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and around the lake. Ned doesn’t come and it gives Tess the opportunity to think about the race next weekend. If she reaches 55 kilos and trains hard every day, then she’s sure to perform at her best. The team will win. A real win this time, not like that loser dead heat.
    Out of breath, she sits on the bench and sips her water. No calories. She knows that. In fact, she must strictly limit her food intake this week and drink only water; then she’s bound to achieve her goal. Her stomach already gurgles from the water and lack of food this morning. ‘Shut up,’ she says, ‘you sewerage system.’ That’s all it is, really, a gigantic drain chasing effluent out of her body. She laughed when Ned had first described his vision of her internal organs. ‘Like where the rats live in that kids’ film. You know, getting about on bits of rubbish, like boats. That’s why stomachs make such weird noises, gurgling and clashing around.’
    Hers is doing that right now. She checks her watch. She ran for an hour and a half. That’s okay. Tomorrow she’ll row in the morning and run in the evening. Sounds like a plan.
    Crowds line the river banks again. This weekend there are more of them, students and parents, waving school banners. This is the qualifier. Tess sits in the boat, legs outstretched, gut clutching nervously. The sun is out, its weak rays illuminating the heavy rain clouds around it. Tess waves to her mum and dad on the river bank. Dad points his camera and takes several shots. Mum waves madly. Tess feels relaxed and happy. They are both here. She has a really good feeling about today, starting with her weigh-in this morning: 55. She’d let out a small whoop when the red line landed on 55. And to the left as well, not the right. Maybe even a few grams under?
    She stretches her legs again. They are waiting, in position, for the starter’s gun. Her legs are encased in their tight black lycra leggings, her thighs pushed flat against the seat. It makes them look so much wider. Fatter. Ned has told her before it’s much more flattering to sit with her knees pointing up, resting the weight on the balls of her feet. ‘Gives your legs a longer, more shapely look,’ he had said admiringly.
    Another boat moves up next to them. The girls all smile politely at each other. Tess scans the banks again. No sign of Ned yet, but she knows he’ll come. He wouldn’t miss this one for anything.
    The gun cracks. They pull hard and cut through the water. They instantly have rhythm. Debbie calls, ‘Half slide, next stroke ... go!’ And they pull even harder. Tess feels them skimming the water’s surface. Sweat beads across her forehead and upper lip. They have pulled so far in front of the other boat that they are guaranteed victory. They cruise easily over the finish line to the cheers of their supporters.
    â€˜In two, weigh enough!’ Debbie shouts. They lift their oars—and stare at each other silently. Tess hears whistling from the bank. She doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s her mother’s four-fingered whistle. She smiles wildly. It worked. They did it.
    â€˜We did it!’ They look at each other and laugh. Even Debbie’s scowl turns upwards. ‘We won it, guys!’
    Mr Mycock has tears in his eyes as he embraces each one of them. ‘Excellent job, girls. Each and every one of you dug so deep. And now for the first time in our school’s history, we’ve made the finals.’
    They hug each other, elated.
    â€˜We’ll keep up the training schedule for the next two weeks and win the trophy,’ the coach says confidently.
    It had seemed so elusive but now it was a possibility. They could win the title.
    Dad raises his glass high above the flickering candles and white linen covered table. ‘Here’s to the long awaited, much expected something we wished for.’ They lean inwards and clink