A Little Castoria Flashback:

Renée, second year:

My phone rings as I run along the river. I could let it go to voicemail, but it’s probably Mama, and she’ll only worry. She’s relaxed a lot since my first year, but it’s the start of the semester, and she’s having trouble adjusting to me not being at home.

Plus, I told her I wanted to try out for the school’s rowing team and she shipped me a life jacket.

But it’s not Mama who’s calling, when I stop and glance at my phone screen.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Renée?” answers an unfamiliar male voice. “It’s Coach Yeats from the Beavers Rowing Club. How are you?”

“Oh, hi,” I pant, suddenly breathless.  

The university holds open tryouts every fall, no experience necessary, which is what made it so appealing. I’ve never played a competitive sport before, except beauty pageants, which is sort of like MMA but with more makeup and Spanx.

But when I tried out,  I didn’t expect to get a call from the varsity coach himself just to tell me I didn’t make it.

“I wonder if you could come to the boathouse. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Um. Sure. I’ll be right there.” 

The irony is, I’m about a hundred metres from the boatyard and the long building that houses Castoria’s rowing equipment.

Coach Yeats blinks in surprise when I jog through the door three minutes later.

There’s a girl sitting on the rowing machine, dark ponytail swaying as she swings back and forth on the rolling seat. 

She doesn’t turn to look at me.

Coach waves me over. “This is Lauren.”

She stares at the little screen attached to the erg, and I get a good look at her dark eyes and long nose with the littlest bump in it and the intense scowl on her lips.

I turn back to Coach. “W-what am I doing here?”

“I’d like you to try out in a boat with Lauren.”

I frown, because the way I understood it, the boats have eight rowers in them and a coxswain. Everyone does the same thing. It doesn’t really matter who you’re with, so long as you keep in time.

I eye the sixty-foot long boats.

“You misunderstand,” says Coach. “Not for an eight. For a double. I think you could be a sculler. And more importantly, I think you’re well matched with Lauren.”

“O-kay.”

Lauren still hasn’t looked in my direction, but I can feel her listening to us.

“Think about it. This isn’t about paddling around on the water and soaking up some sun. Lauren and her partner won the provincial championships last year, and came in second at nationals. She has potential and needs a partner who will support that. This is hard work, and a commitment for the next three years. It’s you and Lauren being stronger, faster, better than all the other teams in the country. Is that something you’re interested in?”

Now I understand why she hasn’t looked at me. I’m a beginner, I’ve never rowed before, and she doesn’t know if she can depend on me to help her reach her dreams. 

I’ve never had big dreams. Heck, the biggest thing I wanted for my life was to get out of Hog’s Mouth.

But there’s also this feeling I can’t deny. This connection I feel to someone who is trying to do something more than anyone else around them. To be something more than is expected of them.

I test the words in my mouth before I say them, but each one of them is true:

“Yes, I’m in. All in.”

“Good.” Coach turns to the girl. “Lauren?”

She stands, head down, gaze fixed to the floor. She shifts side to side.

I hold out my hand. “Hi. I’m Renée.”

She’s an inch taller than me, but it doesn’t feel like it as her eyes slowly rise to my face. She feels smaller, terrified.

Because this is her dream.

And already I know that I’ll row my heart out for her to get there. Call it my small town roots. 

Or something about Lauren

“What do you say?” Coach turns to her. “You already said no to Christine and Emily and Diwa.”

My eyes flick to him. I don’t like being anyone’s second choice, let alone fourth. It’s the only child in me. Or the Miss Tri-Hog winner three years in a row.

I’m also curious why or how he thinks we’re well matched, but there isn’t time to ask.

Cool fingers wrap around my hand, and Lauren squeezes. She gives the slightest of nods, her facial expression blank and unreadable.

But it’s enough.

Coach blows out a breath. “Thank goodness. Let’s get you two in a boat and hope nobody drowns.”