Head of the River (21 page)

I stand up and let the water gush off my body. There's virtually no fat left on it. I'm skin, muscle and bone. ‘Time to zoot up for the race,' I say.

A group of Year Ten girls wolf-whistle at the sight of my transformed body, but even that doesn't make me happy. It's only Penny's opinion that matters, and it seems like a hot body isn't the way to her heart after all.

We're heading back from our heat when the ambush happens. Two guys in white polo shirts, wearing plastic lanyards around their necks are talking to Westie. At first I think they're US scouts, but they're too official for that. They're flashing Westie their badge IDs. He seems confused. We lower our boat onto stretchers and hang around to see what Westie thought of our race. We didn't do too badly. Second to Stotts and a ticket to the final. We got there mostly on grunt and not much finesse. He should be pleased.

‘Doping control? VADA?' says Westie. ‘I've got kids here. Some of these boys are not even eighteen. Who gave you the authority to test here?'

The guys take out official-looking papers and start waving them around. It's nearly forty degrees but I feel a chill run right through my body. Anti-doping? Why are they here? And what do they want with our crew?

‘These students compete at national level, in a sport that's governed by anti-doping laws. We have every right to test them unannounced. Just as we do all high-level athletes,' says one of the guys.

I glance at Adam and we share a look of mutual panic and terror. Our blood is tainted and these two polite guys have the equipment to prove us both liars and cheats. This can't be happening. I was told there was no testing for drugs at school sport.

‘Why would my kids bother doping?' says Westie. ‘You're wasting your time and ours. Why aren't you at a cycling race? Rowers don't dope.'

‘Mr West, with all due respect. No sport is clean,' says the official. He's completely calm and I get the feeling testing will go ahead today whether Westie likes it or not.

I wonder if it would be possible to run. To go to the toilet and make a break for it out a window. It couldn't be more than a kilometre to the nearest bus stop. There's money in my bag.

A crowd of parents, coaches and onlookers has formed quickly. Discussions buzz around me. I try to hold it together, but I'm now sweating like a racehorse, my pulse flying. It's too late to get a clean sample of wee and I don't have the first clue how to pull off a complicated switch during a test.

‘What's going on here?' Mitch elbows his way next to Westie. ‘Where are you blokes from and what right do you have to test our kids without our say so. They're minors.'

‘Sir, we're from VADA – the Victorian Anti-doping Authority. You have the right to be present at their testing as a representative.'

‘You're damn right I do. No one gets a drop of piss or blood out of my son without my permission.'

Dad arrives on his bike and stands there with his helmet on, trying to catch up. It's difficult for him when people speak quickly.

Adam comes up behind me and hisses in my ear. ‘Fuck, Poppa,' he says, sounding close to tears. ‘Drug testing? We're screwed.'

‘Shut up,' I whisper. ‘Don't freak out.'

But we have every reason to freak out. Big time. This could spell the end of our time at Harley as well as a swift exit from the firsts.

Julian's mum gets in on the debate.

‘My son takes steroids, for his asthma, are you going to ban him from rowing if that shows up?'

‘We routinely test minors for performance-enhancing drugs,' says the official. ‘They will each have a chance to notify us of any other substances they are currently taking, which we can exclude. If everyone calms down we will explain the procedure and get the testing underway so you can go back to the competition.'

‘And if we refuse?' says Mitch. ‘I should get my lawyer on the phone. This is outrageous.'

Mitch is beetroot red and about to blow a fuse.

‘Let them do job,' Dad says. ‘Our boys have nothing to hide. Sooner done, sooner back on water.'

Dad's been drug tested dozens of times, it's no big deal to him. He has no idea his son could be unveiled as a drug cheat if he continues arguing for the tests to go ahead. If I did run, where would I go? I've got a few thousand bucks in my account and nowhere to live. I'd last a few weeks on the streets. Should I confess instead? Come clean before I test dirty?

‘These standard tests,' says Dad. ‘We do and then go race.'

Bloody Dad. I want to run over and gag his big mouth.

‘Look this kind of blatant breach of human rights might be all right where you come from. But here, it's unacceptable,' says Mitch.

For once, I'm willing Mitch to win this fight.

Dad looks furious. ‘Where come from? I live here twenty years,
mate.
Let them test. What does it tell boys if we stop this? If we don't follow rules? These rules stop people cheating. We need them.'

‘Vasile is right,' says Westie. ‘Not taking the test is as bad as taking the test.'

He sighs and runs his palm down his face, as if to wipe away the stress. The pit of my stomach drops away as I realise in shock that I'm about to get caught. My deceit will come to a messy end. Our plan has failed. My brain skips to the near future. My parents' humiliation. My shame and expulsion from Harley. Penny wouldn't want anything to do with me.

‘Boys! Gather round!' shouts Westie. ‘Oh, you're already around. Look, this is a pain in the backside, but these guys are here to do a random drug test for VADA. God knows why they want to test you lot, but let's get it done as quickly as possible. I'll pass it over to them to tell you the rules and regs.'

He gives the VADA officials a stern look. ‘Don't make my boys miss their final. Otherwise I'll start being a lot less cooperative.'

Dad's my official representative. He's on my right side and the VADA official is on my left as I report to the testing station with an impending sense of doom. I might as well be in a line-up at a police station. Dad and I sit in chairs with the other guys and their parents or coaches. I'm pretending to sip from my water bottle until my bladder is full enough to test. I'm actually completely busting. My bladder aches from holding it. I'm trying to distract myself from pissing my pants. Singing songs in my head, saying the alphabet backwards. Basically packing death.

Adam sits a few seats down from me, his face pale and serious. He picks at a scab on his knee and whispers something to Mitch. I'm humming the chorus of the catchiest stupid pop song I can think of. Over and over. It won't work forever. I will have to piss eventually.

‘Do you think anyone's actually juicing?' Charley asks Nick behind me.

‘I dunno. Maybe. Why else would VADA be here? Why would they pick out our school?'

‘Boys, this is no time for gossip,' says Westie.

The gossip had already started. Since rowing camp I'd been under more scrutiny than Adam. He was thicker and stronger, but his appearance wasn't vastly different. Meanwhile I stuck out like a sore thumb. The more weight I dropped, the more my muscles popped. I'd heard a few guys from other schools comment on how quickly I'd stripped off the chub and how big my ergo score was. How I'd gone from pie-eater to pin-up in a few months.

My bladder can't take the pressure any longer. I put my hand up and the VADA official ushers me into a toilet. He watches, and so does Dad, as I piss like a racehorse into the cup, trying not to overfill it. I'm completely naked from the knees up and I feel totally exposed.

‘Don't worry,' Dad says as I dress and take my sample cup over to be put in a proper kit, filed and sent to a lab. ‘When you row internationals, you get used to weeing with other people watching.'

He laughs, but I feel sick with guilt. What will he say when this sample finds its way to a scientist in a lab coat? I'm a fraud, a liar and a terrible son. He'll never forgive me for this.

I'm numb as I sign the paperwork.

‘Have you ingested any unusual foods, drugs or alcohol today, Cristian?' the VADA official asks.

‘No,' I say, remembering how I'd casually swigged back two pills this morning with a bottle of water. ‘Not that I can think of.'

‘Good boy,' says Dad, patting my back. ‘Now go and warm up for your final. Put this all behind you.'

Leni

We're driving to an emergency meeting of the Harley Grammar Rowing Committee to discuss the drug bust at the Green Cup. The story moved quickly from the river, to online, talkback radio, even television. As rowing captains, only Sam and I are allowed to go to the meeting. Cris is at home, studying. Or at least that's what he says he's doing.

Sam is the last person I want to spend time with. But this is official duty.

I'm looking at the latest story on my phone while Mum drives.

‘VADA OFFICIALS DEFEND SCHOOLBOY BUST!' the headline screams. Usually Harley's rowers would be in the sports section doing a puff piece about our excellent chances at the Head of the River and whether our boys could back up two years in a row. This year it's a different story.

‘Would you be okay being tested for drugs?' Mum asks me.

‘Yeah, of course.'

‘Do you know anyone who takes performance-enhancing drugs?'

‘No.'

I can't imagine a single person on the rowing team using any kind of drug to get an edge.

‘We looked for steroids on the internet,' says Dad. ‘It took us ten seconds to find them for sale. Girls can take too you know.'

‘I would never, ever cheat.'

‘We know you and Cris wouldn't do something like this, but school sport can sometimes seem like life and death,' says Mum. ‘Don't forget the world will keep turning and we will still love you, even if you come last at the Head of the River. We said the same to Cris earlier.'

Sam meets me at the lecture theatre, which is packed with parents, teachers and coaches. I'm exhausted and want to be in bed with my laptop, catching up on homework. I didn't bounce back well after the race on the weekend. After racing in the heat I still feel drained. When the season ends I will slow down and get my system back to normal. Recover.

‘Hey,' says Sam, still looking guilty.

‘Hi,' I say.

Sam and I have been successfully avoiding each other for weeks. Ducking out of each other's way during training, not making eye contact. Not speaking unless we absolutely have to. He'd made his position clear. He didn't want me. Bee was his choice. Now that I'd had a chance to grow some backbone, I didn't want him either. I was keeping myself busy, focusing on the Head of the River and trying to move on and forget him. That wasn't possible tonight. We were here to represent the whole squad as captains. To work together.

‘Are we okay to do this?' Sam says as we go in the side door and head for the stage where we will sit with the coaches and our principal, Mr Kentwell. Sam's gone to an effort to iron his school uniform and brush out his curls. We are both wearing our official captains' blazers. He looks gorgeous but I have to steel myself against it.

‘Let's get it over and done with,' I say. ‘What's the latest?'

‘Mitch Langley has hired a fancy lawyer. He wants to block the results on the grounds that kids shouldn't be forced to provide urine samples without their parents' permission. Not all the parents were at the regatta. Including mine. Mr Langley reckons it's violating our rights.'

‘What do you think?'

‘I think cheaters should get caught,' Sam says.

‘Do you?' I say sarcastically, raising my eyebrow. I can't help having a dig at his double standards.

He goes red and stares at his feet. I silently high-five myself.

Drugs have never been on the agenda at a HGRC meeting. It's usually fundraising drives, new equipment, coaching appointments and crew disputes. There's an excited buzz in the air, which dies down as Mr Kentwell approaches the lectern. Everyone sits up tall, ears pricked.

‘Judging by attendance tonight, there is justifiably some concern over Saturday's visit by VADA to the Green Cup regatta at Parkview,' he says. ‘From my perspective, I was alarmed to hear that the students in our boys' first eight were required to urinate in front of strangers and that due to the surprise nature of this testing, some students did not have parents present. The question facing us is do we allow this testing to take place at our school regattas? I personally don't believe there is a performance-enhancing drug problem at school sporting levels, but I'm prepared to be disappointed. Before we decide what action to take, I'll open up a group discussion. Questions may be directed at any party on the stage, but please raise your hand.'

Of course, my parents' hands go up immediately.

‘Yes, Mrs Popescu,' says Mr Kentwell. ‘Your views are very welcome here tonight.'

‘We'd all like to see school sport as innocent,' says Mum. ‘And we should grieve that loss, but as an Olympic-level athlete, how can we refuse to cooperate with an authority which stands to make our sport clean? By refusing random tests, are we not telling our kids they're exempt from anti-doping rules that all athletes live by? Are we giving them a safe place to cheat?'

Mitch stands up in the crowd, flanked by a man in a suit I assume is his fancy lawyer.

‘A safe place to cheat? How about just giving them a safe place? Shouldn't our regattas be free from this sort of violation?'

‘Drug testing isn't a violation, it's a standard process. And it's highly regulated,' says Mum.

‘I won't agree to this VADA mob traumatising our kids to tick an official box,' says Mitch. ‘Call me idealistic, but I believe in the purity of school sport. Doping is for footy players and crooked cyclists, not our kids. I think what we should be discussing here tonight is potential legal action and blocking the results that have already been obtained.'