Head of the River

by Pip Harry

  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 bett
er 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.’

  ‘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 o
ut 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.