Lorna Schultz Nicholson - When You Least Expect It

Copyright 2021 Lorna Schultz Nicholson

Published in Canada by Red Deer Press, 195 Allstate Parkway, Markham, ON L3R 4T8

Published in the United States by Red Deer Press, 311 Washington Street, Brighton, MA 02135

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews and articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Red Deer Press, 195 Allstate Parkway, Markham, ON L3R 4T8

Red Deer Press acknowledges with thanks the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for their support of our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the

Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities.

Edited for the Press by Peter Carver

Text and cover design by Tanya Montini

Proudly printed in Canada by Avant Imaging & Integrated Media

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: When you least expect it / Lorna Nicholson.

Names: Schultz Nicholson, Lorna, author.

Identifiers: Canadiana 20210209690 | ISBN 9780889956414 (softcover) |

ISBN 9780889956803 (ePub) | ISBN 9780889956797 (PDF)

Subjects: LCGFT: Novels.

Classification: LCC PS8637.C58 W44 2021 | DDC jC813/.6dc23

Publisher Cataloging-in-Publication Data (U.S.)

Names: Nicholson, Lorna, author.

Title: When You Least Expect It / Lorna Nicholson.

Description: Markham, Ontario : Red Deer Press, 2021.| Summary: When Holly Callahan, at 17 a determined competitive rower, fails to make the team heading for an international competition, her world collapses. Shes also dealing with her single mothers new boyfriend whom she detests. Its only when she meets a stranger at the local boathouse that she is able to find a new path to rowing success-- Provided by publisher.

Identifiers: ISBN 978-0-88995-641-4 (paperback)

ISBN 978-0-88995-680-3 (ePub) | ISBN 978-0-88995-679-7 (PDF)

Subjects: LCSH Rowers Juvenile fiction. | Failure (Psychology) -- Juvenile fiction. | Blended families -- Juvenile fiction. | Resilience Juvenile fiction. | BISAC: YOUNG ADULT FICTION / General.

Classification: LCC PZ7.N534Wh |DDC 813.6 dc23

www.reddeerpress.com

To all the rowers and coxswains that I have sat in a boat with.

To all my coaches who instilled in me the toughness, and beauty, of the sport.

To all my coaching mentors who taught me to coach.

To all the rowers I have had the pleasure of coaching.

You all showed me that rowing

is an

art.

The Start

My mom once

laughed

and told me

that the start of a

rowing race

sounded like

a baby being born.

I was

fourteen,

at the time,

and thought that was

the stupidest thing

Id ever heard.

I probably rolled

my eyes.

But are they similar?

A rowing start and

the birth of a baby?

Heavy pushes and grunting, I guess.

I exited Earth

too early

to experience

birthing a

baby,

and I dont remember

my own birth

only moms can do that.

I was a lucky kid.

Parents,

two of them,

together,

a family.

Loved.

They wanted

only me,

no other baby.

Now I wish there was

someone else,

for them to love

besides me.

Chapter 1

My heart pounded right through my spandex singlet. I sat halfway up my rowing slide, with my oar angled and buried in the water. My entire body vibrated in anticipation of the word go ! Water splashed against the side of the boat. The sun beat down. Polarized sunglasses, secured tightly around the back of my head, hugged my face.

Today was the last day of tryouts for the Junior Canadian Rowing Team, and this was the last race of the day. My making the team was down to this one last seat race. Id made it through three days of racing on the rowing course in St. Catharineshome of the Royal Canadian Henley and Canadian Secondary School Regattaand now I was fighting with one other rower for the last spot.

One spot was left. Thats it; thats all.

And there were two of us competing, our fates still undecided. After this race, one of us would secure that seat. I sat tall in the boat and focused my gaze on the rower in front of me. I didnt dare look outside the boat.

Breathe, Holly, breathe.

One of us was going home after this last race. The others, who made the team, would travel to the World Junior Rowing Championships in Lucerne, Switzerland, later in the summer. Ten rowers had already been selected, and Id had to live through their squeals and happy celebrations. Id also witnessed the devastation of others who were cut and already sent home.

I inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm my rapid breathing. I was sitting bow seat in one of the two coxed four boats, and Keira, who was from Vancouver, was sitting bow in the other boat. Only two boats were racing today. The schedule was two races and, out of the eight of us rowing, Keira and I were the only ones competing. The format was for me to sit bow seat in one boat and race, then Keira and I would switch boats and race again. The two race times would be added up, and whoever had the fastest time would be the lucky one.

Id already lost the first race.

And wed already switched boats. I had to win this race. This was it for me. I needed a win and I only had one more chance.

My body shook. I quickly looked down to make sure I was in the right position. I was good, still sitting only halfway up my slide. Both boats, to make it fair, were starting the race with a half-stroke and had the exact same start sequence. My knees were bent, like I was in a squat, and I sat tall, ready to push back and use my legs to power the oar through the water.

I wanted this so badly. For so many reasons.

I tried to suck in oxygen, to get rid of my jitters.

Stop shaking. You can do this.

I desperately wanted this so I could travel to Europe and compete at a high level. Be a national team athlete. But I also needed this so I could be gone all summer from the new family that had been dropped on me. I didnt want to go home. Home wasnt home anymore.

I had to win. Please let me win.

My hands were clammy as I gripped the oar, but I didnt dare wipe them off. Sweat was already dripping from every pore in my body.

I had this. I could do this.

I blew out air again to stop the hammering in my chest. I couldnt look out of the boat, at the maple and willow trees lining Martindale Pond, the water we were rowing on. No, I had to stare ahead, keep my focus inside the boat. We were lined up in the starting gates, and the stern of the boat was being held by a boatholder, meaning we were ready to go at any moment.