Antipodes

by Michele Bacon

  “Ten million people? Don’t you feel suffocated?”

  Erin had felt slightly suffocated in downtown Chicago; her lungs seemed to expand every Saturday afternoon when she returned to the suburbs after symphony rehearsal. “My suburb, Wheaton, is pretty small. It never feels crowded except during festivals. Or at the ice cream shop on summer Saturdays.”

  Ruby shot up. “Do you think there’s ice cream?”

  Erin’s teammates mobbed the tiny kitchen, pulling out snacks and bowls as if this were a slumber party. Summer’s aunt had stocked the house, as promised.

  Marama said, “Oooooh, chocolate fishies.”

  Ruby scooped out chocolate ice cream and threw jelly beans on top.

  Gemma reached over her for pineapple lumps and returned to the sofa. “How long are you staying?”

  “December.”

  Gemma rolled her eyes. “You’re going to miss the best part. Summer hols are the best of New Zealand.”

  “I have to go back for second semester,” Erin said.

  “Why?”

  Good question. Erin had already missed several weeks of her senior year: swim team pep rally, football games, lockdown drills. Honestly, she was glad to skip football season. In January, she’d undertake more college courses to comp out of gen ed classes at Columbia. Or wherever. She couldn’t swim varsity. She couldn’t audition for symphony midyear. She’d barely heard from anyone but Lalitha since landing in New Zealand.

  She could just as well study abroad again—perhaps somewhere warm. Like Fiji.

  “Erin? Why?”

  “You know, Gemma, that was the plan, but now I’m not sure. I could just spend the semester somewhere else instead.”

  “That’s lucky. If I could go anywhere, I’d travel to Italy. The food. The wine!”

  Jade munched potato crisps. “Choose France instead, and you’d have food, wine, and cheese.”

  The girls romanticized trips abroad until the sky was black.

  Downstairs, all four bedrooms had views of the lake. Erin had one all to herself because Felicity would be sharing with her the next night.

  Erin sent snaps to Lalitha, hoping the gorgeous scenery would finally elicit a response. They hadn’t texted for two days.

  Erin: In Queenstown for Nationals.

  Erin: It’s the most gorgeous place in the world.

  There was no reply.

  Gemma knocked on her door. “You coming up, then?”

  “In a minute.” Erin pulled out her suit for the morning, double-checked her bag, and laid out her school-sanctioned gym attire. She enjoyed this mental space, when practice was done and her body was in the best shape it could be. Mostly. If she were training in Wheaton, she might be stronger.

  Still, she was ready. Percy had her tags and paperwork, but everything else was ready.

  Upstairs, Ruby said, “Percy ordered fish and chips, since no one is keen to cook.”

  Erin’s mouth hung open. Filled with junk food and destined for a late night, they would be too slow tomorrow. Before meets, especially big ones, Erin always ate a carb-heavy dinner, slept as much as possible, and prepared a healthy protein-heavy breakfast. That’s how she took first at States two years in a row. That’s probably how the Quigleys would win States this year.

  Marama’s mom studied a Queenstown directory and circled a few restaurant options for the next night.

  Ruby tucked up on the sofa with a bowl of crisps and a remote control.

  Erin was the only one taking this seriously. “You guys. Do you think we’ll win on fish and chips and junk food?”

  “We’re on holiday!” Gemma said. “Sport is supposed to be fun.”

  Erin knocked around the kitchen until she found pasta and a pot. “I’m eating carbs for dinner. Anyone joining me?”

  No one.

  “Your American is showing,” Ruby said.

  “Ruby!” Jade said.

  “What? It’s true. All work and no play? Sport is supposed to be fun, like Gemma said.”

  “Winning is fun,” Erin said.

  “Winning doesn’t last,” Ruby said.

  “Neither will your sugar high,” Erin said. She clanged around the kitchen, boiled an entire box of pasta per the instructions on the box, and ate alone at the table. Halfway through a movie, Percy arrived with dinner and Erin’s teammates swarmed the table.

  After Erin wished everyone good night, she heard someone say, “Someone’s quite the tall poppy.”

  She crawled into bed early after one final text to her best friend.

  Erin: More than anything, I wish you were here, Li. ♥

  THIRTY-NINE

  The morning races were eerily quiet. Like meets in Christchurch, there were occasional shouts, but most people cheered as swimmers mounted the blocks or once the race ended.

  Only one woman coached from the sidelines. It was like having Claire right there. Lift! and Faster! and You’re trailing! as if her daughter (Erin was guessing daughter) could hear her underwater.

  Felicity arrived an hour before the relay race and sat alone with her jacket in her lap. When Erin caught her eye, Felicity smiled and gave a thumb’s up.

  Soon enough, Gemma was in the pool, mounted and ready for the gun. Marama, Ruby, and Erin wished her luck, and she was off. Erin couldn’t watch the race. Peripherally, she could see that other girls would make it back before Gemma, but she focused only on Gemma’s cap.

  When she returned, Ruby dove in and gained a little on the other teams.

  As Erin climbed onto the blocks, Marama slapped her on the shoulder.

  Some swimmers focus on form in the water, but that had never worked for Erin during a real race. The second she stood on the blocks, her adrenaline amped up, muscle memory took over, and her mind went blank.

  Ruby hit the wall and Erin was in the water without thinking.

  Dolphin, dolphin, dolphin, dolphin, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe. Flip.

  She pushed it. She wanted it. Breathing every single stroke, she put everything into the race.

  Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, done.

  Erin popped out of the water to watch the finish. They were going to qualify, no question. It was down to Marama, who killed it.

  Everyone hugged one another and dried off.

  Between races, Erin found Felicity in the stands. “Well done, Erin! I love watching you swim.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’ve worked very hard for this. How are you feeling?”

  Erin kept her eyes on the qualifying races for backstroke. “Great.”

  “But how do you feel about the culmination of years of training?”

  “Great.”

  “Erin?” Felicity waited for Erin to look at her. “Are you happy? Does this feel as you wanted it to feel?”

  Happy wasn’t the right word. “I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished.”

  Felicity nodded, and Erin focused again on the pool.

  That afternoon, her relay team qualified to quarterfinals, but not semis. Alone, Erin qualified to semis in three races, all of which were Saturday morning.

  She texted Claire.

  Erin: Relay team DNQ. I Qd in 50M, 100M, and 200M fly.

  Percy said, “Great job, ladies. While you’re changing, decide what you fancy for tea.”

  Decide what you fancy for tea. No coaching. No commentary. No judgment. The no-judgment aspect was a relief. No one was recording her race as a coaching device. Her team’s loss wouldn’t be posted on social media.

  It was heavenly.

  She threw open the door, colliding with the intermittent knocker. Tiny phone cameras focused on her as she ran, half-naked, from the observatory toward the bathroom. She vomited on the spiral staircase, in the hall, and across the ankles of Lalitha and one of the Quigleys, who were animatedly discussing the team’s swimsuit options.

  Her stomach empty, Erin dry-heaved over the toilet. Minutes later, she lay on the cool stone floor, focusing on caulk at the tub’s bas
e to keep the room from spinning. Retching convulsed her body every few minutes for an hour.

  Lalitha brought a hair band and forced Erin to finish a glass of water. When Erin refused to move to the guest room, Lalitha brought her a blanket and travel pillow.

  Finally, the room slowed enough that she could close her eyes without feeling nauseated.

  Erin pretended to sleep when Claudia Quigley peed on the toilet next to her.

  Shortly after midnight on her seventeenth birthday, Erin passed out.

  FORTY

  At the house that night, Erin kept her head in the game. While her teammates crammed onto a sofa for another movie, Erin slipped out for a walk. She hiked up steep switchbacks to the mountain road and headed uphill.

  She couldn’t shake memories of meets past. She missed Lalitha and their pre-meet routines. Erin hoped to win one of her races tomorrow and capture her unique factor. But she still felt off-kilter, upside down, and for that there was no end in sight.

  Near the end of the road, a chill brushed past her. She should be warming her muscles and tending to her body right now, doing her own private race prep.

  She turned back toward the house and accidentally spied the moon, the thing she’d been avoiding for months. She had loved the moon so much that she’d told Ben everything about it. He never could remember which crescent was waning and which was waxing, and Erin’s little mnemonic device, Now you C me, now you don’t, helped him get the shapes right, if not the concept of waning.

  And here it was, the waning moon, peeking through thin clouds.

  Erin shuddered.

  She had no more tears for Ben, only a gaping sense of loss. And now, probably for the rest of her life, that stupid moon—waning or waxing—would remind her of the stupid boy for whom waning was an impossible concept.

  Staring into the heavens made her feel part of something much, much larger. She—and trillions of other small somethings—were part of something big. Mars, Earth, luminous balls of hydrogen and helium, the moon, and Erin. Everything single thing sprang from the same stuff.

  She drank in the moon. Crescent, half-full, full, new, she loved it all. But the full moon held a special place in her heart. And it would be full in five days.

  Erin squinted. Five days? But it was waning. Erin knew dates for all the full moons, and the moon had been new nine days ago.

  She felt upside-down again.

  Of course! That was the problem: she was upside-down. A Southern Hemisphere’s waxing moon was a C. A waning moon was a backward C.

  Erin’s cheek muscles pulled into a huge smile. And she cried. Everything was backward and upside-down, including the moon … and she was probably the only person on Earth thinking about it. And even if Ben was looking at the moon at this very instant, this view of it was hers.

  Finally, the moon was hers again.

  FORTY-ONE

  Erin advanced to finals for all three butterfly races: 50M, 100M, and 200M.

  Waiting for the judge’s signal to mount the block for the 50M final, Erin tried to focus.

  If she didn’t compete at college, this was her last day of competitive swimming. Ever. Her heart leapt to her throat. She almost couldn’t breathe, and breathing was the number-one most important thing for swimmers.

  The race would last under a minute, and they were nearly ready to start. Hold it together for one minute. Think later.

  The judge called them to the blocks.

  Erin grabbed the platform and waited.

  And she was in the pool. For the first length, Erin stayed under for every second stroke, but on the return, she breathed on every stroke. Her lungs screamed. She was a single muscle, flexing herself through the water, pulling, pulling, pulling.

  She touched the wall, and it was over.

  She hung onto the rope for a second, her forehead against the wall.

  Part elated, part terrified, she rested her head until her teammates swarmed.

  Jade said, “Well done, WELL DONE!” and Percy beamed.

  Erin checked the clock.

  Her mind was racing.

  Next to her time was NR.

  Percy grabbed her hand, pulled her from the water, and wrapped her in an enormous hug, pool water seeping from her suit to his sweater.

  Erin couldn’t find Felicity among the throngs of people, most of whom were on their feet.

  They hadn’t stood for the other finals.

  Percy said, “National champion. National record. You know what Americans say: go big or go home!”

  Lalitha.

  The crowd was on its feet for her.

  Her time was good enough for States at home. She never would have won U.S. Nationals, but here she was a national champion. Amazing. Unique. She had done it. Claire would be overjoyed.

  She waved to the crowd and wrapped herself in a towel before calling Claire.

  “I did it!” Erin said. “I won. And I set a national record in the 50-meter fly.”

  “Great,” Claire said. “Can you win the other two?”

  Staring at her feet, Erin swallowed hard. “I don’t know. Probably?”

  “I’ll bet you can. Do you feel strong?”

  “I do. I’m on.”

  “But how’s your endurance? Can you hold out the rest of the day? You need to win them all. New Zealand is pretty small. Here, you’re competing in a country of 320 million. New Zealand is what? Four?”

  “Almost five. And I am the national champion. I just set a national record.”

  “Okay,” Claire said. “You know national champion will impress, but if you hold three championships, no one can turn you down. No one, Erin.”

  “You’re right,” Erin said. “I can do it. I know I can.”

  “We’re having a phones off date tonight—Bien Trucha—so if you miss me, leave a message to let me know you’ve done it. I’ll tell Dad when we’re done.”

  Erin’s voice was quiet. “Okay. I’ll call when I’m done then.”

  “You’ll get there, Erin. Close the deal. You’re almost there.”

  Aren’t I there already? “I will.”

  “Go win!” Claire said.

  “Bye, Mom.”

  Tears stinging her eyes, Erin dressed in her warm-ups and returned to the pool area.

  FORTY-TWO

  New Zealand does a medal ceremony for their national championships. Erin stood on a podium while the announcer read her name and time. She’d broken a nine-year record, set more than half her life ago. Erin’s name would appear in the aquatic center lobby, which was kind of like Wheaton’s athletic hall of fame, where Elena Basignani set all the cross-country records in the 1990s.

  How long would her name remain in the kiwi hall of fame?

  Erin stepped down from the podium and hugged her teammates. The girl who had won third said, “I thought you looked familiar. You’re the pink puke girl.”

  Erin’s eyes widened as silence descended.

  “What’s that?” Marama asked.

  “The online girl who ran around naked throwing up pink everywhere. I have a GIF of it in my phone.” She reached into her bag.

  Jade and Marama wrapped their arms around Erin’s shoulders and guided her to a private corner. They shooed people away as Erin cried, “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

  Jade knelt in front of Erin. “Tell us what’s going on.”

  Erin’s tears gushed. “I had just lost my swim captainship. It was the night before my seventeenth birthday. And it was a Saturday. Date night with Ben.” She drew a deep breath, ready to release her shame into the wild again.

  Erin had nursed her beverage long enough that her head was cloudy and feet were fuzzy.

  Ben grabbed her hand and grinned.

  Lalitha got close to Erin’s face. “You all right, sweetie?”

  Erin grinned and added an exaggerated nod for good measure. She was perfectly fine.

  Ben led her upstairs, away from their friends and the vibrating speakers. Two unidentifiable girls sat, lip-locked,
on the hall window seat, all arms and legs and hair and slurping.

  Bed led Erin up the spiral staircase to the locked observatory door. Eager, she kissed his neck while he fumbled for the key in his pocket.

  Ben snaked his arms around her. “I really like this version of Erin. Hairy Buffalo makes you a little aggressive.”

  Erin hiccupped and giggled. “What are we really doing in there, Ben?”

  “We’re looking at Jupiter. Lalitha said I could give you Jupiter for your birthday.”

  “It’s cloudy tonight,” Erin said as her brain continued clouding over. “And opposition was over a week ago.”

  He kissed her again. “I know that.” Another kiss. “You know that.” A longer kiss. “They don’t know that.”

  She leaned into him, half wishing Jupiter were an option and half grateful they would finally be alone together. Alone with Ben was Erin’s favorite pastime; she loved their private jokes and knowing he had chosen her over every other girl in Wheaton.

  “Get a room, you two,” someone said from the hall.

  Ben unlocked the door to their room—a genuine observatory—and Erin stumbled into the darkness. The telescope sat atop a rotating pedestal that spun to focus on different segments of the sky.

  Lalitha’s mom, a professional amateur astronomer, traveled a lot, so Erin had used this telescope only twice. Erin wanted to make a whole life for herself in this room. The top five feet of the walls were window, and the ceiling, too. Windows on the universe. A vast void. The good kind.

  Ben sprawled on the cushy white sofa. “This is kick-ass.”

  Erin ran her fingers up the enormous, smooth telescope. It was old, so the tube was long, but she knew the brand, Meade, and they didn’t make cheap telescopes. Erin’s grampa’s best telescope had been a Celestron, but he’d longed for a professional Meade.

  Ben extended his arms on the back of the sofa. “I’ll bet, with clear skies, you could get a really good look at the Big Dipper, huh?”

  Erin preferred planets, asteroids, and meteors to connect-the-dots constellations, but Ben liked the light side of astronomy: constellations’ shapes and stories. Erin thought constellations reflected silly human efforts to make sense of the night sky, but she was afraid he would dump her if she mentioned that.