Head of the River (24 page)

‘They say she's not ready.'

‘Why?'

I'm stunned anyone wouldn't want my smart, hardworking sister. The white to my dark side.

‘She needs refining. But she wants it with all her heart. She'll get there. What do you want with all your heart?' Mum asks.

‘Mum, don't be cheesy.'

‘I'm serious.'

I look out to the river. My former crew is finishing up their race. Damien Yang sits in my five seat. It could've been me out there. All I feel is relief that I'm on the bank instead.

‘They can't make up that ground,' says Mum as we watch Sam, Adam and the boys battle over the line in third place.
Third.
The A final has slipped away. There's no second chances for them. No more time. No more training. It's over. They'll row the B final. The best they can hope for is overall seventh. I look out to the guys' faces. They are utterly devastated. Adam bends over into the boat. Is he crying? Possibly. Westie and Mitch Langley cycle past in a cloud of anger.

‘Not this,' I say, gesturing to my crew.

‘Good enough,' says Mum, and she picks up my hand. Squeezes it.

‘Sometimes you have to figure out what you don't want, before you can figure out what you do.'

Leni

We win our repechage easily. Smashing the rest of the boats by four lengths. The A final is next. The big one. The only race that counts. We've drawn lane three. Once again St Ann's will be next to us.

We have our last crew meeting away from the crowds. We sit so close we're touching shoulders. We've all had our last trip to the loo, filled up our water bottles, stretched, done our warm-up run and said goodbye to our parents. It's just us now. Us and our boat. Laura has done a visualisation of the race with our eyes closed. The start, the middle, the finish. In her version, we win. In mine we do, too.

‘Okay girls, you rowed the best time of the heats in your repechage. I don't see any reason why you shouldn't win this final. I have complete faith in you. All I really have to say is good luck. Leni, anything you'd like to add?'

I look around at the girls I'm putting my trust in. That I can't win this race without. That have become my friends. Somewhere a few hundred metres from us, St Ann's is having their pep talk too.

‘We want to win this race,' I say. ‘But so does St Ann's. We all want the same thing. To cross the line first. To take home those medals. To be the best in the state. The question is, who wants it the most?'

I look at Rachel and she's more serious than I've ever seen her. Not even the trace of a smile on her face. Next to me Penny fiddles with the top of her water bottle and jiggles her foot up and down, nervously. On her legs and arms is our race plan, written in black texta on her skin:
10 hard, 30 settle. Long and strong. Push. Sit back. Quick catches. Quick hands.
She won't even look at it when the race starts.

‘Who's prepared to suffer the most to get it?' I continue, my voice confident. I don't want to let my crew know my heart has already broken out of the blocks and is racing hard under my ribcage.

‘I am,' says Penny.

‘Me too,' says Rachel.

‘I'll suffer the most,' says Millie.

‘I'll hurt more than St Ann's,' says Meg.

The rest of the crew joins in.

‘Good. Because winning means we are prepared to pull harder and row better than anyone else out there. Let's win this race. No second chances, right guys? There's just this moment.'

The girls clap and hug each other, and everyone draws in a big breath. There's nothing left to say.

‘Everyone, I want you to take five minutes alone,' says Laura. ‘Pick a spot somewhere quiet. I have something for each of you.' She hands out a letter to each of us.

‘When you finish reading, come back to the shed and we'll get our boat out for the last time.'

I take my letter and walk down the river to my favourite willow tree. It's bent over with age, limp branches dragging in the water. Nearby is a fine arts college with grafitti across its brick wall:
Motion & Emotion.
It seems to be a sign written for me today.

Under the willow tree's shade I open the sealed envelope and read the carefully written note.

Leni, I've seen you grow so much this season. You've earned your place in the stroke seat and as the leader of your crew and the entire Harley rowing squad as Captain of Boats. You've blossomed in confidence and rowing ability. I'm very lucky to have coached you this season and I fully expect you to join me in the senior ranks after you finish school. Maybe one day we will even row together. Be proud of yourself and your achievements today. Enjoy this race. Don't forget that after all the hours of training and all the blood, sweat, tears and drama – you're here today because you love the sport. Go out there and have fun. Whatever happens you are all my champions.

Love,

Laura x

I find myself crying, not because I'm sad, but because after this race, I won't see Laura and my crew every day. I'll miss them. I'll miss the magic we have together. I stay under my tree for a minute, looking out to the wide brown river, wondering what the future will hold. Win, lose or draw. I wipe away my tears, tuck the letter under the leg of my zootie and go to meet whatever this race throws at me.

We row up to the start carefully, but with confidence. Along the bank it seems like the entire school is there to cheer us on. Harley has hired buses to get a load of spectators here. People I don't even know, who couldn't care less about rowing, are shouting my name. Kids are dressed in their school uniforms (mandatory), ties wrapped around their heads, war paint on their cheeks. Someone plays a bugle like a call to arms. There are whistles and drums beating.

Parents fly the school flags overhead and the younger kids run beside the boats, screaming. Teachers ask for decorum. Police stand at the banks, arms crossed, in case anyone should decide to dive into the water and swim out to the boats gliding by.

‘WE ARE THE HARLEY TEAM, THE MIGHTY HARLEY GRAMMAR TEAM!' shouts a kid down the front as hundreds of students shout it back at him. ‘AND IF YOU CAN'T HEAR US WE'LL SAY IT IN LATIN.'

This is it. There's no room for mistakes. No dodgy strokes or missed catches.

‘I'm scared,' Rachel whispers at my back.

‘Me too,' I say. ‘Now shutup and row.'

Dad rides along with the pack, his own coaching medal swinging around his neck. His third crew just won their A final. He went bananas after the race, but now he's quiet. Now is not the time to scream or yell. Now is the time to put our heads down, concentrate and get it right. In the transit lane we brush past St Ann's during our hard strokes, our oars clashing on the bow side. Clack, clack, clack. They look over at us, pull their oars in and try to stare us down.

‘Calling the finalists for the Schoolgirls Senior Eight, Division One,' calls out the starter.

It's funny, I've been desperate for this moment to arrive, but now I'm actually here, it seems to be moving too fast.

‘I'm looking for Kilcare Grammar in Lane one, St Ann's in two, Harley Grammar in three, Roberts Ladies College in four and Jubilee High in five. Coxens, I'll have you move your crews into position please,' says the starter.

My mouth is dry and I'm terrified. Aiko gets the bow
four to touch it up to the start line and finally we are
in position.

‘Good luck,' the St Ann's stroke calls out to us.

‘You too,' I echo weakly.

I look along their boat and realise they are made of flesh and bone and ponytails, like us. We can beat them.

‘Sit forward Harley,' says Aiko, and I snap my eyes in front. ‘Be ready, Leni. Good luck, girls.'

We sit in position, perfectly still, perfectly balanced. There's a light wind across the course, the sun directly overhead in a cloudless sky. I grip my oar tightly and think only of the first ten strokes. There is nothing more we can polish or perfect. All we have is us nine girls and the next six minutes.

I take one last, deep breath and let it trickle slowly from between my lips.

‘Crews!'

We sit up and dip the tips of our blades into the water

‘Attention!'

I tense up and lightly press back on my toes, ready for the start.

‘Row!'

We pull back on the water and take our quick strokes. Half-half-three-quarter-full. It's all rush and splash and I try to grip the water as it gushes past. I listen hard for Aiko's directions over the yelling from the bank and the other coxes.

‘Sit up! Push away! Legs Harley!'

The first 250 metres are a blur as each boat tries to snatch the early lead. We fall a few metres behind and I fight the urge to hurry our strokes. Instead, I hold the pace steady and strong. We can row through in the second half. Let the others get tired and we'll come home like a train. We're still a quarter of a boat length behind the lead by the 500-metre mark, but we pull up on St Ann's and Jubilee falls away with Kilcare and RLC fighting for third. I feel good in second position. Like a jungle cat ready to pounce.

At the 1000, Aiko asks us for an effort and I feel the boat lift up and surge backwards. Everyone has shown up today. Nobody is slacking off and taking a free ride. We move further up on St Ann's, until we are a canvas short of them. It's another two-boat battle for the line and we row through the McIntyre Bridge to the snap of dozens of cameras hanging above us.

‘I have the seven seat, give me the stroke!' yells Aiko and we creep up another notch to level the boats.

This time, I vow to myself. We are not going to lose. I lift the rating again and the crew comes with me. I'm pushing them harder than I ever have. I'm at thirty-six strokes per minute. Pulling each stroke through the water violently. I keep digging deeper for gold, ignoring the burning in my chest and throat.

We go under the final James Harrison Bridge level with St Ann's. Two hundred and fifty metres left to race. I can hear the announcer excitedly calling the race and the screaming of kids on the bank as they run along beside us, waving our school colours. From the corner of my eye I can see Laura going mental as she pedals fiercely on her bike.

‘Thirty strokes to go! Give it everything, girls! This is it! No guts no glory! Come on!' shouts Aiko. She's red in the face and spit flies out of her mouth. She's leaning so far forward I worry I might hit her in the face with my handle. ‘What have you got left? Give me everything you have!'

I grind my teeth, make a grunting sound and focus on one painful stroke at a time. I remember back to the pain of every run, every erg.
Dig deeper
I tell myself.
This is it. You'll never be back here again.

The crowd is going crazy, but all I can hear is Rachel in my ear.

‘Come on, Leni! Go mate! Go! I'm here, let's do this!'

I go, with Rachel right behind – ten perfect, hard strokes. Harder than I've ever rowed in my life. St Ann's slips a few centimetres away from us.

‘We're moving through them!' screams Aiko. ‘We've got this race!'

There's a metre in it. If that. I can't tell if we've got them or they've got us. It's so close.

We cross the line with absolutely nothing left. I fall back in the boat, the taste of metal in my mouth, breathing so hard I can't speak. My head pounds with a blinding headache. I'm dizzy and disorientated but I know this time we won it.

‘Harley Grammer, stroked by Leni Popescu, takes out the Senior Eight, Division One in the narrowest of margins,' says the announcer. ‘What an exciting race and a wonderful way to finish up a competitive season.'

Rachel grabs my shoulders and shakes them

‘We won, Leni! Get up and take a bow!'

She punches the water, splashing me. I sit up and raise my fist above my head.

‘Yeah!' I shout.

I reach back and grab Rachel's hand, squeezing tight and laughing.

As we row our way back to the staging to collect our trophy and medals, I smile so wide I'm not sure it fits on my face and feel a happy so big I don't know where to put it.

We stand up on the podium. Arms around each other. All nine of us and Laura. I duck my head as an Olympic gold medallist – my mum – hangs the champion's medal around my neck and gives me a huge trophy. She stands up on the podium and kisses me. Behind her, Dad takes photos and beams. What with his crew and my crew winning, he's floating a few metres off the ground with pride.

‘I'm so very proud of you, darling.'

‘Thanks, Mum. Now get down and give out the other medals.'

We pose for a photo with the local paper, our school photographer and the
Age
sports section. Me hugging the precious trophy and everyone else holding up their index fingers. Crossed oars and the river behind us.

‘I was sweating bullets down that home straight,' says Laura, who hasn't fully recovered from the race. ‘You guys kept me guessing right until the line.'

All the tension of the past year has disappeared. I feel like I don't have a single thing to worry about. Penny and I keep grabbing each other and jumping up and down, squealing.

Rachel seems stunned. ‘We actually won. We did, didn't we? This isn't some fantasy dream sequence?'

‘We won. We really, really did,' I confirm.

‘You know what happens now?' Rachel says, looking at Aiko.

‘No, what?' says Aiko.

‘Tradition says we have to chuck the cox in the river,' says Penny.

‘Yes, it is tradition,' I agree.

Aiko starts to back away but we drag her towards the river and push her in. She dog paddles around in the weeds. Then Rachel links hands with me and Penny.

‘1-2-3 …' she says and we run towards the water and take a flying leap off the staging.