Just Breathe Read online

  About the Book

  Hendrix’s father has a vision – to see Hendrix run for Australia at the Olympics. His days are completely mapped out – what he eats, when he trains, when he sleeps, even the air he breathes.

  There was never room in that vision for a girl, especially in the lead-up to the Nationals. Yet fate works in funny ways, and when Hendrix literally bowls Emily over on a training run, he just can’t get her out of his head. His life and priorities take a turn as he falls for her.

  But Emily has a deadly secret that she’s scared to share even with Hendrix. As their bond grows and Hendrix strays further from his father’s strict regime, the tension builds to a heart-wrenching climax.

  A compelling coming-of-age story for teenagers from much-loved Australian author and media personality, Andrew Daddo.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Book 1

  Hendrix

  Emily

  Hendrix

  Emily

  Hendrix

  Emily

  Hendrix

  Emily

  Hendrix

  Emily

  Book 2

  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

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Praise for One Step

  Imprint

  Read more at Penguin Books Australia

  Bibi & Jasper & Felix

  ‘Seriously?’

  It was the only thing Dad said between the track and the car. He had my stuff with him, so all I had to do was follow like a dog in trouble. Even if I’d wanted to walk beside him, it would have been more like a jog. His shoulders were squared, head forward.

  By the time I caught up to him, the car was started and in gear. The mask was sitting on the console between us and he pushed it firmly across the seat as he was putting his seatbelt on. I went to put it on straightaway but he barked, ‘Wait, would ya! At least ’til we get out of the carpark! You know the drill.’ Dad waved to a couple of mums on the way out, smiling like he meant it.

  ‘Now?’ I said. Despite the lack of real effort in the race, I was hot. Maybe embarrassed, too.

  ‘Yes, now.’

  I put the mask over my nose and mouth, tightening the straps around my head. I sounded like Darth Vader already and he hadn’t turned the cylinder on yet. When he did, when the pure oxygen hit, things cooled right off. It was like someone had put a Mentos into the mask, or toothpaste, and I was filled with clean, fresh air.

  Dad still hadn’t looked at me. ‘So. Seriously. Did he beat you?’

  I pulled the mask off my nose and said, ‘Nah, it was –’

  ‘Leave it on, Hendrix, for God’s sake just breathe. I don’t want to hear it.’

  With the mask on I said, ‘It didn’t matter, though …’

  Dad watched the cars, working the lanes, slotting into spots to get ahead instead of letting us get dragged along in the tide of traffic. It was working, we seemed to be moving when others weren’t.

  ‘I said I don’t want to hear it.’ Dad was pissed. ‘Plan not good enough for you?’

  ‘Yeah, but –’

  ‘Yeah, but what? How many times have I told you? The plan has always been to win. And just win, so everyone else thinks you tried your guts out. As soon as the kid in front is wheeling along like some half-witted spaz with their arms flailing like they’re being chased in a horror movie, that’s the time you go past them. And that’s when you win. But only just. How many times do I have to tell you?’

  The pure oxygen coming through the mask seemed to be clearing my head. ‘I know, Dad. But it doesn’t really matter because all we needed was second place. We’re still going to Districts. It’s no big deal.’

  He turned and glared, laying me out with a dead-eye. The ooooh-ahhhhhh, ooooh-ahhhhhh of my breathing was loud in my ears.

  ‘And Ethan was so happy,’ I said.

  ‘Stuff Ethan. Who cares about him? You win to make you happy, not lose for someone who didn’t deserve to win in the first place. You’re in Under 17, that’s practically running in the Open age group. It’s a bit late for feelings. And what was with the spacko fall over the line? Jesus. You could have injured yourself.’

  ‘But I didn’t. And it doesn’t matter, Dad. All we had to do was make it to Districts, and I’ll win them easily. All good.’

  ‘Obviously.’ It came out as a cough.

  That was the last word on the way to the beach. It was pretty bleak: an onshore wind was bullying the little breakers, pushing them over before they had a chance to reach their full height. I went straight in, trying hard not to look like the kid who hates cold water. They make me laugh those people, holding their hands above their heads and jumping above the tiniest waves. That first time the water gets over the waistband of your shorts is awful, but once you’re used to it, the cold’s generally okay. I walked from first to second pipe and back again, letting the cold work its magic on any lactic acid that may have built up in my legs. The water was properly freezing for this time of year; the cold never failed to make me catch my breath.

  This had always been the way of things. Run, oxygen, ice, eat, drink, breathe, sleep.

  Dad worked away at his phone in one hand, and held a towel out for me with the other as I came in. While I’d been out there freezing, he must have thawed.

  ‘You did let him win, right?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  ‘I hope so, for your sake. It’s not like he could beat you on his best day. Listen, I guess I got a surprise because that’s not how we talked about the race. I’m old, my heart’s not that strong anymore.’

  ‘Good one, Dad. Your heart’s fine. Better than mine, I’d reckon.’

  ‘Probably’ he said. ‘Legs?’

  ‘Solid,’ I said. Always solid. Like everything. School solid, health solid, run solid. Dad was right, I should have buried Ethan. It should have been an easy, efficient and precise victory that looked difficult to everyone but us. That’s what the training’s been about, and life has been about training.

  For as long as I could remember, Dad and training had been the most constant things in my life. Dad set the agenda, my job was to meet his expectations: specific times, specific distances, the right foods at the right intervals to keep me sharp. Dad reckoned training me was like tuning an engine, the mix between fuel and oxygen had to be spot on. He’d got me so fine-tuned that when I raced, if I got to the point where I needed more power, all I’d have to do was open up to
let more oxygen in, and I’d literally take off. So far, there’d barely been a moment in a race where I’d got anywhere near my full potential, but only because I hadn’t needed to. He liked to remind me the test would come eventually and I had to be ready. He said destiny was 800 metres from the start line, and in the long game, we’d barely got out of the sheds.

  I stayed on the oxygen mask until the timer on Dad’s phone went before putting it away.

  Dad seemed fine – he was whistling badly through his front teeth to a different song from the one playing on the radio.

  After a rough start, everything felt pretty good.

  Dinner was light.

  We ate a slab of very pink, lean steak and salad at the kitchen bench.

  Dad pulled up the State athletics website, hoping to get a look at who else had made it to Districts. Only a couple of schools had submitted runners and none of their times were particularly good.

  ‘Doesn’t anyone train?’ said Dad, rubbing his hand over the stubble on his head.

  ‘Maybe they’re running just fast enough,’ I said, clearing the table.

  ‘There’s more if you want, but not too much. It’ll sit in your guts when you’re trying to sleep.’

  ‘I’m right,’ I said. He wasn’t serious about me having more. If he had been, he would have put it on my plate in the first place.

  I put the dishes in their usual spots at the back of the dishwasher, the glasses in the middle on the top shelf. It was always the same. I could unstack the dishwasher blindfolded. Two tea cups, top shelf, back left. Two cereal bowls, top shelf back right. Drinking glasses in a line down the middle. Plates on the bottom, big plates to the left, little plates to the right. Same thing, every time. There was just the two of us, why would it be any different? Sometimes there was a random bowl, but usually, if I ate something extra during the day, I’d have it washed and snuck away before Dad got home.

  ‘Homework?’ he asked.

  ‘Nup, not with the sports day.’

  He pointed a thumb up the hallway. ‘Bed then. Big day tomorrow, mate.’

  TV wasn’t an option. Bed meant bed, so that’s where I went after a quick shower. The bathroom’s a bit like the kitchen: white and bright, the bench kept clear, everything clean and ordered. My toothbrush was in its own holder in the drawer along with my toothpaste. Dad used the sensitive gum stuff, which had the same kind of light taste skim milk has compared to normal milk. I folded my towel in half, long ways, and hung it on the heated towel rail. You wouldn’t even know I’d been in there.

  An altitude training mask hung by the bed, but I wouldn’t wear it on the night after a race. If anything I should be back on the oxygen, not limiting it. The house was so quiet. Just lying in bed, listening to the nothing, imagining the ceiling rising and falling like a lung, I thought how different it’d be with Mum here.

  Through the dark, I could just make out her picture on the table by my bed. Closing my eyes was enough to get a better look at her. She’d been such fun. Warm and soft and safe, that was Mum. I could go to her with anything. Bouncy brown hair and eyes to match. She was very fit, but not in a sinewy way, and taller than Dad, who’s a bit of a short arse. I’d shot past him by the end of primary school.

  Mum and Dad would have been a funny pair: Mum with her hair and softness next to bald Dad and his hard edges. Dad said the two of them had balanced each other out.

  ‘Night, Mum,’ I said to her photo, but I kissed the Mum in my mind’s eye. I always kissed her goodnight. She’d know it didn’t matter about Ethan winning the school champs. She would have been okay to let him win by more. She’d always said racing was about getting the job done, the how wasn’t important.

  ‘You’ll be right, Em,’ said Dad with his arm around me. He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘You and your mum’ll have a great time. It’ll be like a holiday, I’ll bet.’

  I turned into him, clasped my hands behind his back and rummaged in ’til he relaxed and put his arms around me properly. He made all of us work hard for his hugs.

  Dad hung in for a while before squirming out and giving Mum a chance. Their goodbye was typically brief but affectionate. I’m sure they had their moments, but never in front of us. They pecked at each other’s mouths a couple of times before Mum got a hold of Siss and held her tight.

  I gave Siss a hug, too, telling her not to pash anyone without calling me first.

  Mum turned me round and pointed me at the car as I called over my shoulder to Siss, ‘And definitely not that Gavin dickhead with the mullet. No pashing Gav.’

  Siss laughed through fresh tears. It was enough to get me bawling all over again and wondering if leaving Benalla was the best option. Mum started crying next and when Dad got blurry and pulled his cap low over his eyes, the shit felt real.

  Somehow our brand new start was feeling exactly like the end of the world.

  ‘Do what your mum says, Em,’ said Dad, studying his fingernails. ‘Whatever she says, you do it.’

  ‘I will, Dad.’

  Wiping his nose on his sleeve he tried to laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’ He was struggling for words. ‘And the doctors. Especially do what they tell ya.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Do it, Em,’ went Siss. ‘Whatever they say, just do it. Get better. We need you.’

  Mum and I didn’t talk much in the car. We tried, once the tears were out of the way, but that wasn’t until we’d hit the freeway and by then the music was on and up. We made the first pact of our new life. If any song sounded like a break-up song, we had to find a new one.

  ‘That means no Taylor Swift,’ went Mum. ‘Which is a shame, because I love her!’

  Then Mum put on Taylor’s 1989 CD and we sang along and bawled most of the way to Avenal.

  Again, I started questioning what we were doing. My brain was saying Yes, but my heart was screaming, Turn the

  car around and let’s go home!

  My going-away party was meant to be fun. It ended up sideways and miserable. I was going to Melbourne for treatment for this mystery growth at the base of my skull, so my friends had acted like I was dead and were giving me a funeral before I’d even died. They’d talked memories like I wasn’t there. And instead of them trying to make me feel better about leaving the bush, I’d ended up making them feel better about staying.

  I even hooked up with Toby Eastley. He was pissed and slobbery. When he gave me a hug it turned into a kiss, which turned into his smoky, beery tongue working its way into the back of my throat. I let him. No harm done. I was a bit pissed, too, and knew he’d always had half a thing for me. It’d actually felt like a full thing. He pushed himself against me, grinding his pelvis against mine, and there was a lump down there that hadn’t been when he’d hugged me.

  ‘Gonna miss you, Em,’ he said, pulling his face back to look at me.

  I said, ‘Gonna miss you, too, Tob.’ I put my head on his chest and watched the party from there. Same party as last Saturday, and the Saturday before. Nothing against the ’Nalla boys, but it was like they were bogged. No matter what they did, their wheels just kept spinning on the spot. And worse, us girls would get out to help things move and get covered in the mud and the shit that got spun out.

  Nothing looked like changing, not in a hurry anyway.

  Toby had pulled away and took my face in his hands. ‘You’re the best, you know, Em. This place’s gonna be a bigger shithole without you.’

  ‘Bloody hope so,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back, though. You wait, I’ll be back, bigger and better than ever!’

  ‘Sure you will,’ he slurred, coming in for another pash. ‘Don’t come back too much bigger, but. You look pretty good now.’ He might have had tears in eyes, or maybe it was smoke. When I pulled away, he hugged me harder, kind of clamping my head to his chest with his chin. ‘Gonna miss ya, Em.’

  ‘You said that, Tob,’ I laughed, wriggling out from his grip.

  ‘I bloody am.’

  ‘I bloody am, too, you big idiot. Now
let me go in case someone else wants to pash me.’

  ‘Bloody funny, Em.’

  It had been a bit like that for most of the night. There were a stack of ‘Miss ya’s already,’ and ‘It’s not fair,’ and stuff like that.

  Now that we’d driven away, I reckon I would have preferred to stay.

  Mum snapped me out of the funk when she pulled into the servo at Avenal. We ordered what we always did. Mugaccino for Mum, hot chocolate for me, and a big bag of hot chips for the two of us to split.

  ‘Dimmy?’ said Mum.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ I tried to sound like I wasn’t sure.

  Mum laughed. ‘But this is the last of them, and the chips. Maybe even the hot chocolates, too. We’re going on a health kick, you and me. If you have to miss out on stuff during your treatment, I’m going to do it with you.’

  ‘Geez, Mum,’ I said. ‘Might as well throw in a potato cake, too, eh? And make the dimmy’s fried.’

  Mum pursed her lips until her chin wrinkled. ‘The next little while might suck a bit. How about we make an exception for the dim sims from the South Melbourne Market for this health kick? They’re so good they couldn’t be bad for you, eh?’

  Dad beat me to the alarm.