What Supergirl Did Next

by Thalia Kalkipsakis

  While everyone stretched, Gillian Macmillan stared over at me as if she wished we could swap bodies for a while. Gillian wasn’t exactly headed for the Olympics. I shrugged and waved at her. It’s all yours, Gill . . . that was, until I got my knee back to normal.

  Already, Levi was sitting in the best of the bench seats. As I clunked over he glanced up.

  ‘Hey, Jade,’ he said when I was pretty close.

  ‘Hey, Levi.’ I didn’t want to imagine the kind of dumb stuff Marco might have said about me after lunch. But it looked as if I was destined to spend a bit of time around Levi, now that Rene and Marco were going out. Until it ended in disaster, that was. Might as well make the best of it, I decided.

  I thudded on to the seat next to Levi.

  Then we just sat watching our class finish their first lap of the oval – the fit sporty kids in a pack at the front, and the rest dragging behind like a limp, lazy tail.

  When Rene passed about mid-tail, I clapped and screeched, ‘Go, Rennie!’ I glanced at Levi, wondering what he was thinking.

  Not much, it seemed. He was clenching his jaw and staring across the oval as if watching a bunch of phantom footy players.

  After a while I picked up a small stone and flicked it though the wire fence. That helped pass, oh, about two seconds . . . I’d need a few more stones to get through the whole class.

  I managed to get the next stone through exactly the same hole. But my third one went way too low.

  I was just taking aim for another go, when pling, Levi shot a stone though the exact same hole . . .

  Of course, I considered that a challenge.

  My next stone went slightly too high and was followed straight away by another perfect shot from Levi.

  I took my time for my next one – shutting one eye and taking aim. It went straight through and was followed immediately by another from Levi.

  ‘Well . . . you think you’re pretty good now, don’t you?’ I said and laughed.

  Levi nodded slowly, a smug kink at the ends of his mouth.

  I picked up a handful of gravel and chucked it all through the fence. Game over.

  As Levi shifted on the seat I noticed that his fingernails were short from being chewed.

  ‘So, I was thinking . . . about what you said at lunchtime, Jade,’ he said.

  Here we go. After everything I’d said at lunchtime, Levi was sure to have a go at me. I shuffled a bit in my seat – getting ready.

  ‘Do you really train twenty-two hours a week?’ asked Levi.

  I wasn’t excepting that one. ‘Yeah, well . . . when I don’t have a bad knee.’ It was weird how different my life felt these days. Empty, lazy . . .

  Levi nodded slowly. ‘Even when I add running and weight training, I barely make it to ten.’

  I shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, there are four apparatus in women’s gym, so that keeps us pretty busy.’

  The bulk of our class passed again on their next lap – cheeks brighter now, steps slower.

  ‘And the stuff you do . . . is it like those, ah . . . like they do at the Olympics?’

  I nodded, impressed that he’d been thinking about what I said – thinking about something other than football. ‘Yep, well, you know. Not quite that good. But yeah, lots of aerial stuff, flips and somersaults. I can do a lot of stuff that you’d see at the Olympics.’ I glanced sideways and caught Levi’s eyes lingering over my body. Not in a sleazy way but with curiosity and respect, as if he was considering what it was capable of doing.

  It made me aware of how close we were sitting.

  ‘So, since you’re so serious and all,’ said Levi carefully. ‘I was thinking . . . are you missing anything important? You know, since your knee’s been injured.’

  My mouth dropped open. His words seemed to hover in the air. Missing anything important . . .

  That question was so fitting, so much the right question to ask. I nodded. ‘Selection for the State Squad . . .’ Then I swallowed. Saying those words made it achingly real – the disappointment, the frustration, the anger . . . And more words kept coming. ‘I was ready this year, you know? Everything was in place – my fitness, my skill level. And it was just a freak accident, you know, it shouldn’t have happened . . .’

  I trailed off, suddenly worried I’d said too much. Would Levi think I was whinging? But when I glanced over, he looked me clean in the eye and nodded, as if he knew exactly how I was feeling.

  I looked down at my hands and said, ‘What about you, are you missing anything important?’

  For a moment Levi kept staring across the oval, then he sighed as if it hurt just to say the words. ‘I’m out for the rest of the season . . .’

  We were just two athletes talking about normal stuff, but it felt like we were opening up, too. Unwrapping our bandages and comparing our scars, revealing our hidden raw parts.

  I nodded. ‘Man, that really sucks.’

  Another sigh. Then Levi went back to staring out across the oval, clenching his jaw muscles and frowning.

  I sighed too – leaning forward with my hands on the seat. Although we were quiet for the rest of class, sitting out with Levi wasn’t bad at all.

  CHAPTER 5

  ‘Okay, Jade, push the tip of your finger up like this.’

  The physio had just finished asking me to touch my toes, pull my thumb towards my forearm, flex the foot of my good leg . . . pretty much everything except unwrap the bandage on my knee. She had already sat down and asked me a heap of physio-type stuff, like how much I train (lots), if I’d had any other injuries (sprained ankle ages ago, and I jar my middle fingers all the time) and even if I’d ever been to hospital (only once, when I was two and had an ear infection).

  Blah blah blah . . .

  There didn’t seem to be much point in asking all that, except to make it seem as if she was doing lots of work. But it wasn’t all that bad. Her office was sleepy-warm and smelt like a mix of lavender and antiseptic.

  After I’d done what felt like a Full Body Workout Physio Style, she said, ‘Okay, let’s take a look at those knees.’

  Finally! Except she started rolling up the wrong leg of my tracksuit pants. Poor old duck . . .

  ‘Er . . . it’s the other knee,’ I said, feeling embarrassed for her.

  But she just looked up at me and smiled – kind eyes and grandma hair – uncovering a strong, pink, healthy knee. She started pushing and pulling it in weird and unco ways, nodding and writing stuff down.

  We were almost halfway into the session before she finally decided to look at my bad knee. Her fingers were gentle as she pulled away the bandage.

  ‘All right . . .’ Then she went quiet.

  My knee was much better. The purple-brown bruise looked old and tired. I could bend it past ninety degrees and take a good amount of weight. My body was definitely winning the war.

  After a series of do this and stop when it hurts the physio sat back in her chair.

  ‘All right, Jade. I have good news and not-so-good news,’ she said.

  ‘Okay.’ I wasn’t too worried. I’d already had to face the not-so-good-in-fact-totally-awful news of missing out on selection for State. And my doctor had been reassuring about recovery. So I wasn’t too fussed about what a kind old physio might have to say.

  ‘When you hyperextended your knee, it bent backwards the wrong way, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah . . .’ (Duh) ‘Which holds a risk of doing other damage at the same time. Tearing ligaments, that kind of thing.’

  I nodded politely, even though the doctor had already been through this.

  ‘But you’re extremely flexible, Jade. I bet flexibility is one of your strong points at gym . . .’

  I nodded, happily this time. You betcha! The dancey parts of floor and beam were my favourite, not least because that was one of the areas where I was way better than Monique.

  ‘. . . which means that your knee was flexible enough to bend backwards without doing other serious damage,’ continued the physio. ‘I can give
you some exercises to strengthen your knee and see you back training quite fast. That’s the good news.’

  ‘Great!’ I shifted in my chair, itching to jump up and run straight off to gym. This was the real me – a fast healer, not injury-prone.

  The physio was sitting back in her chair, fingertips touching like a spider doing push-ups on a mirror.

  ‘But there’s a flip side to being so flexible, Jade. You have what we term hypermobility. Not just your knee, but all your joints are extremely flexible. It’s a body type, if you like.’

  ‘Okay!’ I said, feeling a bit proud of this body of mine. ‘And that’s good for a gymnast, isn’t it?’

  The physio clasped her hands and laid them purposefully in her lap. ‘No, Jade,’ she said with clarity that seemed like a slap. ‘It means that your joints are weak and at risk of serious injury. The higher you go with gymnastics, the more chance you have of doing something like this, or worse, again. That knee especially. But it could happen anywhere.’

  ‘Okay . . .’ I was listening closer now, trying to take on board what she was saying. Weak? Me? ‘But you can help with all that, can’t you? I can do exercises . . .’

  She nodded. ‘Of course. And I’ll show you how to tape your knee to support it and hold everything in place.’

  Now it was my turn to clasp my hands together. I felt a sudden need to squeeze something. ‘But, if I work hard on this, keep up the exercises and strap my knees properly, then it won’t happen again, right?’

  The physio sighed and considered for a bit. I could see her searching my face, maybe thinking through ways to handle this, like a surgeon spelling out survival rates. Ninety percent of people get through this fine, but there’s a ten per cent chance you’ll die.

  The physio leaned forward – her eyes still kind but with a shadow of annoyance, as if she didn’t want to be forced to spell it out. ‘Look, I don’t have a crystal ball, Jade. I can teach you the exercises; we can be smart about this. But I can’t lie to you. Gymnastics is a tough sport, especially at your elite level. Now that this has happened . . .’

  She trailed off, waiting for me to let her off the hook. But I wasn’t about to do that. For me, this was life or death information.

  The physio shook her head. ‘You want me to guarantee it won’t happen again? I’m sorry, Jade, I can’t do that.’

  I don’t remember much of the session after that. The physio showed me strengthening exercises, like pliés against the wall and lying flat on my back moving my feet down slowly, slowly . . . But I was really just going through the paces – doing what was expected of me while I tried to get my head around everything. My joints were weak? Too flexible? She made it sound like a disability.

  I wasn’t sure what to think. Besides, I was a doer, not a thinker. Just get back to gym again, I decided. Get moving and it will all come back together.

  On Saturday morning, I turned up at training with my knee taped and covered by an elastic brace. Everyone crowded around me – Russell, my big barrel of a coach; bouncy Pip; even a couple of guys from the men’s team.

  Monique hugged me tight, but when she pulled back I avoided her eyes. What would I find in there? Triumph? Relief? Pity? Nothing worth searching for.

  It felt good to start stretching, pretending everything was normal. But vault was still impossible and I could only faff around on beam and floor. Russell gave me a new training sheet – mostly strength and stretching and bars. But other than some small talk about my knee, he basically left me alone.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Insulted? Relieved? It was good to be left to test myself – to stick my toe in the water without anyone watching me pull back and shiver.

  ‘So I want to book early and get good seats at the Nationals,’ said Pip on her way past the bar area. She and Monique were on vault.

  I sucked in a breath, not sure how to answer. Last year just watching the Nationals had been like Christmas in September – full of promise and victorious potential. This year, I didn’t even want to go.

  Pip knew me pretty well. ‘Come on, Jade! You have to come with me!’ She play-punched me on the shoulder.

  ‘Ouch!’ I said, only half joking.

  ‘Besides,’ said Pip with both hands on her hips. ‘We have to check out the competition for Monique . . . and we might be competing next year.’

  Might . . . I didn’t like hearing that word. And yet, it was so much my word of the moment. You might qualify, Jade. Then again, you might not . . .

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘How much do you need?’

  ‘Nothing yet. Mum’s going to book with her credit card.’

  I watched Pip bounce back to the top of the runway as Monique pounded down. Wack went the springboard. Slap went her hands on the vault. Then she was spinning and twisting in the air. I winced as Monique landed hard – but her knees held strong.

  I turned to face the bars, sliding two fingers into a grip and fastening the buckle at the back. The familiar smell made me open my mouth and inhale – a mix of leather, chalk and sweat. The smell of success.

  The last time I wore these grips I was flying. Spinning and twisting in death-defying ways, minutes away from State selection.

  Yes. I can taste it again . . .

  I couldn’t get to my starting position fast enough and did a one-and-a-half legged jump straight to glide. A kip up, then push back and hip circle around – easy but fun after being grounded.

  I pushed back again to glide under and basket kip up, this time to sitting on the low bar. My knee felt awkward. Not hurting, just different. Keeping me out of the zone.

  Pip was running now – half the noise level of Monique, but still the same clunk, slap, fly . . .

  I swung under and kipped up to rest my hips on the high bar, like a bird with leotard feathers. A hip circle again, next would be a flyaway . . .

  Except something made me stop.

  A memory. It came back to me from when I was learning to do a flyaway – flying backwards with legs wide and strong, watching for the low bar beneath me. And missing. A loss of pride, shitty with myself – the nuts and bolts of learning a new move.

  It didn’t happen often now that my body knew the feel of the move so well. But what if it did? What if I crash landed on my bad knee?

  Stop worrying, Jade. Just go for it.

  I took a breath. As long as I did the fly-away properly, then a bad knee wouldn’t even matter.

  But I couldn’t move. My body wouldn’t do it. There I stayed, perched on the bar, fighting with myself, trying to psych up and get back in the zone.

  Come ON, Jade. Just do it!

  But what if something goes wrong . . . ?

  After a while I circled under the high bar, hung for a moment, then dropped. At least I landed that okay.

  ‘Jade?’ Russell was standing in front of me, arms crossed over his big chest. So he wasn’t really leaving me alone.

  ‘I don’t think . . . I’m ready . . .’ It came out as a whisper. My real voice wasn’t used to saying those words.

  ‘It’s okay, Jade. Take your time.’

  Taking off those grips made me ache in a way I never had before. Then I packed up my stuff faster than a Tsukahara vault and left without saying goodbye.

  CHAPTER 6

  I wasn’t sure what to think after that. Wasn’t sure how to feel. All my life I’d carefully plotted my path ahead – my spotlight showing exactly where I was headed. Now I felt as if the spotlight had flicked off. It was too dark to even find the switch.

  ‘How was it?’ called Mum from her office as soon as I got home. I could tell she’d been listening for the sound of my key.

  ‘Good. I just stayed on bars,’ I called from the hall and slammed the door like normal. ‘I’m going to do some homework.’

  Mum appeared at the other end of the hall, an eager look on her face that made me feel slightly sick. I hadn’t even told her about my super-hyper-extra-especially-mobile-handicapped joints. What was the point? I knew
what she would say. Don’t lose focus. There’s nothing stopping you from training like normal and making State Selection for next year . . .

  ‘And how was it with Monique?’ Mum asked, eyebrows high.

  I chucked my gym bag in the hall closet even though my leotard was still in there – perfect conditions to fester and go mouldy. I didn’t care.

  ‘Yeah, Monique’s good,’ I muttered into the closet. ‘And Pip. I’m going to the Nationals with her.’

  When I turned back to Mum her eyebrows had dropped slightly, as if I hadn’t exactly answered her question. Then she summoned up the smile of the century. ‘Good.’ A satisfied nod. ‘I’m proud of you, Jade.’

  I kept my eyes on the carpet and headed straight for my bedroom.

  For the rest of the afternoon, I lay on my bed staring at the blank ceiling and willing the ache away. Just snap out of it, Supergirl. You’ll feel better tomorrow. But no matter how many times I said it, I couldn’t shake the desperate feeling that I was saying words I didn’t believe.

  It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that I heard the front door click and the soft steps of Samantha in the hall. I hitched myself onto my elbows and listened as she walked into the study and said hi to Mum. A few minutes later the toilet flushed, then I heard a dull clunk as Samantha disappeared into her room and shut the door.

  ‘Jade!’ she said a minute later when I poked my head around her door. I liked the way she said my name – welcoming and a bit surprised.

  ‘Do you have a minute or two?’ I asked.

  The air smelt sharp from oil paint. An easel was set up on her desk, holding an unfinished painting of storm clouds and rain over a figure wearing what looked like a huge hooped skirt.

  ‘Of course. What’s going on?’ Samantha swivelled on her desk chair and patted her bed with her foot.

  It felt nice to sit in Samantha’s quiet room, so very different from mine. Weird too. I couldn’t remember the last time I did something like this. I cleared my throat, and realised that I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I didn’t really want to tell her what had happened at gym. Saying it out loud was like tempting bad luck, hinting to the universe that I might lose the war.