomorrow morning at half past eight – before your shift here so it doesn’t interfere with your actual job. These two geniuses here can help you.’ I’m pretty sure she’s being sarcastic – she doesn’t really think Tae and I are geniuses.

  Mrs Wilson turns to go, but then spins back when she reaches the door.

  ‘And when it’s all a disaster we’ll never have to do it again, will we?’ she says with an even more evil smile on her lips. She waddles out of the room.

  ‘Oh, my goodness gracious,’ Mr Babbar says, sweat beads spotting across his brow. ‘I will never be able to organise everything in time. Mrs Wilson is right. It will be a disaster and I will look like a fool and that will be the end of a promising friendship between Hibiscus Gardens Primary and Sunset Views Retirement Village.’

  I look at Tae and he looks at me, and we look at Woof, and then we all look at Mr Babbar.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Babbar – we’ll help you. Your tournament will be the biggest success ever,’ I say with a nod.

  Tae and Woof nod too.

  My mum works in the school office at Hibiscus Gardens Primary. She has to be there by half past eight every morning, so today Tae and I get a lift. We usually walk but the tournament meeting is early.

  ‘Do you think that Mr Newton will want us to help with the organising?’ Tae asks.

  ‘Mr Babbar says he does,’ I reply. ‘And he’s the one in charge.’

  Mum says she can’t believe that Mrs Wilson has asked for the event to be moved forward and that Mr Newton agreed. The woman obviously has no idea how busy the school calendar is. I wonder if Mr Newton is afraid of Mrs Wilson, like everyone else.

  We arrive at the car park at the same time as Mr Babbar. He looks stressed again. I’m not surprised.

  ‘Good morning, Willa and Tae. Good morning, Mrs Tait,’ he says as he walks with us to the office. He’s wearing a bright white turban and grey suit with thin stripes. Mum’s always saying that he’s a snappy dresser.

  Everyone says hello.

  ‘Mr Babbar, are you sure that you want Willa and Tae’s help? You’re not just being polite, are you?’ Mum asks.

  Mr Babbar’s eyes widen. ‘Mrs Tait, I can assure you that I need these two on my team. Besides, they know the residents of Sunset Views better than any of the other children – I think they know some of them better than I do.’

  I smile and feel a bit important.

  Mr Newton is already in the office. He greets Mr Babbar and they have a conversation about how excited everyone is. I don’t think that’s exactly true, since none of the kids except me and Tae even know about the Tournament of the Ages yet.