I’m going to be like Zlatan. This is a life-or-death thing for me.
– en möjlighet för alla
JOHANNA NILSSON ALMOST LIKE ZLATAN
I hate reading and writing! I always get things wrong. This is why I have applied to a soccer high school. I just have to get in!
ALMOST
LIKE
ZLATAN JOHANNA NILSSON
Nypon förlag
Title: Almost like Zlatan Author: Johanna Nilsson Cover: Jonas Lindén Original title: Nästan som Zlatan First published by Nypon förlag 2015 Translator: Hedda Friberg-Harnesk © 2016 Johanna Nilsson and Nypon förlag Ltd First edition 2016 Number of pages: 52 Lix: 16 Level: From 13 years. ISBN 978 91 7567 522 0 Nypon förlag info@nyponforlag.se www.nyponforlag.se A RECORDED READING OF THIS BOOK IS AVAILABLE DIGITALLY IN THE “DAISY” FORMAT. If your school subscribes to the services of Inläsningstjänst, you can access this recording free of charge. If not, please order it at www.inlasningstjanst.se
Johanna Nilsson
Almost like Zlatan Translated by Hedda Friberg-Harnesk Cover by Jonas LindĂŠn
Nypon fĂśrlag
Chapter 1 I dream about being like Zlatan. Sometimes I play pretty well. Then I feel as if I’m already like him. Almost anyway. Almost like Zlatan. I don’t think he’d agree with me, though. Maybe he’d laugh. Or try to teach me some of his tricks. Yes, I think he would do that. Zlatan seems nice. Tough but nice. Most of all I’d like Zlatan to teach me how to do a bicycle kick – a bicicletas. Isn’t it a cool word? Bicicletas. It’s the hardest word I know. It is the hardest word that I can both read and write. Without making mistakes. 5
What I usually do is make lots of mistakes. When I read and write. The letters and the words kind of jump around when I try to read or write. I hate it when I don’t know, when I don’t understand. I hate to feel thick in the head all the time. Slow, slower, slowest. My kid sister is seven. Even she reads and writes better than I do. I have two more sisters. They are ten and thirteen years old. Once I gave my oldest sister fifty Swedish Crowns to write my essay in Swedish. But my teacher knew that I had cheated. She asked me to stay after class. Then she asked if somebody had helped me. 6
I told her the truth. I’m not very good at lying. I have never been so ashamed in all my life. I skipped school the rest of that day. I walked around downtown and even cried some. I felt like the most worthless person on earth. I wonder if Zlatan ever was as ashamed as I was. I wonder if Zlatan had a hard time at school. I wonder if Zlatan ever cried the way I did that day. Maybe I should introduce myself. My name is Johan Lindblom. I am fifteen years old, but I turn sixteen in the fall. It’s spring now. Mid-April. This is the last term in ninth grade. I live with my three sisters and my parents in a red one-family home. 7
We have a big garden. Mom grows a lot of fruits, vegetables, and flowers there. Mom works in a flower shop. Dad is a car salesman. Mom goes running sometimes. She tries to lose weight. But she never loses weight. So then she quits jogging and starts eating chocolate. That’s for comfort. Real smart. Dad sometimes goes bowling with a couple of guys from work. It makes him feel like an athlete. None of my sisters care about sports. They are into music instead. They play a lot of different instruments. And they take singing lessons. Sometimes it’s just a real hassle at home. There’s somebody playing the guitar. Somebody plays the piano. Somebody else plays the flute. 8
I just want to play soccer all day. Nobody in my family understands me. I feel so left out. Just wrong. We live in a small town. It has a very good soccer team. They play in the AllSwedish league – Allsvenskan. They became Swedish champions three years ago. I play forward in the ”Under-16 Boys” team of the club. I score more than anyone else. I am faster than anyone else. I jump the highest when we practice heading. I shoot the hardest shots. I swear. It’s the truth. I hate it when people brag. I’d never brag. Ask my coach. He says I have lots of talent. He says that I have to get better, though, to qualify for the senior team. If I want to be a pro like Zlatan. 9
That’s why I have applied to a high school with a special soccer program. I just have to get accepted! My parents don’t get it. They think I should go to a regular high school. Take a technical program. So I can get a job straight out of school. A regular job. Like electrician. Or welder. Or an auto mechanic. I don’t want a job like that. I’m going to be like Zlatan, you know. They don’t understand how important it is to me.They don’t get that this is a life-or-death thing. Right now I’m at the desk in my room trying to study for the history test next week. It is going like it always does. The words kind of flow together. They turn into one messy pile in my head. 10
My head hurts. One of my sisters is playing the piano. Another one is singing. I wear earplugs, but it doesn’t help. I’m so mad I’d like to punch them. Hit them so they shut up. Hit them so the words stop flowing together. Hit them so I’m not thick in the head any more. Hit them until I read and write better than my kid sister. Hit. Hit. Hit. I close the book with a bang and put it down. I know I should keep studying. Know that I have to. To get into the soccer-program high school I have to have higher grades. In several subjects. History. Religion. Swedish. Especially Swedish. Shit, I hate Swedish! 11
So I run. I’m sweating. My heart is pumping. Slowly, I’m getting calmer. I’m not so mad any more. My cell phone is ringing. It’s my pal Anton. He used to play soccer – on the team one level above mine. He was a midfielder and really good. We hung out together a lot. Had a lot of fun. Went to the movies, watched soccer games. On TV and at the stadium. Anton also dreamed about being like Zlatan. Then he quit soccer, all of a sudden. He quit high school, too. And moved out of his parents’ house. He was just seventeen. And had no job. Anton is eighteen now. He lives in a big flat in the middle of town. 12
He has a flashy car. He always wears expensive clothes and shoes. And he has a watch that cost more than 100 000 Swedish Crowns. That’s what he says. He has a gold chain around his neck. And a gold signet ring on his finger. So now it’s Anton calling. – Hi there, he says. How‘s it going? – Okay, I say. – You sound out of breath, he says. – I’m out running. – Why? – What do you mean, why? I’ve got to be in good shape! Get it? I say. – All right, sorry. Why are you getting so mad? – Because ... you know, school. It’s such a hassle. – I just want to ask if you want to come to my party Saturday, Anton says. 13
– I don’t know ... I do want to go. At the same time I don’t want to go to Anton’s party. His parties are fun most of the time. Good music. Cute girls. Alcohol. Our coach has forbidden us to come to practice with a hangover. But I can drink a little without it showing the next day. And I don’t have to stay late. At the party I can forget about everything. Forget all the hassle at school. Not have to think about all those hard letters. – Okay, but I can’t stay very late, I say at last. – Cool, I get it. Come around nine. See you later, Zlatan.
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