Head of the River (27 page)

It's hard to miss. He's carrying an oar in bubble-wrap.

‘Shall I bring it in?' he asks.

I hold open the door and he brings the long oar into the house, puts it down on the living room floor.

‘Am I allowed to open it?'

‘Yes, of course. It's yours.'

I rip off the bubble-wrap. The blade is painted with the names of our crew. Head of the River champions. It's my very own trophy oar.

Sam looks at the oars already hung up on our walls.

He holds mine up underneath. ‘Should go nicely, right about here,' he says.

‘Did you do this?' I ask.

‘No. Everyone in your crew got one.'

‘Oh,' I say, feeling silly that I thought Sam had gone to any special trouble.

‘They had a ceremony at assembly. I volunteered to bring it over to you. Thought it might cheer you up. I'm also saying goodbye.'

‘Where are you going?'

I knew Sam wouldn't stick around, but I thought he'd stay until the end of the year at least.

‘Dad's relocating to California. I'm going to finish my last year of high school over there and then transfer to Berkley.'

‘Berkley college? Ivy league?'

‘Yeah. They offered me a sporting scholarship. I'll be rowing crew for them for a few years.'

‘Oh. That's really far away.'

I feel deflated. Sam's heading off on a big adventure, and I'm stuck spinning my wheels here. Hoping to be able to get enough strength to walk around the block. I'm jealous.

‘I thought maybe you'd get an offer, too,' says Sam.

I'm still smarting from being snubbed by the US scouts. From not being able to trial for the AIS or win the gold medal at nationals with the rest of my crew. Not doing anything is more frustrating than anything I've ever done.

‘Not this year. They said I needed more time in the boat. Doesn't matter. I didn't want to go to the US anyway.'

‘Will you keep rowing?' Sam asks.

That's a question even I can't answer. ‘I dunno. Maybe.'

Sam hugs me and I know I probably won't see him again for a long time. Maybe not ever. He's gone, like he said he would be. ‘I'll miss you, Leni Popescu.'

‘Me too, Samuel Camero.'

I watch him leave from the doorstep and realise, finally, who it was that Sam loved the most. Not me. Not Bee. Not some random American girl he was sure to fall into bed with. Sam's one true love is rowing. It had been all along.

When I'm finally able to take a shower without having to rest afterwards and my throat doesn't hurt to swallow and my face stops looking like a glob of marshmallow, I decide to go for a walk.

‘Where are you off to?' asks Mum, thrilled I'm leaving the house. My bum has left a permanent imprint on the couch and I've watched more TV than I have in my whole life. She's been fussing, too, worrying how I'm coping.

‘When Dad gets home I thought I'd put a barbie on. Maybe some steaks? Get some iron into you. You look so pale.'

Dad's at land training at the Victorian Institute of Sport with his new crew. After the school season he was asked to coach the state under-22 crew for a trans-Tasman regatta in New Zealand. Westie says he'll move him up to coach the second boat next season. I'm proud of him. He's worked hard on his English and there's no one on the river who knows more about the technical side of rowing.

‘Just a walk, I'll be back for dinner,' I say. ‘Thanks for looking after me, Mum.'

‘Take it easy,' Mum says. ‘You're still getting your strength back remember.'

‘It's a walk, Mum.'

I leave the house and look right, then left. It's one of those walks where you set off, not sure where you're going. As well as getting out of the house I need to get out of my head. It's been a few weeks since the funeral, but I think about Adam every day. I miss him.

‘How ya going, luv?' a homeless man says, sitting in a pile of his belongings outside the TAB.

‘You look happy,' he says.

‘I am happy. I'm walking. I'm out of the house,' I say.

‘God bless you, gorgeous. You keep on walking.'

‘I will.'

I take a tram to the city and wander around the uneven pink stones of Federation Square, past Cristian's bells that mended my broken heart, past the tram stop that once took me to Sam's lonely apartment; down to the boatsheds that welcomed my dad to Australia; past the river that made me stronger; the ergos that broke my spirit and the photos and plaques that tell the history of who I am.

There's been so much going on since Adam's funeral.
The news that he died as a result of performance-enhancing
drug abuse shocked everyone, but not our family. The huge training and steroids use combined caused his heart muscle to overgrow and shut down.

The school swung into action, putting into place random drug testing across all senior sports. A new anti-doping education program funded by the Langley family trust will be rolled out next year. Charges were laid on the trainer at Fitness Now gym, thanks to Cristian's testimony. I was proud of him standing up to the label of being a cheat. It helped that he had Penny to back him up. They turned out to be the perfect couple after all. At least one of us got a Disney ending.

I end up facing a crammed noticeboard at the Mercantile Club.

SIGN UP!

VICTORIAN YOUTH 8 SQUAD

I run my hand over the paper and look at all the names that have already signed up. There are forty at least. Girls from all over the river. All schools. All abilities. All sizes and shapes. All of them throwing their hat in the ring. Wanting to be part of it, still.

I step out to the balcony, looking at a crew of masters women getting ready for a late row. They're wrinkled and weathered, bellies stretched from babies and living. They gossip and laugh as they set up oars on the bank, fill up their water bottles and lightly carry the boat out to the staging. One of them looks up at me, smiles and waves.

‘Leni!'

I look closer. It's a friend of Mum's. A former crewmate she sometimes had round for coffee. I don't remember her name. My parents have so many rowing friends it's hard to keep track. For some reason, they all know my name.

‘See you out there?' she calls.

‘Maybe!'

She laughs. ‘You can't fight it. It's in your genes.'

I laugh, too. Because she's right. This sport runs through my veins like river water.

The four women roll up together and take off with a set of beautiful, precise strokes. The light is fading and all that's left are the dark outlines of their bodies. For a moment, they look like a schoolgirl crew.

I turn to head down the stairs, back home for dinner before my parents begin to worry. But I can't shake the feeling I've forgotten something. I backtrack to the noticeboard and the sign-up sheet. I stare at it for a few minutes, listening to the sound of my heart beating in my wrist and neck. I take the pen and write my name down in capital letters.

LENI POPESCU.

I add my mobile number, knowing that when my phone rings for the first training session, I'll be ready.

Acknowledgements

This book would still be half-finished without the generosity of the Australia Council Arts Literature board.

Thank you to my family, Dale and Sophie, I'm so lucky to have you. To Mary Harry, world's best Mum and my inspiring sisters, Sarah and Nicola. To my sensitive and wise ‘first readers' Michael Harry and Sarah Minns – you were the perfect choice to entrust with a book that was still taking shape.

The subject matter of this book is very close to my heart. Many thanks to my father, John Harry, for introducing me to the sport of rowing and sharing a love of competition. Melbourne's Yarra River will always be ‘Dad's River' to me. Thanks to Donna Harry for babysitting Soph so I could sneak away to the Surry Hills Library to write.

A section of this novel was written in the cottage at Ten Ten farm. Thanks to my hosts, Ann and Michael Keaney, for the beautiful setting and sustenance.

Thanks to those who took a special interest: Ian and Heather Saynor, Margaret McKenzie, Ken McKenzie, Mike and Penny Clarey, Rachel Smith, April and Maz Huxley, Eddie and Monica Buck and Susan Kelly. To my mother's group for being there (with coffee) and Sharlene Miller-Brown for steadying my nerves on the tricky business of writing a second book.

To all the rowers I sat in a boat with, but especially Kate Barnett, Ingrid Just, Lucinda Johnson and Yvette Keating.

To my agent Sophie Hamley and the lovely UQP team – Kristina Schulz, Michele Perry and Meredene Hill. And to my
editor Jody Lee who was there for long chats about the intentions of heart-stoppingly gorgeous boys.

To Olympic oarsman Ion Popa, for talking to me about Romania and adjusting to life in Australia, and Simone Bird for giving me an insight into school rowing. To Annabelle Eaton and the MGGS rowers who let me ride along with my notepad while they were training. And to my cousin, Dr Jamie Clarey, who provided medical advice. Any mistake is the fault of the arts graduate.

To the book bloggers – you know who you are. Thank you for loving Australian YA.

I'LL TELL YOU MINE

Pip Harry

Kate Elliot isn't trying to fit in.

Everything about her – especially her goth make-up and clothes –
screams different and the girls at her school keep their distance. Besides, how can Kate be herself,
really herself
, when she's ­hiding her big secret? The one that landed her in boarding school in the first place. She's buried it down deep but it always seems to surface.

But then sometimes new friends, and even love, can find you when you least expect it.

So how do you take that first step and reveal yourself when you're not sure that people want to know the real you?

‘I loved it. It has three of my favourite ingredients: boarding school, great characters, and a lot of heart.' Melina Marchetta

‘What an angst-ridden, passionate and funny story!'
Good Reading

‘A beautiful debut told in a crisp, clear voice by an author who has expertly captured the struggle to find your identity, fall in love, and survive high school.'
Viewpoint

ISBN 978 0 7022 3938 0

THE HAUNTING OF LILY FROST

Nova Weetman

This room holds secrets, and even if they are of the dark-frightening type, I love secrets more than anything else.

When Lily Frost's parents move her from the only home and best friend she's ever known to a country town called Gideon, things are dire. Lily knows no one – but someone seems to know her. And that someone isn't exactly the welcoming type.

Upon entering her new attic bedroom, Lily faints. Coming to, she's overcome by the whispers of secrets. Determined to find out why, Lily is thrown into the path of cute local boy Danny. He's not giving anything away, so it's up to Lily to make sense of the watery footprints on her floor and the cold air that constantly seeps into her bones.

For Lily, life in this small town is about to get very interesting as she find herself seeing things she thought belonged to the dead.

ISBN 978 0 7022 5015 6

First published 2014 by University of Queensland Press

PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia

www.uqp.com.au

[email protected]

© Pip Harry 2014

This book is copyright. Except for private study, research,

criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act,

no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior

written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

Cover design by Jo Hunt

Cover photographs by Fuse/Thinkstock; nikkytok/iStock

Typeset in 11/15 pt Bembo by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane

Printed in Australia by McPherson's Printing Group

This project has been assisted by the Commonwealth

Government through the Australian Council,

its arts funding and advisory body.

Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

National Library of Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia

http://catalogue.nla.gov.au

Harry, Pip, author.

Head of the river / Pip Harry.

Twins – Juvenile fiction.

Rowing – Juvenile fiction.

Doping in sports – Juvenile fiction.

ISBN 978 0 7022 5326 3 (pbk)

ISBN 978 0 7022 5311 9 (pdf)

ISBN 978 0 7022 5312 6 (epub)

ISBN 978 0 7022 5313 3 (kindle)

A823.4

University of Queensland Press uses papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.