What Supergirl Did Next

by Thalia Kalkipsakis

  ‘So . . . ah . . . you used to do gym, didn’t you, Sam,’ I asked. Two sisters just chewing the fat.

  Samantha’s forehead creased. ‘And you used to fight about it with Mum, didn’t you?’ I laughed, a bit too loudly. ‘What was that all about?’

  Samantha shrugged. ‘Yeah . . . Well . . . I wanted to quit and Mum said that no child of hers was a quitter and made me stay until the end of the year. The usual deal.’ She leaned back in her chair, watching me.

  ‘But . . . . you were pretty good at gym, weren’t you? How come you wanted to quit?’ At the time I had been too excited finding out I was good at gym too, to worry about another fight between Samantha and Mum. But now it seemed strangely interesting.

  ‘Why . . . you’re not thinking of quitting are you?’ asked Samantha.

  I shook my head. In the end all she said was, ‘It was ages ago. I was ten years old. Kids quit stuff all the time.’

  I nodded, looking down at the stripy flower patterns on her quilt with a feeling that words were being left unsaid.

  The wheels of Samantha’s desk chair shooshed and rattled over the carpet as she pushed herself closer to the bed. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know . . . . Go like this.’ I lifted an index finger and pushed the tip back to form an unnatural backwards ‘c’ with my hand.

  When Samantha copied, her finger went back just as far as mine.

  ‘And this,’ I said, pulling my thumb down to my forearm.

  ‘Yeah, I guess you have it, too,’ I said when she copied again. At least I wasn’t the only one.

  Samantha laughed. ‘We can do party tricks!’ She bent her thumbs so that they looked unco and dislocated, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue for extra effect.

  I only half laughed. ‘Well, it’s called hypermobility and it means that our joints are weak and this . . .’ I patted my knee, ‘could easily happen again.’

  Samantha stopped smiling. ‘Wow, Jade,’ she said softly. ‘Is there any way to fix it?’

  ‘No. Well . . . sort of . . . physio and strength exercises can help.’ I shrugged. ‘Not totally, though. It’s just . . . I can’t get my head around it. I’m not sure . . .’ I trailed off because that was basically it – I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. ‘I freaked out at training today.’

  Samantha sat back in her chair again, a soft, sad look in her eye. She was smiling and shaking her head like a mum whose toddler has just taken its first step and tripped over. ‘This is the first time in your life that you’re not certain you can do it, isn’t it?’ She didn’t wait for me to answer. ‘The first time that Supergirl might have to fight without her powers?’

  Samantha never called me Supergirl and there was something about the way she said it that made me feel a bit annoyed. I kept my eyes on the quilt pattern because we were slap bang in the exact territory that used to start a raging fight.

  But when I looked up, Samantha was smiling at me with the same poor-little-kid sympathy. ‘Well, Jade, this is totally new territory for you. Of course it’s going to be hard.’

  I waited for her to keep talking. When she didn’t, I said, ‘So . . . I should just snap out of it? That’s what Mum would say.’

  Samantha rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t say that.’

  I sighed, wishing that it was as easy as just flicking a switch.

  ‘Look, if it was me,’ said Samantha, ‘I’d just give myself time to get my head around it all. I’d try to relax and just . . . wait and see.’

  I rubbed my knee. ‘You think I should take a break?’

  Samantha shrugged. ‘If you want to. Or keep training if you like. My point is – you don’t always have to know what to do next.’ She put on a broad mock-smile, pretending to be Mum. ‘Or have a ten point plan to success . . . It’s okay to just coast a bit, you know?’ Sam continued. ‘Shit happens, Jade, and sometimes you’ve just got to roll with it for a while.’ She was smiling properly by now.

  ‘Mmm,’ I said, trying to push from my mind the idea of rolling around in smelly poo. ‘Thanks for that, Samantha. And remind me never to ask for your advice again.’ Samantha grinned. ‘Maybe you’ll even end up enjoying a bit of a break from all that work, for once in your life.’

  Enjoy it? As if.

  For a whole week after my conversation with Samantha I woke up every morning with a racing heart, gasping out of bad dreams. Just when the judges called my name to compete I realised that I had nothing on under my tracksuit, or I missed the bus to training or, worst of all, I fell off the beam in front of a packed stadium. Time to get serious . . . Got training to do . . .

  Problem was, every time I turned up at gym for real, just one whiff of the wood and chalk and sweat sent a cold sense of dread right through me. Maybe today is the day when something will go wrong. It took all of my inner strength not to turn around and hightail it straight outta there.

  Russell didn’t try to push me. I think he had other things on his mind, like able-bodied athletes with serious training schedules. I kept going to training a couple of times a week, mostly just to keep Mum off my back. It felt good to stretch and do strength exercises, but if I ever tried to push a bit harder, my brain froze or went into overdrive. I could do most of my bar routine – except for the flyaway – but like Samantha said, it all had a wait-and-see feel about it, as though I was treading water. Well, more like trying to swim in quicksand.

  I was able to hide it all from Mum, at least. Not too hard when she had a mobile phone glued to her ear and a head full of property development issues. But it was harder to hide stuff from Rene. She peered at me sometimes with dark, searching eyes and asked soft questions like, ‘Are the daffodils flowering?’ and ‘How is your knee today?’ Most of the time she just let me pretend that everything was normal – Supergirl was taking a short holiday, but one day her powers would return.

  We stopped meeting beside the oval for lunch, and went back to our old spot under the pine tree. Problem was, a lot of the time I’d end up waiting half of lunchtime for Rene. It wasn’t any easier that I knew where she was, or at least what she was doing – letting Marco stick his tongue down her throat without me around to go eeew.

  I had a lot of time to think, waiting for Rene or at home after school when I’d normally be training – a scattered, mixed-up jumble of thoughts about gym, my knee, and Marco. Was he being loyal to Rene? Was he treating her well? I didn’t know what to hope for.

  I didn’t see much of Levi. He started joining in with the football guys, half-running and catching when he could manage. Whenever I passed him in the corridor, he’d nod or raise his eyebrows, but he never tried to stop and talk.

  Physio was tough and uncomfortable, with no great achievement at the end. No death-defying tumble to show for all that pushing and straining. What was all the effort for? Simply to walk normally again.

  ‘I’ve been speaking to your physio, Jade,’ Russell said one day, during my half-hearted training session, ‘about how this injury seems to have affected your confidence.’ He was looking at me sideways.

  I just shrugged and waited, twirling the ankle on my bad leg. I wasn’t insulted like I might have been in the distant past ‘before knee’.

  ‘Well, we were thinking, maybe you need a proper break, Jade. Maybe you should take a few weeks off altogether.’

  I stared at him, mouth open.

  ‘If you want to, you could do something completely different to keep up your fitness levels. Lap swimming is a great cardio workout.’

  Swimming . . .

  My breath felt thin throughout Russell’s little speech, but I couldn’t tell if it was from relief or aching disappointment.

  Next year’s State Squad was slipping further and further away. And yet, the feeble-minded training was driving me totally insane.

  I swallowed and nodded. ‘Okay then. Thanks, Russ.’

  As Russell put his hand on my shoulder, I smiled and nodded again. I wasn’t a great swimmer, but I could hold my ow
n in the water. Maybe it would be the perfect way to get out of my tired, mixed-up head. Find my way back into the zone.

  CHAPTER 7

  The next day, I caught an early bus to the pool and started shivering before I’d even taken off my tracksuit. Did people actually go swimming in this freezing weather?

  I wasn’t sure how my knee would go in the water. So I taped it carefully and covered that with my trusty elastic brace. Then I headed outside to the main pool area with my towel around my shoulders.

  When I came in sight of the main pool, I stood and stared, suddenly not bothered by the cold concrete beneath my feet.

  It looked amazing. It was fifty metres long with a steamy white mist rising from it, promising refuge from the cold winter morning. The thing that struck me most was the sound – a faint splashing with pure quiet in between. The air felt empty.

  I was surprised at how many lap swimmers were already there, at least one person was in each lane. Three lanes were signed slow, two medium, and two fast. For some reason, the end lane was closed.

  Slow was probably the best lane for me – a cripple – with the geriatrics and flabby weight-loss crowd. But the slow lanes were the busiest, and besides, I didn’t intend to be a slow swimmer for long.

  I held my head high and walked straight to the first medium lane I came to. A guy doing freestyle was the only swimmer. Even I could tell that his technique was bad, but he still managed to cover good ground.

  I waited until he was halfway up the pool, heading away from me. Then I sat on the edge and slipped into the warmth. The water held my knee, making it feel surprisingly safe. But at the same time, I couldn’t stop a little doubt creeping in. What if it screamed as soon as I kicked . . . ?

  I pushed off, starting a low stroke. Don’t think about it, Jade. Don’t let it worry you. Just start swimming . . .

  The first few strokes felt strange and soggy. I didn’t want to kick too hard. But soon my muscles understood where I was and responded – lifting me, reaching and pulling as I asked.

  Panting and happy, I touched the other end of the pool. For the first time in weeks I felt truly alive. Lap swimming was new for me, but some parts were familiar. At last I had a reason to strive. My sparkling, shiny prize was just there, as close as the other end of the pool. Here I am again! This is the real me. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed having a clear goal.

  The guy in my lane was already turning at the other end, heading back towards me. So I pushed off, stronger now and sure.

  My heart and lungs were working too, happy to help me reach a little further, push a little harder. Let’s get moving, Jade . . .

  I was disappointed when I stopped at the end to see the guy was only a half pool length behind me. He was pretty fast. So I lifted my goggles and waited for him to reach me. Then he could turn and swim ahead. I kicked my legs gently up and down, enjoying the white mist around me.

  But the guy stopped when he reached the wall.

  ‘Jade.’

  It wasn’t until I heard my name that I realised . . . I was in the same lap lane as Levi.

  ‘Rehab, hey?’ he said, lifting his goggles. He was puffing hard but he was also grinning.

  ‘Yeah, kind of . . .’

  ‘Are you back to training a hundred hours a week?’ he asked. His shoulders and the top part of his chest were above the water line – smoother and leaner than I expected.

  I gulped and concentrated on looking at Levi’s face. But he wasn’t looking at mine, and I wondered how much of my body he could see underneath the surface of the water. In a swimsuit, there’s nowhere to hide.

  ‘Nope, I’m barely making four hours a week.’ I looked down at the black line beneath us. When I looked up again, Levi shrugged. ‘Well, must push on. After you.’ He lifted a dripping hand, palm up, to indicate our lane.

  ‘No, you’re faster. I’ll slow you down,’ I said, standing away from the wall and feeling cold air on my neck and shoulders.

  Levi nodded, watching me closely as he positioned his goggles. He took a breath that lifted his chest, then he pushed off and started swimming.

  For a quarter-length of the pool, I watched Levi splash away from me. Then I pulled on my goggles and pushed after him, reaching and breathing with the rhythm of my stroke. All I wanted was to not get too far behind.

  At the halfway point, I paused to peek ahead and saw Levi touch and turn. He was even further in front of me now.

  When I touched and turned at the end I was breathing hard, pushing past the awkwardness in my limbs. I could hear faint splashing from the swimmers in other lanes.

  I kept swimming the next lap, planning to keep going even if Levi stopped for a rest at the other end. But when I reached the wall, Levi had already placed two hands on the edge and was pushing himself out of the pool, his back muscles straining. He swivelled and sat on the edge.

  ‘Finished?’ I asked, panting. ‘How long do you swim for?’

  ‘Twenty minutes,’ he said, getting to his feet and rubbing his biceps against the cold. ‘The lane’s all yours.’

  I grinned, but was strangely disappointed that he was leaving.

  Levi stepped down from the edge of the pool. ‘I’m back on Friday after school,’ he said over his shoulder ‘Maybe catch you then?’

  I nodded and smiled, not sure if that was an invitation or a challenge.

  Either way, I’d be there.

  There was an A4 print-out waiting on my placemat at dinner that night. Believe it and you will do it.

  No surprises there. Ever since I’d done my knee, Mum had been doling out inspiration by the bucket-load. Her response to pretty much any crisis is to go searching for a motivational quote. Well . . . that and getting stuck into a bottle of sauvignon blanc.

  ‘What does yours say, Sam?’ I asked, moving my page to make room for a steaming bowl of chicken and asparagus pasta.

  Samantha squished into her place without pulling out the chair. She held her paper up in both hands. Opportunity dances with those on the dancefloor. She looked across at me and scrunched her nose. ‘Think I’d rather dance with Paul Zimmerman from work.’

  I giggled. In the kitchen, Mum was speaking to her boyfriend on the phone – their usual mid-week conversation of Marty asking to come over and Mum keeping him packed away neatly until the weekend.

  Samantha folded her page into a streamlined paper aeroplane. It sailed smoothly through the hall door.

  ‘Where does she find them all?’ I whispered, stabbing a piece of pasta and some asparagus.

  Samantha shrugged as if to say, don’t know, don’t care and started stabbing too.

  It was good to have her at home. Usually she waitressed until all hours. Having Samantha around made me feel like we were a family again. I was getting tired of pretending to be half of the Dynamic Duo with Mum.

  ‘Great pasta,’ said Samantha when Mum came in at last.

  She placed her bowl and wine glass in their spots before unbuttoning her jacket to sit down. ‘Not like the dishes you serve at Russo’s, I’m sure, but good enough for us.’ She smiled at her girls, eyebrows high – challenging us to start smiling too.

  I was already halfway through my bowl. ‘Yeah, it’s great, Mum,’ I said with my mouth full. The swimming had made me ravenous.

  Mum took a sip of wine and placed the glass carefully back in its place. ‘So, Jade, what did you do at the pool this morning?’

  I stabbed a chunk of chicken and twirled it happily in a puddle of cream sauce. ‘Not much, Mum. Swam a few laps.’ Mostly tried to keep up with Levi . . .

  ‘Has the physio given you specific exercises to do in the water?’ She was watching me like a cat, ready to pounce if my answer seemed mouse-like and weak.

  Which of course, it was – the physio said my knee was fine for normal lap swimming and Russell was just letting me take it easy. I shook my head, suddenly fascinated by the bulgy bit on the end of a stick of asparagus.

  Mum hadn’t taken her eyes off me.
‘I called Russell this afternoon and had a good talk with him,’ she said evenly.

  ‘Well, I’m sure you can answer your own questions then.’ I’d done a pretty good job of deflecting her questions so far using words like ‘rehab’ and ‘physio’ to explain everything I did. But Terminator Woman wasn’t the type to sit around and let other people run the show. Sooner or later she was going to go looking for answers.

  She took a sip of wine. ‘Yes, Jade. He did answer a lot of questions. Some that I didn’t even know I had, like What does hypermobility mean?’

  I squashed my lips together. I could feel Samantha watching me closely, realising as she did that I’d told her something I hadn’t told Mum.

  ‘But now I have a few more questions . . .’ Mum said.

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Like what are you planning from here?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum. Going back to gym . . . It’s been . . .’ I trailed off because all three of us already knew what it had been. It had basically been like not going back at all.

  ‘I know, sweetheart . . .’ Mum’s head was tilted in sympathy, but I could see tension on her forehead and annoyance in her eyes. ‘It’s not as simple as waiting for a knee to heal, is it?’ She held her fist to her chest, trying to show that she understood.

  Which, of course, she didn’t. I picked up my fork and started eating again, because I wasn’t sure what else to do. None of my answers would be anything she wanted to hear.

  For a while Mum stared into her glass. I could almost see her sorting through a list of pep talks, deciding which would suit this situation. Which one was most likely to fix me . . .

  ‘Look, Jade, I know it’s hard when there’s a chance this might happen again. But you were so close! It’s natural to lose a bit of confidence after an injury. But there are a whole host of techniques that can help you overcome those doubts.’ She paused, leaning slightly towards me. ‘And who’s to say that you won’t make the Nationals next year? You just need to want it again Jade. All the rest, we can deal with.’