Kate Hendrick - Fish Out of Water

Finn the Swimmer. Finn the Winner. Finn who works hard and pushes through and never gives up.

Or just Finn. And whatever Finn could be.

Life is pretty simple for fifteen-year-old Finn: just keep following the black line in the pool. But in a moment it all changes: distracted by a familiar face in the crowd, he falters on the blocks and loses not just the race, but the single-minded focus that has driven him this far.

Did he really see what he thinks he saw? It doesnt seem possiblenot after what happenedbut now Finn cant stop wondering, and everything is starting to unravel. For the first time, hes got no idea what hes supposed to do or who hes supposed to listen to. His bossy older sister, Connie, who wants to know the truth? The whip-smart and unforgiving Aaliyah? Or the unflappable Loki, who gets Finn like no one else ever has?

It turns out that in life theres no such thing as a simple choice. And sometimes theres no choice at all.

For Jann

Most people dont know it, but humans are bioluminescent. Everyone, every single person walking around, has light coming out of them, whether they want it to or not. Not brightly enough to be visible to the naked eye, but there. A hidden, irrefutable, marvellous truth:

We are all, literally, glowing.

Training is all about developing muscle memory. When the adrenaline hits, every fibre, every muscle, will remember its role and play its part. Clean strokes, a perfect dive, a tumble engineered to the smallest fraction of a degree. A magnificent machine in motion.

But now

Im too heavy in the water.

My arms and legs are sinking, starting to list like foundering ships and all I can think of is the glow. I see it in the water. Time slows and I see each crafted stroke, each flick of a foot, and I see the others: their light. In the water, they glow.

Im falling behind. I am behind. I dig deep, knowing its already futile. At this point no surge of power can make up the distance.

Dig deep. Deeper.

But theres

nothing

there.

As I close the final distance, knowing others have already reached the wall, I release any trace of expectation that I have of myself. I let it go, ribboning in my wake.

And I wonder if at least Im glowing too.

I reach for my phone, blinking at the sudden brightness of the screen in the dark bedroom. Two to five: the alarm goes off in two minutes.

I place my phone on my chest and fold my hands over it like an Egyptian mummy. Stare up at the ceiling in the darkness, letting myself become one with the void.

Knowing what I need to do and why has always given me a sense of purpose. Im up early to train. I train so I can win. Because winning matters. And now

Maybe it doesnt.

A thought that turned itself over and over in my mind during the silent trip home.

Maybe it doesnt matter at all. Maybe life goes on, either way.

I lie in my bed, counting the seconds as they tick by.

Not many things lend themselves to existential angst like voluntarily getting up too early six mornings a week. Deciding every time to put an aching body back to work, draw those bone-tired limbs from the water as it fights to hold me in.

Tick, tick.

This time, the question is not just about the now. It stretches out ahead of me, far as the minds eye can see.

Do I want to? Do I want it?

Not just today, but tomorrow. The day after. The day after that.

Eight years of squads, comps. Nearly five years now of serious training. Thousands of kilometres swum. Countless calories relentlessly burnt. All in the one direction. And forty-eight hours ago, I veered off course.

On my chest, the phone starts to buzz and glow. I hit the button without lookingStopand the room falls dark and silent again.

Not too late to go back. Take my place. Follow the black line.

Or.

A different path: terrifyingly, exhilaratingly unmarked.

Two choices.

Finn the Swimmer. Finn the Winner. Finn who works hard and pushes through and never gives up.

Or just Finn. And whatever Finn could be.

I realise, as I exhale, that Ive already made up my mind. Its a revelation, the dawning of a new age.

Im not going.

Im done.

Done. I say it aloud, my indecision vanishing like fog on a gust of wind. I put my phone down on the bedside table and roll over, hoping to get back to sleep.

A thought pops into my mind. Connie. Shell already be on her way to pick me up. I grab my phone and shoot off a quick message before I can second-guess myself.

Not going this morning, sorry. You can go back to bed.

Her reply comes through. Dude, Im halfway there.

Sorry.

I put my phone down and stare at the ceiling for a few long minutes before I admit to myself that Im not going back to sleep. My body clock is well tuned after years of early starts, and thinks 5 a.m. is when the day begins. Reprogramming circadian rhythms takes time. Ill need a transition strategy. Ill need strategies for a whole new life. Might as well start now.

Exercise. Ditching swimming doesnt mean giving up on everything. All the studies prove that exercise is good for mental health as well as physical. An intensive gym session is just as effective as laps and training drills. Endorphins to chase, calories to burn.

Theres already a buzz in my fingertips as I lace up my running shoes, as if pent-up energy is trying to find a way out. I check my Fitbit, mentally calculate a five- to six-k route and then take off.

Ive finished the run, done forty minutes in the garage gym and made myself a six-egg omelette by the time Mum comes out, bleary-eyed. Its half past sevenshes not a morning person.

She stops. Stares at me. What are you doing here? Youve got training.

Im not going.

Finn

We need new dumbbell weights. Some of Dads are missing.

What? Dont change the topic. I want to talk to you about swimming. I know youre upset about the race, but I dont think you should go rushing

Im sick of it. Why is she still talking about swimming? I want to do something different. I just went for a run and did a gym session, but were missing some dumbbells. Can we buy new ones?

Well talk about it.

That means no.

No, it means Im not committing to anything at seven in the morning.

Seven-thirty. Look, youve told me a hundred times its up to me, I remind her. The day I get sick of the early starts and the long hours, I can call it quits. You said that.

She puts her hands to her head like she has a headache. Just let me have my tea in peace, okay?

She drops me at school on her way to work. Its still twenty minutes before the bell as I enter the school gate, and the grounds are quiet. I do a wandering lap, noting the students who are already here and how neatly theyre fulfilling their gender obligations: a scatter of boys on the oval, tossing a football. Girls in clusters at the covered picnic tables, giggling over phones. The library is up ahead, and my pace picks up as I remember theres a library book thats been mouldering in the bottom of my bag for at least a term, something we had to read for English.

Aaliyah Osman is sitting on the bench outside, piles of books open around her. Weve got half-yearly exams starting next week and shes focused, dark eyes darting back and forth across the pages.