What Supergirl Did Next Read online

  The Girlfriend Fiction Series

  1 My Life and Other Catastrophes Rowena Mohr

  2 The Indigo Girls Penni Russon

  3 She’s with the Band Georgia Clark

  4 Always Mackenzie Kate Constable

  5 The (not quite) Perfect Boyfriend Lili Wilkinson

  6 Step Up and Dance Thalia Kalkipsakis

  7 The Sweet Life Rebecca Lim

  8 Cassie Barry Jonsberg

  9 Bookmark Days Scot Gardner

  10 Winter of Grace Kate Constable

  11 Something More Mo Johnson

  12 Big Sky Melaina Faranda

  13 Little Bird Penni Russon

  14 What Supergirl Did Next Thalia Kalkipsakis

  www.allenandunwin.com/girlfriendfiction

  THALIA KALKIPSAKIS

  First published in 2009

  Copyright © Thalia Kalkipsakis, 2009

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

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  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

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  Web www.allenandunwin.com

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

  Kalkipsakis, Thalia.

  What supergirl did next

  9781741758672 (pbk.)

  Girlfriend fiction ; 14

  For secondary school age.

  Gymnasts–Juvenile fiction.

  Sports injuries–Juvenile fiction.

  Girls–Juvenile fiction.

  A823.4

  Cover design by Tabitha King and Bruno Herfst

  Text design by Bruno Herfst

  Set in 12.5/15 pt Fournier by Midland Typesetters, Australia

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  www.allenandunwin.com/girlfriendfiction

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  ABOUT THALIA

  CHAPTER 1

  For a moment, I was flying.

  Then with a faint thud, I gripped the low bar and swung under it in a smooth, swooping glide – still flying but now with control. I tucked my legs through and swung up to sit on the low bar, then reached straight for the high bar – muscles straining as I swung under and pulled up. I pushed straight into a handstand, balanced on the high bar. It was a single moment of total control – defying nature, defying gravity, upside down. Only a wooden bar and two metres of air were between my head and the floor.

  Then once more I was swooping down and around in giant circles of the high bar. Gaining speed, gaining momentum, building to the moment when I would let go . . .

  Of course, I wasn’t thinking about any of this. I wasn’t thinking at all, really, because as I swung and flew between the uneven bars, I was in the exact headspace that every good gymnast goes to in her mind.

  I was in the zone: a calm, controlled sequence of movements practiced so many times that they had stopped being conscious and become subtle sensations programmed into every muscle of my body.

  Trust me, when you’re flying above two rounded bars of wood, trying to catch one before you hit the floor hard, the last thing you want to do is think.

  That’s the thing about gymnastics. On the outside, it looks like a challenge of strength and skill, and of course it is, but the main game is in the mind. You can’t land a tumble until you’ve first felt that landing in your head. You can’t learn a new trick until you’ve seen it and felt it and understood what it is inside.

  You can’t do anything unless you believe.

  Anyway, with gymnastics, there are too many things that could go wrong to start thinking about any of them. Who cares if the human body gets dizzy when it spins upside down? Just learn to focus on a spot, you’ll be fine. Not gaining enough height to finish your trick? Just run faster, jump harder. Find a way to make it happen. Don’t start thinking about the chances of missing the bar by a centimetre or two. Don’t even go there, girl . . .

  Once I’d landed, solid and strong, my first thoughts were of victory. You stuck it, Jade. Just a ninety-second floor routine between you and success . . .

  I presented straight ahead – a simple raising of my arms and a smug tilt of my head. It always felt so daft. Then I turned, eyeing the judges confidently, and presented again – the tilt of my head a little less smug this time, a little more hopeful. Come on, ladies, that was a top routine. Now give me the score I need . . .

  As I headed for the bench, I pulled off the leather grips that protected my hands and rubbed the calluses on my palms. Monique and Pip were clapping slowly, even though they’d probably had half an eye on the other gymnasts on floor or vault – checking out the competition.

  ‘Nailed it, Jade,’ said Pip with a smile, wriggling her tiny bum on the bench. She always looked so nervous at comps. As I pulled on my track pants and sat down, she gave my back an energetic pat.

  ‘Yeah, good one, Jade,’ said Monique with a vague frown. She didn’t even look at me. She was pulling dry skin off her lips with her teeth, her eyes super-glued to the most important people in our lives – the judges.

  Then we were still, even Pip who never stops moving, as we watched the judges frown and scribble, waiting for them to make sense of my twists and spins. In a few moments they would boil down my entire routine to a single number. Waiting for the score was like waiting for an answer to the meaning of life.

  Soon 15.45 flashed up on the board. A nod from Pip, an annoyed sigh from Monique, and an intake of air from me. I would never let myself celebrate anything this soon, especially not in front of Monique, but this was good. I was leading the three of us – 2.35 in front of Pip, and 0.825 ahead of Monique, with only my best apparatus left.

  Beating Monique and Pip wasn’t everything, of course. We were competing against twenty-five other elite gymnasts for selection in the State Squad. Monique made the squad last year, and she was desperate to do it again. If I could beat Monique, I had a good chance . . .

  I looked up to the stands, easily finding Mum, who was clapping like she did at all my comps, hands above her head. When she saw me peering into the crowd, she held a fist to her chest – our sign of focus and strength.

  I waved, leaning past Pip. But Mum dropped her arm straight away, nodding slightly, and I knew she was telling me to focus again – to prepare for my floor routine. Believe it before I had to do it for real.

  I leaned back behind Pip and allowed myself a private smile. Mum hadn’t seen my new floor routine yet – a standout routine my coach Russell had called it. He’d said that I could be a contender for a medal on floor at the National Championships.

  But first, I had to qualify
for State Squad . . .

  I was very clear about my future. First: floor routine. Second: qualify for State Squad. Third: medal at the National Championships. It was all so sharp – my path to victory was lit with a spotlight that put everything else in dull, dreary shadows.

  I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my shoulders hunched to block out the worrying and hoping around me. Then I let my mind relax and drift into practicing the hardest moves in my floor routine.

  That’s it, feel it, girl. Now just stay in the zone . . .

  Two steps. You wouldn’t think that two simple little steps could be such a big deal. Especially not after the full-in, back-out – a somersault that twisted backwards and sideways at the same time – that Monique had just done. But as she landed, Monique stepped back and back again, then clenched her jaw tight in personal fury as she presented at the end of her floor routine.

  Of course, I had seen it coming a mile away. Monique always attacks her final tumble like a freight train down the diagonal of the floor. But she doesn’t need to hit it so hard. When Russell yells, ‘Stick it, Monique!’ during training, she clenches her jaw and attacks it even harder, when she really just needs to relax. Monique body is so strong, so nuggetty, that just easing off a bit would work wonders for her overall score.

  Pip and I knew Monique well enough not to say anything as she sat down, but I also knew that she didn’t need to be so dark on herself. That tumble would earn a top skill level and she was set to score pretty high on floor.

  High enough? Well, that was for the judges to decide.

  Already I was pulling off my tracksuit pants and nodding at the little pat on my shoulder from Pip. Then I headed to the waiting area, stretching my shoulders and neck and circling my ankles, a strong thud of hope in my heart. It’s easier to stay in the zone when you’re moving.

  There was a faint clap as Monique’s score flashed on the screen. 14.90. But I only let myself wonder for a moment if that was high enough for the State Squad. Maybe we would both qualify.

  ‘Jade Hopkins,’ called one of the judges, and the thudding in my chest sped up.

  Without focussing on them, I presented to the table of judges, then walked to my starting place on the mat. Automatic movements now. Precise. No thinking. Just staying in the zone.

  When the music started, I began to move – arms circling and reaching back. Then I skipped forwards into a series of wide, wonderful leaps – the main reason I was in love with floor.

  My curve of leaps ended in one corner. For a split second, I allowed myself to savour the moment. Mum’s watching my best routine ever. What is she thinking? A second later I was back in the zone.

  I let my arms drop, head high, ready for my first acrobatic tumble – a few quick steps into a forward somersault. Then I would step out, one foot at a time, and into the rest of my tumble sequence.

  Except, I never got to step out of that forward somersault, never got to do the rest of my tumble sequence, because something went terribly wrong.

  It was like hitting an invisible brick wall.

  One moment I was flying – in the zone and moving with well-rehearsed precision. But as I stepped out of my forwards somersault, my knee gave way beneath me, bending backwards as my entire body weight came down on it.

  A gasp. A muffled thud. And the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the floor, dazed and numb, still partly in the zone, psyched up for the rest of my tumble.

  What is happening? Who has ordered my body to just . . . stop?

  Mum was beside me, holding my limp hand. How did she get down here so fast?

  A man with soft hands was holding my knee, or at least the place where my knee should have been. Because that wasn’t my knee at all – it looked wrong, unnatural.

  Oh no. What have I done . . . ?

  The pain hit me then – white hot and throbbing, screaming at me. Whatever you just did, don’t do it again. Don’t do that ever again . . .

  Sobs choked in my throat, because I was still in shock, slowly coming to realise that something was achingly wrong. This body that responds as I spin and fly, this body that is all me when I’m defying gravity . . . this body had suddenly just . . . stopped.

  I gritted my teeth, screaming inside to control the pain and keep my face under control. Don’t crumple now, Jade, not with so many people watching. But it wasn’t just the pain I was fighting, more painful was the agony of what it all meant.

  In a parallel universe, right now I was flying – impressing them all with my perfect routine. Presenting at the end, knowing I’d nailed it, and then cheering when my score appeared. You’ve made selection for State Squad, Jade. I’d pictured it so clearly. It was my destiny . . .

  Except, here I was, slumped on the floor.

  CHAPTER 2

  ‘Well,’ said Mum, twisting slightly so she could glance at me from the front seat. ‘Welcome to the real world, Supergirl.’ Her voice was flat but softer than usual.

  I didn’t reply. The real world? I’d been about forty measly seconds away from qualifying for State Squad! Now I was sitting in the back of the car, with my bandaged leg resting across the length of the seat and a pair of crutches jammed against the door – and she was calling this the real world! If my knee had waited even two minutes before packing it in, I still could have qualified and healed in time for the Nationals. This wasn’t the real world. As far as I was concerned, I had landed slap bang in the middle of the Land of Freakishly Bad Luck.

  ‘Anyway, I’m proud of you, Jade,’ said Mum, adjusting her rear-view mirror so that she could see me. ‘You carried yourself well, sweetheart. I know the pain must have been awful, but you didn’t show it once.’

  When our eyes met I managed a nod and small smile. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  About the worst thing you can do around my mum is cry or take a step back or even think about shaking your head. She’s like a cross between Cat Woman and that robot guy from Terminator II who never gets hurt or even thinks about giving up. Even worse, she doesn’t understand anyone who’s not strong like her. By the time I was three years old I’d learnt how to stop crying by holding my breath and swallowing hard.

  But it wasn’t tears that I had to smother as I stared at my bandaged knee. It was anger – a white-hot ball of fury and disappointment. This simply shouldn’t be happening. I just wanted to get home, lock myself in my room and scream, scream, scream into my pillow.

  My head was aching almost as much as my knee – partly because I’d been gritting my teeth for so long, but mostly because of the horrid image that kept playing over and over in there. Through it all – the gasping ride to hospital, the jab to stop the pain, the peering and prodding from doctors – I kept seeing flashes of Monique’s face.

  When Russell had gently lifted me and started to walk out of the gym, I’d looked back to see the people crowded around – the ones who had been watching me when I’d been so vulnerable and raw. That was when I’d seen Monique – her wide, worried eyes and her mouth squashed tight. But behind all that, expertly hidden from view, had been another layer of expression on her face – a small, sly smile of relief and good fortune . . .

  Now she was one place closer to qualifying for State.

  No one else would have noticed. Monique had hidden it well. But I knew it was there, because if our places had been swapped, I would have been thinking exactly the same thing.

  I sighed and, for about the zillionth time, tried to shake the image from my mind. This was so, so, so unfair. I deserved a place in the State Squad – I was ripe this year. Ready.

  ‘Anyway, I know you can’t see any good in this now, but it’s a huge life lesson, sweetheart. You’ll come out of it tougher than ever.’ Mum glanced in the rear-view mirror again, smiling as if encouraging me to copy. ‘All the sales reps at work have bad months, but the top ones follow up with a blinder the next.’

  Mum always talks about gymnastics as if it’s a perfect training ground for the world of business. ‘The big bad wor
ld,’ as she always calls it. Her world.

  But I wasn’t in the mood to hear about the power of positive thinking. Gently, I touched the white bandage on my knee. It felt strange. Unnatural. Not at all like me.

  Mum sighed and changed gears. ‘I know it’s hard, Jade. But you’ll get through this . . .’

  For about the tenth time, she glanced in the rear-view mirror at me, hoping for some kind of agreement. But I pretended not to notice, shifting back against the door so that Mum couldn’t see me. I watched the power poles pass the back window in a soothing, pulsing rhythm.

  It wasn’t long before I realised that my cheeks were wet. I wiped my face against the back of the seat and held my breath until I started feeling dizzy.

  By the time I got home, my best friend Rene had left three messages on my phone. The first ‘???’ was just asking for an update about State Squad. Then, an hour after I was due home, she’d sent ‘RUOK?’

  Twenty minutes after that, she’d called properly and left a voice message: ‘Hey, Jade . . . What’s going on? I’m dying to hear how you went! So, even if it’s bad news, just give me a call, okay? You’ll feel better if you talk about it. And I’m starting to get worried . . . ’

  Rene being worried was nothing new. I’d seen her worry about a bunch of tiny ants wandering in crazy zigzags because their trail had been blocked by an esky. She also had an ability to say exactly the right thing, just when I needed her to. Even if that meant saying nothing at all. But I didn’t want to call her yet. Not until I knew.

  Wobbling slightly on my good leg and leaning hard on the padded crutches under my arms, I selected Monique’s name on my phone.

  ‘Jade! How aaaaaare you?’ asked Monique as soon as she answered. There was a light, lilting tone to her voice that made my heart sink.

  ‘Pretty shitty, actually,’ I said with a fake-sounding laugh. ‘I wasn’t expecting . . .’ But I couldn’t say the rest.

  ‘I know,’ said Monique quickly. ‘It’s such bad luck, Jade. What did the doctors say?’

  I sighed. ‘We have to wait for the swelling to go down, but they’re pretty sure it’s a hyper-extension. I probably won’t need an operation.’