IN LATE SPRING, Coach Brenda gathered the girls for their annual trip to Lake Mulligan. The week-long training camp was Brenda’s nineteenth, if you counted the times she went as a student. On the bus, the girls from Sacred Heart’s swim squad lounged, limbs flung over armrests, feet slopping into the aisle. Most of them were dozing or reading teen magazines. Some were even wearing pyjamas, the bus having left before sun-up. Coach Brenda took in the scenery while twirling the whistle she always wore on a frayed blue lanyard. She touched the whistle so often each day that her fingers smelt metallic.

Beside Brenda sat Lindsay, her assistant coach. Lindsay had a travel pillow around her neck and leaned back, closing her eyes occasionally. Lindsay was a former (and average) member of Brenda’s squad and only a few years older than the students.