Head of the River

by Pip Harry

  ‘I don’t need to talk,’ I say, ‘I’m fine. Stop worrying so much.’

  Leni

  I’m lying in a sweaty puddle on the floor of my room, listening to sad music. It’s a billion degrees and the overhead fan is doing nothing but moving hot air around.

  I’m pining for Sam. He told me he’d had second thoughts after our night on rowing camp. That he wasn’t properly broken up with Bee. That he really couldn’t start something with me because he wasn’t technically single. Blah-blah-de-blah. I should be consumed with bitter rage, but I feel ripped off. Stupid. Used. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I thought the first guy I slept with would love me back. Or at least be unattached. Why did I believe him, so easily? When he’d deceived me once before.

  Thankfully, my phone rings. ‘Yeah?’ I answer listlessly.

  ‘I’m sweating like a whore in church,’ Audrey says. ‘Meet me at the pool in ten.’

  I haven’t had much time to catch up with Audrey since her trip. I’ve been so bunkered down with rowing and my misery over Sam.

  ‘But I … ’

  ‘No buts, get your bathers and come.’

  The pool is the Fitzroy Pool. We’re lolling in the toddlers wading section dipped in a few inches of heavily chlorinated water. It’s past seven at night, but the air’s still toasty. There’s no other place to be than in a body of water. The rest of the suburb is here as well, and it’s hard to find a spot to put your bag, let alone your body. Audrey is eating a red icy pole and I’m eating a banana and biting back my feelings. My heart is badly bruised. Lately I’d been crying for no reason, sitting in my room or watching TV. Big, fat silent tears.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Audrey asks. ‘You seem so sad.’

  ‘I just don’t get it. Sam and I had this amazing night together. I really thought it was the start of us. But then … nothing. He won’t even look at me at rowing.’

  Audrey lowers her sunglasses.

  ‘Can I give you some tough love, sugar?’

  ‘Not too tough.’

  ‘I’ve only been with Kezza, so it’s not like I’m the expert in matters of the heart. But I think real love is supposed to go in both directions. Sam isn’t the one for you. He only seems to love himself. Plus, he’s probably a psychopath. He certainly appears to be emotionally void.’

  I start to cry, knowing that Audrey is right and wishing she wasn’t.

  ‘He two-timed you. Beautiful, perfect you. He needs his head read.’

  ‘I know, but the jtzooum was fierce,’ I say, through tears.

  ‘Let this Bee character deal with his broody, damaged, lying, cheater shtick. There are plenty of other dudes lurking. Kieren has this friend, if you can get around body odour, he’s hot.’

  I laugh, feeling cheered up. ‘Not Gavin?’ I picture Gavin. He’s nerdy cool, but not my type.

  ‘Yes, Gav! Don’t you think he’s sort of gorgeous in a Big Bang Theory way?’

  ‘No!’

  A group of guys in speedos walks past us on their way to night-time squad training, carrying bags of flippers and kickboards.

  We both stop talking and check them out. Audrey licks her icy pole suggestively.

  ‘Maybe we just need to ogle these swimming boys for a while. Get some eye candy on our plate. I missed you when I was on the road. Six weeks was too long to be away from my girl.’

  ‘Did you? I thought you’d have been too busy going to music festivals.’

  ‘Yeah, we did that 5 per cent of the time. The rest of the trip I had to live in a van that smelt like Kieren’s feet and truck-stop food. The reality of driving off into the sunset, my dear.’

  I smile. That’s what I love about Audrey, she didn’t try to airbrush her life.

  ‘Hey, Auds.’

  I pause, wondering if she might tell me to get lost. Knowing that I can’t survive Year Twelve without her. A lot rests on her answer to my next question.

  ‘Yeah, doll.’

  ‘Would you mind if I sit with you and the knit bitches again at school?’

  Audrey sits up, her face serious. ‘I dunno. Things got weird there for a bit. You basically dumped us for Adam and his fancy mates. You really hurt my feelings.’

  ‘I made a mistake. You, Maz, Luc, Yvette. I want to hang out with you in my last year of school. Not just after hours. You’re my tribe. I don’t know what crazy juice I was drinking when we agreed to be friends outside school. I want more. I want recess and lunch access.’

  ‘You won’t dump us for some hottie with a new car and good abs?’

  I put my hand on my chest.

  ‘Brownie’s honour.’

  ‘Well, okay then. I’ll tell the girls. You’ll be expected to craft with us, of course. Maybe you can crochet some rowing shorts.’

  We smile at each other goofily and then Audrey grabs my head and dunks me under the cool water.

  The Green Cup is a predictor for the Head of the River. Kind of like the Golden Globes, before the Oscars. It’s been run by Parkview School since the 1960s and is a chance for everyone to show pony after rowing camp. Unfortunately for us, Melbourne’s latest brutal heatwave won’t break. At 9 am it’s already thirty degrees and shaping up to hit forty by lunchtime. Everyone’s trying to sniff out the cool change. When will it arrive? Where the hell is it?

  ‘So hot,’ moans Cristian out the car window. ‘Why don’t we have air conditioning?’

  ‘You want car with air con, you pay for it,’ says Dad. Mum’s working, so it’s just the three of us today.

  ‘Let’s get this over with,’ Cristian says, looking like he’s going to the gallows. Meanwhile, I’m itching to race. Since camp our crew feels united.

  We pull up at the gates of Parkview and follow the ushers’ direction to a space between a gleaming Range Rover and a BMW. Dad pulls gingerly into the grassy square.

  ‘Careful!’ Dad barks as Cristian flings his door open and nearly takes a chip out of the BMW’s immaculate paintwork.

  ‘I didn’t even touch it,’ Cristian says, glowering. Cris has been so on edge lately, everyone’s been walking on eggshells around him.

  ‘What time’s your heat, Leni?’ Cristian asks as we wander towards our boat trailer in a throng of kids.

  ‘Ten thirty-two.’

  ‘Good luck out there,’ he says, heading for the trailer. ‘Stay cool.’

  ‘Always.’

  Dad and I keep walking towards the water. A shaved-ice stand is doing swift business, next to a table selling T-shirts and rowing gear. I peruse the goods and decide to spend some of my Target cash buying Rachel, Penny and I a pair of lucky undies. I know they’re lucky undies because it’s printed on the front of them, with a four-leaf clover embossed on the back.

  ‘Leni! Good luck!’ says Amelia, the Year Nine girl I told off at rowing camp. She’s wearing a green wig and fluoro zinc.

  ‘You too, Meils!’ I shout back. ‘Stay out of the sun!’

  ‘I will!’ she calls back.

  We walk past a roped-off VIP area with the best view of the river. A sign states: INVITED GUESTS ONLY and inside waiters are serving chilled orange juice and croissants to a select few.

  ‘VIP?’ my dad mutters. ‘What this VIP? This is rowing. Not nightclub. Ridiculous.’

  I leave Dad and find Rachel and Penny in a physio tent set up by our school. Rach is getting her calves warmed up on the table. Penny is stretching on a mat.

  ‘Hey Captain!’ Rachel says.

  Her hair is in plaits, tied with green ribbons, even her toenails are school colours. If I’m the heart of the boat, Rachel is the spirit and Penny is the balance.

  ‘I got you girls something,’ I say, taking out the undies and throwing the pairs at them. ‘You have to wear them for this race.’

  Rachel finishes up her massage, grabs Penny’s hand then runs to the loo
s to change. They return and flash me the waistband.

  ‘I won’t wash them until the Head of the River,’ says Rachel.

  ‘Eewww,’ laughs Penny.

  ‘Laura wants us at the trailer in ten minutes for a race briefing,’ I say. ‘Let’s go.’

  Cristian

  I feel average today, but it’s probably the heat. I strip off to my swimmers before the race and lower myself into the inflatable plunge pool our school has set up down by the sheds. I bob in the chilled water, looking up to the blue sky. There’s not a single cloud to block out the pounding heat.

  ‘Ready to race, Poppa?’ Adam says, getting into the pool beside me.

  ‘Sure, let’s race,’ I say, feeling my body temperature drop, my heart slow. I could almost fall asleep here. I’m missing at least four hours sleep and my body wants it back. I woke up at two and slept fitfully the rest of the night.

  ‘You might want to show a little more enthusiasm,’ says Adam.

  ‘Yeah? Judging by how crap we’ve been training, I think getting too enthusiastic might be counterproductive.’

  ‘Come on, we’re about to turn a corner. Today’s the day, I can feel it. Let’s rub Stotts’s faces in a dominating win.’

  ‘Is your dad here?’ I ask. Adam always gets more antsy when Mitch watches him race.

  ‘Took his private helicopter down from Portsea. Landed on the rugby fields. It’s time to put our energy supplements to good use. Show the old man we’re worth the dollars he pours into this rowing program.’

  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