The Marble Arcade by Dave Rigby

Milk finished, I put the bottle in the empties crate, wipe a hand across my mouth and push open the door to the school playground.

It’s cold. I pull my socks up trying not to touch the grazes on my knees. I fell over kicking a tennis ball around the yard this morning, before school started. Scuffed my shoes as well. I’ll get a telling off for that.

All join on for cowboys, they shout out loudly, five boys in a line, arms around shoulders, wandering around the yard looking for more to join in.

But it’s not cowboys for me today.

To the side of the outdoor lavatories, there’s a game of chips going on. One lad stands with his back to the wall and facing him, six more are leaning over, hands on knees, one behind the other. I watch, mouth wide open, as a rough-looking boy, sleeves rolled up, runs full pelt towards the end of the line and leapfrogs as far as he can, landing heavily in the middle of the row of backs. The whole line collapses. Shrieks of laughter. They pick themselves up and the game restarts.

But it’s not chips for me today.

I’m after marbles.

On a flat bit of the yard, where the tarmac’s not bumpy, the boy who calls himself the marble king has set up his arcade. Just a bit of wood really with some supports to prop it up – about nine inches high with four little holes cut into it.

I check the bag in my pocket, pull out a swirly green marble and rub it on my jumper for good luck. Aim for the 1. The marble moves smoothly through the hole that has an inky 1 written above it. A good start. I get one marble back. Part of me wants to go straight for the 4. But that hole is very small and you’ve got to be really on form to get a marble through it. I try anyway. It hits the wood to one side of the tiny opening. The marble king pockets my marble. I try again and again, losing each time. He laughs. His friends laugh as well.

A final go, a swirly blue, a rub on the jumper and the magic word under my breath. The marble rolls over the tarmac. I can feel it’s a good aim. It’s going to be a winner. Then one of the king’s friends nudges the arcade just a little with his foot. My marble hits the wood. He’s a lot bigger than me. I can’t say anything.

After school the marble king comes up to me. I think he’s going to have another laugh, but he hands over four brand new marbles, not a single mark on any of them.

See you tomorrow, he says, walking off up the road.