‘Mum!’ yelled Sprigs. ‘One of my lucky boot laces just snapped.’
‘Snap back at it,’ said his mother.
‘That’s not funny!’ said Sprigs.
‘I thought it was,’ his mother said. ‘Go and find another lace then,’ she suggested.
‘I’ve looked,’ said Sprigs frantically. ‘There aren’t any spares.’
‘Take one of the laces out of your school shoes,’ his mum said.
‘They’re not the right sort. They’re much too short!’
Sprigs’s mum sighed and glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll get the car. If we leave straight away we should have time to stop off at the mall to buy a new pair.’
Sprigs looked unsure. ‘What if new ones bring me bad luck?’ he said.
‘Don’t be so superstitious,’ said his mother.
‘I can’t help it,’ said Sprigs. ‘These laces have taken us right to the Grand Final of the Junior Home World Cup. It could be disastrous for us if they miss the game.’
Sprigs’s mum raised her eyebrows. ‘Get real,’ she said.
Sprigs took no notice. Instead, he poked the broken lace into the turned-over top of one of his rugby socks. ‘There,’ he told it. ‘Now you’ll still be able to help us win the game.’
‘My son who talks to bootlaces,’ sighed Sprigs’ mum.