Head of the River (23 page)

Dad stands at the door, his eyes hollow and red. He looks at me like I'm a stranger.

‘I'm sorry, Dad. Please don't take it out on Mum. I'm the one you should be shouting at. Punish me. Whatever you say, I'll do. Anything.'

‘You study, work, sleep. No phone. No TV. No go out. I don't want talk to you. You shame our family today.'

As soon as Dad leaves for coaching and Mum for work, I sneak out. I want to do the right thing and abide by his punishment, but there's something I have to do before lockdown begins. I'm on the number 8 tram, scuttling away from the graffiti and housing commission flats into a world of high fences and hedges. After pacing up and down Adam's street a few times, I pluck up the courage to press the intercom at the ornate iron gates. I jab the button more times than I should, desperate. I need to find out how Adam didn't get caught and why he won't answer any of my texts or calls. How did I end up in this mess all by myself, when I had an accomplice?

‘Hello?'

‘Adam?'

‘No, it's Mitch. Come in, Cristian.'

The gates open automatically and I walk down the driveway, the eye of a security camera following me.

Mitch is drinking a tumbler of something icy and golden as he ushers me into the marble foyer, with cowskin rugs and a black grand piano in one corner. A chandelier hangs above us, sharp crystal pendants aimed at my head.

‘Adam isn't home,' says Mitch. ‘He's at the river, of course.'

I'd forgotten this afternoon was a group ergo. I feel almost guilty for missing it.

Mitch makes no move to invite me in. In fact he seems to be blocking me from going past the foyer.

‘You got caught, didn't you?'

‘Yeah. You know everything, don't you?' I say, bold with a new anger. ‘I never asked to take the fall for this.'

‘I don't like your tone,' says Mitch.

‘Adam told me you got him on the gear.'

Mitch puts his drink down on a nearby stand, knocking it heavily onto the glass.

‘If I started it, you finished it, son. Take the blame. Be a man. Have some backbone.'

‘And you? Do you have any backbone?'

‘I'm in real estate; a lack of moral standing is good for my business interests.'

He looks me over and his smile fades.

‘People are talking about you, Cristian. They'll be talking even louder when you mysteriously resign the firsts with, what was it Adam said, a back injury? I'd try to play the part, by the way. You're supposed to be bedridden. My son, in the eyes of VADA, is clean. I don't want you two mixing together anymore.'

‘How did Adam get away with it?' I ask.

‘There are ways of masking any kind of drug, if you know the right people and you have the right colour of coin.'

I back away. Trying to talk to Mitch is a waste of time.

‘You might have gotten Adam through the net, but if he feels anything like I did before I was found out, he's not in a good place. Mentally or physically. I'm glad I got caught. At least I don't have to lie anymore.'

‘Some of us have less trouble lying than others,' says Mitch, closing the door in my face.

I'm in a park when my phone rings.

‘Hi Mum.'

‘Where are you?' she asks.

I look around the little park, with its kids' play set and yummy nannies sharing coffees and gossip.

‘Some park in Toorak.'

‘Come home. I've got dinner on. We'll work this out, I promise you.'

March

One week to Head of the River

Leni

Cris and I have a coffee after my rowing training, at a café in Southgate. His face has already filled out. He looks healthier. We sit on the outside balcony, overlooking the late crews starting their sessions.

‘Are you okay?' I ask.

The house is too quiet. Dad barely speaks to Cris and Mum's furious with Dad for not resolving things. The whole house hums with resentment.

‘Are you going back to school, after your suspension?'

‘Yeah. Why not? Got my last rugby season to play.'

‘And after that?'

‘Travel maybe? Go back to Romania. Visit
Bunica and Bunela
. Backpack in Europe. I'm saving. I think I can make enough to buy a round-the-world ticket. Maybe I'll pick up some work over there. Who knows?'

Maybe it's because he's out of uniform, but Cristian seems years older.

‘You can meet me overseas, if you like? We could travel together.'

‘That would be cool. It was too much pressure for you, wasn't it?'

Cristian nods. He seems loose and relaxed in a pair of shorts and thongs. The stress has gone from his face and body.

‘I was never cut out for rowing. Not the way you are. I didn't have the hunger. In the end I don't care who wins and who loses.'

He gestures at the chocolate cake between us.

‘And I like the sweet stuff too much.'

‘Don't ever mess with your body like that again.'

‘I won't. Promise.'

‘Think you and Dad can patch things up? Bit tense around the homestead.'

‘Maybe.'

We share the cake, silently, until there's one more bite left. Just like when we were kids, we cut it in half and share it. Cristian looks at his phone.

‘I gotta go. I've got a shift tonight. See you at home?'

‘Yeah. Maybe I'll run back to Fitzroy. Fit in a bit more training.'

‘You're nearly there. You deserve to win the Head.'

Friday, 1 April

Day before Head of the River

Our first official Head of the River business is to appear at a send-off at our boatshed on the Friday night. We get into minibuses to drive to the Yarra to stage a formal ‘row past' for old boys and girls. I sit down next to Penny, who is white with fear. It's her first Head of the River as a senior rower.

I put my arm around her. Neither of us will sleep well tonight. There's no escaping the raging nerves. ‘Don't worry, Pen, we've done the work. It's up to us now.'

We drive down the long road towards the school gates and hear a roaring, drumming sound in the distance. As we get closer, it gets louder.

Adam rolls down the window and the sound is deafening.

‘No way,' he says. ‘Guys. You've got to see this.'

Outside the school band's drum section is thumping and the entire senior school has lined the road as we slowly drive past. Kids are screaming and jumping. This is our goodbye and good luck from the school. It happens every year. We just never know where it's going to happen. Sometimes the basketball courts, sometimes at assembly. This year, they've taken over the driveway.

‘Win! Win! Win! Win!' shout the students, fists in the air.

I hang my arm out the window at some Year Sevens who high-five me, feeling like a rock star.

Penny grins at me and we grab hands, excited.

‘This is it,' Penny says. ‘I can't believe it's tomorrow.'

At the river we dress in our zooties and head out for a demo row. No hard strokes, just a show-off for invited guests.

‘This is weird,' says Rachel behind me. ‘I feel like we're on stage.'

‘We are,' I say.

Our rowing is better than ever. Strong, balanced and together. Everyone's been talking about our chances at the regatta. We are equal favourites with St Ann's. Anything could happen. The boys' first eight do their row past after us. With Cristian out of the boat, they're struggling to connect and catch up to the other lead crews. They're fit but look a little scratchy. Is it too late for them?

On the staging we get out of the boats and meet a few of the old Harley oarsmen and women. Members of the winning crews from
1953, 1966, 1971, 1984, 1995, 2003 and last year wear medals, sip on free drinks and reminisce about the big race.

It may have been a while since they saw a podium finish, but they all have a winning quality.

‘Leni Popescu,' says a very short, round man wearing a tarnished medal around his flabby neck. ‘I rowed with your old man. When I say rowed, I mean I steered him straight. He was quite an athlete. As are you, young lady. It comes as no surprise to see you stroking such a fine crew.'

‘What was it like, winning the Head of the River?' I ask, eyeing off his medal. We are so close now, I can taste victory.

‘It was the happiest moment of my entire school career. Even when they threw me in the wretched Barwon River. Good luck out there, Elena. Do your school proud.'

He shakes my hand and I smile. ‘Thank you. I will.'

Afterwards we have a boat-club barbecue and everyone hangs out on the balcony.

Amelia and her Year Nine mates come up to me with a wrapped present.

‘Leni, the Year Nines wanted to give you this,' she says. ‘To say thanks for being our captain this season.'

I take the present and feel a surge of emotion. This is all really coming to an end. In a few days I won't be their captain anymore.

I unwrap the gift. It's a photo of the first eight, in a silver frame. It obviously has some parental involvement. They also give me a massage voucher for a spa in the city and a bar of my favourite chocolate.

‘Aw, thanks, girls,' I say, giving Amelia a hug. She's sweet and funny. I'll be keeping an eye out for her in the future. Maybe one day I'll even get to coach her.

‘Win it for us?' says Amelia. ‘For Harley?'

‘I'm going to try,' I say.

After a restless night's sleep in Geelong, Rachel, Penny and I are on a secret mission. Before breakfast, we sneak out to the McIntyre Bridge on the racecourse. We have a message for our crews.

‘Did you get any sleep?' I ask Rachel.

‘Not a wink,' she says, looking as tired as I feel.

We've taken over a motel near the course. An eighties throwback with peach-coloured bathrooms and a TV bolted to the wall. When the lights went out, I lay in the dark, coursing with adrenalin and nerves. I was desperate for the morning to come so we could get our races over and done with. I didn't need a wake-up call. I was already up, dressed and sitting in the toilet with the light on, reading, when Rachel knocked lightly on the door.

We walk onto the footbridge together. The other schools have been here too and space for our banner is limited.

We check out the other banners.

Row like there's no tomorROW, Ren!

The body achieves what the mind believes. Row hard!

It's in Y-OAR hands St Ann's!

This is it Stotts. Make it count!

I can't believe we are really here. No more training rows. No more preparation.

‘Are you ready?' Penny asks.

‘Let's do it,' I say.

Together we unfurl our white banner over the edge and tie it in place with ropes. It's a serious moment. Our moment.

‘Let's go down and see how it looks from the bank,' says Rachel.

We stand on the grassy bank, looking up as the sign flaps gently from the bridge. It's simple, but it's the first thing every crew will see as they come down the home stretch in three hours' time.

IT DOESN'T HURT WHEN YOU WIN. GO HARLEY!

As we walk back to the motel, Rachel holds my hand and Penny's too.

‘This is it,' she says. ‘Game day.'

‘No turning back now,' I say, nervous goose bumps rising on my arms.

Today I will remember every ergo, every freezing cold morning, every weight lifted, every blister, every seat race, every lost race, every painful stroke, every time I said no to a drink, a movie, a party. I'll remember it all and row my heart out. Not just for me, but for my crew and my coach.

‘Wait. I want to tell you guys something,' says Penny, looking serious.

‘What?' says Rachel. We both stop and stare at her.

‘We are Harley, couldn't be prouder!' shouts Penny into the wind.

‘If you can't hear us, I'll shout a little louder!' we join in.

We run along the bank, singing our hearts out. Letting go of some of the awful tension.

Back at the motel, Rachel heads towards the dining room for breakfast and I notice Sam hanging around in the courtyard. We've been forced to work together and get everything ready for this weekend, but I've been careful to keep my distance. With Sam Cam, if you get too close, he can pull you into his tractor beam.

‘Can we talk?' he asks coming into the empty room.

‘Of course. Everything okay?'

‘I just wanted to tell you how amazing you've been, as a captain. We all appreciate it. I appreciate it.'

There's wistfulness to the way he says it and a lingering silence.

‘I broke up with Bee,' he says. ‘Like, for real. It's totally finished.'

‘And that's supposed to make everything between us okay?'

‘I still think about that night. About us,' says Sam. ‘Do you?'

Before I can answer Sam leans in and kisses me, gently, on the mouth. This time, I'm ready for it. I don't let his Sam-ness blur my clean lines. My focus for what lies ahead. I steel myself and gently push him away.

‘You don't want to try again?' Sam, asks. ‘Now that things are less … complicated?'

I feel a rush of bittersweet pain at what could have been. That lost fragile thing that neither of us could label or take ownership of. It would be so easy to go back to obsessing about Sam. Pining and waiting.

I take a step back from him. What we had is over. I'm different now. I've moved on.

‘No, I don't want to try again, Sam,' I say firmly.

‘What do you want, Leni?'

‘An apology would be nice.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Good,' I say, smiling.

As I walk away, I put my headphones on and play ‘Roar' by Katy Perry – the kick-ass song that helped me recover from Hurricane Sam.

Saturday, 2 April

Head of the River

Leni

My stomach gurgles as it tries to digest the toast and eggs I forced down at breakfast. Laura gathers us in a school minivan before our heat, air con up. It's going to be a scorcher. We've drawn tough competition in the heat – we'll go head-to-head with our arch rivals St Ann's. Our confidence has dimmed a little, knowing we have to race them first up. We'll have to win to go through to the final. Everyone else will fight out a repechage. We don't want to race the rep. Laura has already gone through the technical aspects of the race, now all that's left to do is inspire us. She leans forward and everyone in the van falls silent.

‘In no other sport does the word
team
mean so much than in rowing,' she says. ‘You guys know that already. If one of you is having a bad day, then the whole boat will feel it too. If someone is rowing a perfect race on their own, who cares? This morning, don't go out there as nine separate schoolgirls. Go out as one amazing crew. It'll hurt. But I've made sure you're ready for that. Embrace the pain. Stand up to it. Don't let it win. If it wasn't hard, everyone would row. It's the hard that makes it worth doing.'

She glances at me. ‘Leni will take you there, guys. But you have to back her up. Be there for her every stroke. You can win this heat. You
will
win this heat. Okay, huddle up.'

Everyone gathers in a circle in the middle of the van and puts their clammy, nervous hands in on top of each other.

As usual I feel tired, washed out and nauseous. My head throbs.

‘Cheer! Cheer! Win the race! Pull your oars to win first place! Let's go Harley, let's go! Show our school how good we row!' Everyone shouts as we clap our hands.

For extra motivation Laura fires up the stereo with our crew song, The Script's ‘Hall of Fame'.

As we listen, every one of us feels like we could be a hero and get the gold.

We pile out of the van and Rachel leans into me.

‘Let's be champions.'

On my way down to the boats, I bump into my parents. Mum has the weekend off to watch the racing, and they're both decked out in school colours. Mum hugs me and Dad gives me a firm handshake, which I push aside and hug him.

‘What happened to no PDAs ever?'

‘I've grown up.'

‘You sure have,' says Dad.

‘Any last-minute words of wisdom?' I ask them.

‘This is your race. You have your coach's instructions. Go out there and do your best. Whatever happens, Leni, we are so proud of you,' says Mum.

The announcer calls marshalling for the girls' first eights and a jolt of nerves runs through me.

‘I gotta go!'

‘Good luck!' calls Dad.

I run my hand over the bow of the boat as we do our last-minute checks. Today, as Harley's best shot at Head of the River glory, we've been allocated the newest boat in the fleet, the
Vasile Popescu.
It makes today even more special rowing in a boat named after my father. I go to my seat and triple check everything. Gate tight? Check. Slide oiled? Check. Foot chocks secure? Check. Oar handle smooth? Check. I'm grateful Dad's sturdy hands have been here first. Mine are shaking.

I'm visualising the race as I walk down to the water's edge, so focused I nearly miss what the younger crews have done. They've set up a guard of honour with their oars and are throwing confetti at us. I walk through the archway of blades first, trying to act serious and focused, holding my side of the boat firmly on my shoulder, standing up tall. I end up cracking a massive smile.

‘Go Leni!' Amelia shouts as she tosses confetti.

‘Thanks, Meils,' I say. ‘I ate your chocolate, so I've got extra energy.'

A few months ago I wouldn't have known her name, or cared. Thanks to Rachel, I now know every Harley crew member.

At the end of the group Cristian stands in his plain clothes, next to Audrey and Kieren. I wave to them and Audrey holds up a homemade sign that says GOOD LUCK LENI! It's the first time she's ever been to a regatta.

She runs up to me.

‘Leni, take this,' she says, slipping something over my head.

I look down. It's a necklace with a silver oar and four-leaf clover charms threaded on.

‘It's for good luck, but you won't need it,' she says. ‘Just
be the rowing legend we all know and love,' she says. ‘I'm
so proud.'

Cristian doesn't say anything to me as I pass by. He doesn't need to, I know what he's thinking. He knows how I'm feeling. He lifts up a single index finger. Meaning: Number One. It's a big deal for Cristian to come down when he's not in a crew. I'm racing for both of us today.

We lift the boat up over our heads and swing it down to our knees, placing it gently on the water's surface. Our blades screwed in tightly, we push of and sit forward to row to the start line, the cheers of our supporters making it hard to hear.

‘Are you ready Harley?' shouts Aiko. ‘Let's go kick some butt.'

We roll out our best practice starts behind the start line. So do St Ann's. We eye each other off, comparing technique. They look good. But so do we.

‘Half! Half! Three-quarter-full!' Aiko says calmly into her headset as we smash out a warm-up start and check the run off the boat. ‘Eyes in the boat, girls. If there's anything worth looking at, I'll tell you about it.'

We drift around waiting for our race. My throat hurts and I feel washed out. I splash water on my face and slap my cheeks lightly. Rachel puts her hand on my shoulder. I turn my head and look down the line of my crew. Each one has a hand on the shoulder of the girl in front. I reach forward to Aiko and take her palm.

‘This is your race, Harley,' Aiko says. ‘Steady your nerves and believe in yourselves.'

We are so quiet I can hear the splash of water against the bow and Rachel's breath behind me. I release Aiko's hand and we look at each other.

‘Are you ready, Leni?' she says.

‘More ready than I have ever been in my life.'

‘Crews! Attention! Row!' says the starter, breaking the unbearable, still silence. I spring out of the blocks, winding up too quickly and missing a stroke. Behind me, Rachel reminds me to relax.

‘Find your rhythm, Leni. Lengthen out.'

I bring down the intensity and focus on feeling my crew behind me. Our boat edges into the lead. Pushing our legs down together, each of us works to find the thread that binds us down the boat. St Ann's settles in beside us at the 500-metre mark, pushing us along. Their stroke girl is beside me. I can hear her ragged breath. They want it badly, too. Their cox is screaming at them to push away from us.

‘Okay Harley, you know what to do. Give me ten with the legs!' says Aiko. I remember every squat I did in the last six months and slam down my thighs. St Ann's lifts as well. Laura yells from the bank, but I have no idea what she's saying. Dad's voice is there somewhere too, but I don't dare to look out of the boat to find his funny old bike in the scrum.

My legs hurt, arms hurt, lungs hurt. We hit the 1000-metre mark. Normally I'd feel okay at this point, but I've dug deep and gone out hard. I blow air out of my mouth and get ready for another effort. We're sticking closely to our race plan. So far it's working.

‘Come on Harley, this is it!' shouts Aiko as we go past the McIntyre Bridge, our sign hanging down in front of me.

‘It doesn't hurt when you win!' pants Rachel at my back. I go for another twenty hard strokes and she's with me. St Ann's drops away by a quarter of a boat length. Out of the corner of my eye I can see they're getting sloppy and tired. I keep the rating high and we're at 250 metres to go. We row past the first of the caravan of school tents that line each side of the river. Now we can hear the crowd shouting, see the balloons and flags flying.

‘Let's go now!' shouts Laura from the bank. ‘We want this Harley. Nice and strong, Leni. Wind it up Harley. Thirty strokes left. I can see the finish line!'

We put everything into it but St Ann's crawls back into the race, sharpening up their act and managing a final push, working together beautifully. We're matching each
other, stroke for stroke. It's so close our coxens are level. The horn goes off twice as we cross the line together.
It's impossible to tell who won. There's a confused silence as we drift away from the finish line and wait for someone to tell us who gets the golden ticket to the final.

‘Wow, that was a close heat,' says the announcer. ‘In a photo finish, St Ann's got it by a bow ball from Harley Grammar. Look out for these crews later in the program, folks. It's going to be a red-hot race for the Senior Division One Schoolgirl Eights. A bit of trivia, Harley Grammar is stroked by Leni Popescu, daughter of Olympic rowers Jodie and Vasile, so she'll be looking for more gold for the family trophy cabinet today.'

I put my head between my knees, dizzy from giving it everything. Wishing that for once, the announcer wouldn't mention who my parents are.

‘How did we lose that race?' I ask.

Aiko looks like she's about to cry. She's sitting in the most frustrating seat in the boat, not being able to help us actually row the boat faster. She has no words of wisdom. Nobody has much to say.

‘Looks like we'll be rowing the repechage,' says Rachel, behind me. ‘These lucky undies better start doing their job, Leni.'

Cristian

I wasn't going to go to the Head of the River. I'd planned on going to a movie by myself and pretending it was just another Saturday. But then I thought of all the times Leni had stood on a chilly rugby field, cheering as I scrambled in the mud. How she'd been excited, not jealous, when I won The Head last year. I owed it to her to turn up.

I feel left out. Everyone huddles in their crew meetings, all polished and shiny in their uniforms. Their parents ridiculously proud. I have nowhere to be. No one to talk to. Everyone is busy and has a job to do. Without a crew and stupid red socks and a seat in the firsts, I'm no big deal. Another face in the tens of ­thousands of spectators.

I walk up and down the banks, lost in the crowd. Looking over the program for the millionth time. Eating a Mr Whippy soft serve for something to do. My appetite has returned and my weight is climbing steadily upwards. I'll never be as skinny or hungry as I've been these last months. It's messed with my head, too. That's why I'm seeing a counsellor who specialises in eating disorders. She's helping me change the bad ways I think about myself and food. It might take some time.

My crew will race in twenty-six minutes. A tough semi-final. If they finish in the top two crews, they'll go through to the A final. The bottom two and they'll be relegated to the B final. Nobody wants to race the banana final. Westie rides down to the start line. My crew rows past, pumped up and ready to have a crack. If Adam sees me, he doesn't show it.

I see Leni wandering back from the food trucks and she smiles and runs up to me.

‘Cris! You came!'

‘Of course I bloody did. What sort of a brother would I be if I didn't watch my twin sister win the Head of the River?'

‘You saw our heat?' Leni asks, looking worried. ‘We have to row the repechage.'

‘We rowed the rep last year,' I remind her.

‘Did you?'

‘Yeah, but you don't remember, do you? You just remember that we won. Don't worry, Leni, this rep is yours. Settle into your work and don't waste energy. You'll win it by a mile.'

Leni nods. ‘Thanks, Cris.'

‘Go on, get out of the sun and stretch. Get your crew together. Don't get sucked into the crowd. Stick together. Keep your heads on. You only have two more races to row. Enjoy it.'

Mum and I take a pair of folding chairs to a grassy hill to watch Leni's next race. She usually likes to take a bike and ride along, but today she says her legs are shaking too much to pedal. We're all nervous for Leni.

‘Here comes Leni,' she says, peering through her old binoculars. ‘They're in front.'

We stand up and peer at the spidery dots in the distance, which gradually focus into five crews.

We cheer as Leni and her crew smash through the repechage, winning by four lengths.

A peloton of bikes screams past. Laura out in front looking relieved.

‘A final!' I say and we hug each other. This is what Leni has wanted for so long.

‘She could go all the way,' Mum muses. ‘She reminds me so much of Dad at the same age. He was all grit and no finesse. So single-minded. She's the same.'

Mum turns to me.

‘You could go all the way too, Cris. I heard on the grapevine that the US scouts are interested in you for their college program?'

Going to the US is appealing, but not on a sport scholarship.

‘They called. I told the scout I'd talk to you about it. I'm not sure.' I take out my phone and look at the scout's number. It's a big college. Somewhere lots of people would want to study. I suppose it makes sense. My erg score put me into the top handful of guys in the world. They don't know I've been cheating.

‘They have some concerns about my … back. But they said I'd be a good fit for their program.'

‘Cristian, this might be your second chance. They don't come around that often.'

I tap the number on the screen. Does it have a hidden message for me?
Cristian, take this scholarship. You will end up meeting hot cheerleaders and spend all your time at keg parties.

I sigh and delete the contact before I can make another huge mistake. If he calls again I'll say I'm not interested.

‘I don't want to row anymore. Besides, I don't feel like I earned this. I cheated. Why don't they take Leni? She deserves an opportunity like this.'