Page 21 of What Did I Miss?

Makayla belly crawls along dewy sand, determined to reach a cluster of reeds ahead in record time. Salt flicks into her mouth when she opens it to shout at Rongo and Imogen, who are lagging.

‘Faster!’

The sun pokes over the choppy waters at Glenmore Beach, where they’ve been training every morning this week. The dicey wind is sharper than a knife, but Makayla won’t let them quit. Victory will be hers. She can smell it, along with the pungent stench of seaweed dotted across the shore.

Moving their workouts away from the aquatic centre is part of her genius plan to beat Agnes in the teachers’ race in two days.

If she thinks they’ve been slacking off, Agnes and co will become complacent.

Then on Friday, Makayla will blow them out of the water, making all the dawn starts and gruelling sessions worth it.

Makayla arrives at the designated finish line barely out of breath, but Rongo and Imogen have given up. He’s sprawled out like a starfish, and she’s faceplanted into the earth. Makayla slithers over to them.

‘What are you slackers doing? After this we’ve got sprints, bench jumps and don’t even think about skipping our fresh dip in the ocean.’

‘Ma-kay-la,’ Rongo wheezes. ‘This is too much. You need to take it down a notch.’

Imogen echoes the request with a thumbs up.

‘My thighs are killing me after yesterday’s ten-kay run. We’re training for a school charity race, not the Olympics. I know you want to beat Agnes, but has this got something to do with what’s happening between you and Beau?’ asks Rongo.

Imogen leaps to her knees. ‘What’s this about Beau?’ She glances back and forth, demanding answers.

‘Nothing.’ Makayla stands, brushing excess sand off her legs. ‘This is about putting Agnes in her place. Just because she’s been working at our school the longest—’

‘Makayla,’ Rongo says.

‘—doesn’t mean she can torture us. It’s all a big distraction from her miserable existence. She’s got nothing and no one, except those two wimpy dogs and—’

‘Makayla.’

‘I’m not done.’ Can’t he tell she’s about to get to the part where the coach inspires the team to make a triumphant comeback? ‘Agnes started this war and we’re going to finish it. We have to beat her. Not for us, but for all the teachers she terrorises. Who’s with me?’

‘Makayla!’ Rongo points behind her.

In the far distance, four dots bounce up and down, tackling a dune.

Spies! A whistle pierces the calm of the great outdoors and Agnes’s team band together into a tight line.

They jog in Makayla’s direction, synchronising arm and leg movements, and go from blurry outlines to detailed profiles within seconds.

They’re decked out from head to toe in coordinating merch with their new name, The Sharks, embroidered across navy polo tops.

Makayla scoffs, secretly wishing she’d thought of that.

Leading the charge, Agnes halts, and her loyal herd spread out beside her, their hamstrings throbbing and bigger than ever before. Agnes probably hooks them up to an IV drip of performance-enhancing drugs.

Makayla widens her stance, drawing upon power-pose energy. Sharks can smell fear.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asks.

‘Whatever do you mean? We had no idea you’d be here, but since you are, wouldn’t it be fun to train together?’ Agnes’s eyes twinkle with agenda.

‘I’m not falling for your tricks, lady. You’re trying to scope out the competition. Admit it.’

‘What nonsense. Honestly, you take all this too seriously. Especially for someone who has no chance of winning.’ Agnes cracks her knuckles.

‘Uh-huh! There she is. The real Agnes. She’s finally taken off the mask and everyone’s seen it. You saw it. And you saw it.’ Makayla points, but none of the witnesses are game enough to corroborate. ‘You saw it, didn’t you, Rongo?’

Rongo, five times the size of Agnes, stares at his runners. Probably for the best, in case she turns him into stone.

‘You’ve got about ten seconds to get off my beach.’ Makayla’s done playing.

‘Or what?’ Agnes squints.

Great question. What’s Makayla going to do? Fling a sixty-five-year-old woman over her shoulder and cart her back to the car kicking and screaming?

‘Come on, everyone.’ Beau stands between the rivals, arms outstretched. ‘We’re all adults. I’m sure we can come up with a fair compromise.’

Trust Beau to be a peacemaker. Ever since the bathroom incident, he’s been winning her back with fun-sized Snickers bars he leaves on her desk every day.

Neither of them has mentioned it, and now she realises there’s a good chance it was Agnes bulking her up, like the witch did to Hansel and Gretel.

‘We’re not sharing,’ Makayla says to Beau. ‘She’s trying to get intel. You, of all people, should be able to see that. Unless you’re in on it too, Major.’

He shakes his head, laughing.

‘It would take a miracle for you to beat me,’ Agnes says. ‘Where’s Cecilia? You can’t even get your entire team to show up.’

‘She’s sick,’ Makayla says, hiding her irritation at Cece’s lack of commitment.

‘On second thought, have the beach. We don’t need to train anymore; we’ve got this in the bag.’ Agnes spins on her heels. ‘Let’s go, Sharks!’ She blows her whistle. The shrill sound scares a flock of seagulls away.

‘Wanna bet?’ Makayla shouts. They’re not leaving thinking they’re better than her. ‘A hundred dollars says we’ll take home the trophy this year.’

Agnes swings around, taking the bait. ‘We can do better than that. Something more worthwhile, hmm? Name your price.’

There’d be no greater satisfaction than winning and capturing the moment on camera. She’d make multiple copies, laminate them and hang them all over the school. Makayla takes a moment, debating how to milk it further, then Rongo’s parched skin gives her an idea.

‘If we win, no more assigning Rongo or any of us to yard duty on the oval. We get the library.’

Every teacher prays to be assigned there. It’s usually deserted, and even when it’s not, the few bookworms who use it aren’t the kind that require supervision.

‘I’m happy with that. But if you lose, you go on a date with …’ Agnes points to Beau.

‘Did you put her up to this?’ Makayla glares at him. How did she let herself get bamboozled?

‘I had nothing to do with this, I swear.’ Beau steps closer, forcing Makayla to stare into his soul for the truth. ‘You need to change it, Ag. You can’t force her to go out with me when they lose.’

‘ When? ’ Makayla screeches. For someone who’s trying to get back in her good books, he’s going about it the wrong way. ‘Don’t go home and iron your date shirt, Shepherd. I’m going to win that race.’

‘We,’ Rongo coughs. ‘We’ll win.’

‘Right,’ Makayla says, nodding.

‘It sounds like we have a deal.’ Agnes holds out her hand to make it official.

The fact that she’s standing two metres away, forcing Makayla to come to her, can’t be a coincidence – that woman’s always on a power trip.

If this blows up in Makayla’s face, she’ll have to spend an evening with Beau.

Can she resist falling into bed with him again?

The back seat of a car? A bathroom? Any space that can accommodate two tall people?

But that’s not the part that truly terrifies her.

What if he asks personal questions and Makayla cracks under pressure?

Beau’s sandy hair glistens in the sun, and the glow frames that broad body that Makayla often aches for.

The waves crash over one another, whooshing in time with her heartbeat.

She’s too weak to be alone with Beau, which is why she’ll have to use every ounce of strength she has to win.

Agnes has just given her opponent the greatest motivation ever.

‘Deal!’ Makayla steps forward and shakes on it.

‘Has anyone seen Cece? The art teacher? Anyone?’ Makayla pushes back her goggles to survey the crowd at the swimming carnival.

How hard can it be to find a woman in a yellow dress, wearing flamingo earrings? Cece’s picked the worst time to go AWOL; their race starts in five minutes and she promised not to flake. The stakes are too high.

Jeffrey’s voice thunders through the speakers. The students pop their headphones into place to drown out his awful rendition of the school song; no one else even knows the lyrics. With one hand, they scroll their phones, leaving the other free to shovel in hot chips.

Makayla takes to the change rooms to find their missing team member and skids along the wet tiles, which are doing their best to bring her down. Coincidence or sabotage?

‘Cece, you in here?’ Her voice echoes. It’s all but empty except for a stall in the corner.

‘Knock, knock. I know you’re in there. I can see your nail polish.

’ Who else paints their toenails like watermelons?

As soon as the lock clicks open, Makayla barges in, gasping at a fully clothed Cece. ‘Chop, chop. We’re on soon.’

Makayla removes the swimmers hanging on a hook and hands them to her. There’s no time for games; her reputation is on the line.

‘I can’t get them over my child-bearing hips.’ Purple mascara streams down Cece’s cheeks.

Makayla inspects the one-piece, recognising the sherbet scale pattern from previous years.

‘You just had a baby. Don’t stress. I’ll pull one side and you stretch the other. Let’s go—’

‘Tilly’s well over one and I still haven’t bounced back – but believe me, everything is bouncing and flopping all over the place. Look at me!’

Besides the make-up melting off her face and the balloon-sized bags under her eyes, Makayla thinks Cece looks as fabulous as ever.

She glances at her watch. Four minutes to go.

Missing the race means forfeiting, which will be even worse than losing.

Agnes will think Makayla is too chicken to face her.

‘I can’t go out there in swimmers, and I’m not walking down the aisle like … like … this.’ Cece gestures to her belly.