Trolled Read online

  Trolled

  Steven Sandor

  James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers

  Toronto

  Prologue

  One. Two. Three. Breathe.

  Andy’s right arm broke through the surface. He reached forward and rotated his wrist so his thumb would be pointing downward when it plunged back into the water. He repeated the motion with his left arm, trying to keep his form as symmetrical as possible. Each stroke had to be a mirror image of the other. On every fourth stroke, he lifted his head just out of the water so he could take a quick breath. He didn’t exhale until his head was back in the water. He controlled the pace at which he exhaled, almost as if he were whispering into the water, a line of bubbles rising from his face.

  Coach Ocampo had hammered home the lesson. If you exhale too quickly, your lungs will feel like they are going to burst. Nice and steady. Big splashes slow you down.

  Andy peered through the lenses of his grey no-fog goggles and saw the wall coming closer. Before getting to the wall, he rolled in the water, somersaulting and twisting at the same time. Now his feet were planted against the wall he’d been facing. He pushed off and shot off in the other direction.

  One. Two. Three. Breathe. One. Two. Three. Breathe.

  Andy was close to the wall at the other end. He reached for it. His fingers hooked onto the edge and his head broke the surface of the water. He looked at Coach Ocampo, who was standing on the deck of the Earnscliffe Recreation Centre pool. The coach had a stopwatch in his hand.

  “Not bad,” the coach said. “Good pace this morning.”

  Andy nodded as he bobbed in the deep end of his lane. He looked across the pool. There were about a dozen swimmers spread out over eight lanes. The breaststrokers shovelled away the water in front of them, rose to the surface and then plummeted down again. The backstrokers’ goggles aimed upward as their arms windmilled past their ears. One swimmer in the far lane was doing the butterfly stroke, majestically smashing his arms into the water as if he were a human helicopter.

  “Now arms only Andy!” cried the coach.

  Andy crossed his legs so they would be immobilized. That way, he felt like he was dragging an anchor behind him. He began to swim with only his arms to pull him along.

  One lap.

  Two laps.

  Three laps.

  Four laps.

  1

  Cobra

  Shoulders burning, Andy climbed out of the pool and, while dripping wet, did thirty push-ups right on the deck.

  Nearby, a brand-new member of the City of Brampton swim team bolted out of the pool and toward the men’s change room. The boy’s hands were over his face. His cheeks bulged.

  Andy saw the streams of orange puke oozing through the boy’s fingers.

  “It’s a killer workout, first-timer!” Andy called out. “Next time, don’t drink any juice before swimming. Anything acidy is coming right back up!”

  Coach Ocampo looked at his clipboard and then at the boy who had puked before he could make it to the washroom. “I’ll hose that down in a second. You may as well go in, rinse off and then come back right out here . . . what’s your name? Ferguson? Yeah, Ferguson. Come right back out here because you still owe me a few more laps! Everybody pukes on their first day, so don’t think throwing up gets you off easy!”

  Enalyn Marquez, Andy’s teammate on the COBRA swim club, was in the next lane.

  “Poor new guy doesn’t know what hit him.” She laughed.

  “He’ll learn. I puked my guts out on the first day,” said Andy.

  “Working on your times, Andy?” Enalyn raised an eyebrow.

  “If I can swim like this at summer provincials, I’ll qualify.”

  “At this rate, you’re going to be the youngest Canadian on the Olympic team.”

  Andy shrugged. “Dare to dream, right? And, well, if you work on that rotation, you can swim the time you need, too. You could be the next Miriam Said.”

  “Miriam Said. I wish. Seriously, Andy, I don’t know if I can do it. I need to shave a half-second from my times, Andy. A whole half-second!”

  ***

  Coach Ocampo blew the whistle that hung from the chain around his neck. “Okay guys, practice done! Be in the showers in five minutes! That’s when the aquafit club takes over!”

  Andy watched the younger swimmers roll the lane ropes into tubes. The giant clock at the far end read 6:55 a.m. Just enough time. He leaned over, grabbed a blue flutterboard and tossed it into the water.

  “What are you doing?” asked the new kid.

  “You’ll see,” Andy said.

  He reached up and grabbed the end of the rope that hung from the ceiling.

  “Okay new guy, this is what we do at the end of practice, as soon as the lane markers are gone. What we use this rope for . . .”

  “Surfing!” cried the rest of the team, picking up on Andy’s cue.

  “Right. The goal is to swing into the pool, come down feet first and land on the flutterboard just right. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, you hit the board, it goes flying in the air and . . . splashdown! But if you hit it just right, carrying enough momentum, you’ll land on it and surf across the pool.”

  “Or you might break the flutterboard and Coach Ocampo has to pay for a new one,” cried the coach.

  Andy held out the end of the rope to the new kid. “Okay, here you go, rookie.”

  The new kid stepped forward. He took five quick steps, leapt up onto the rope and swung into the pool. He splashed in well short of the board.

  “Not enough momentum!” Andy yelled.

  “Show him how it’s done!” came a voice from the crowd of swimmers.

  “Yeah Andy, do it!”

  Andy smiled. “Okay ladies and gentlemen. I can’t let the crowd down.”

  He turned and jogged to the far wall of the pool enclosure. Then he pushed off like a sprinter, his bare feet splashing on the wet deck. He got close to the edge and leapt high onto the rope, trying to maintain as much speed as he could into the swing.

  Andy saw the flutterboard coming closer. He knew that he had to drop as if he was going to land just short of it. His momentum would carry him forward, and he’d hit the target.

  He dropped off the rope, getting ready to plant the left foot ahead of the right foot. If he landed with both feet together, he’d just fall right back.

  Andy felt the board under his feet. He was gliding on top of the water! He skipped across the waves being created in the pool. He heard the cheers from his teammates.

  And he heard Coach Ocampo: “Good stuff, Tiger Shark! If only they made flutterboard surfing an actual sport! I can only hope you apply yourself to your laps like you do your fun and games!”

  Andy swam to the edge of the pool and climbed out onto the deck. The new kid stood over him.

  “Tiger Shark? Why did coach call you Tiger Shark?”

  Andy grabbed a towel and draped it around his shoulders. “Everyone on the team calls me Tiger Shark.”

  “Why is that your nickname?”

  “’Cause I’m the fastest guy in the pool, and when you race against me, I devour you.”

  “Oh, cool.”

  “Well, I’ve got a cool nickname for you,” Andy said, trying hard to suppress a snicker.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, I’m gonna call you Superpuke.”

  The new kid turned red. “You can’t do that!”

  “Yeah, I just sorta did,” said Andy, as he spun around and made a beeline for the change room. “See you outside, Superpuke.”

  ***

  Andy logged on to Skype. Enalyn was al
ready online, as were some of his other COBRA teammates.

  TIGERSHARK: So, this new guy, what’s his story?

  EN_MARQUEZ: I watched him for a bit. He isn’t that fast. But it’s just his first practice . . .

  TIGERSHARK: En? You like this guy or something :) ???

  EN_MARQUEZ: No. Jerk! :-

  SCOTT13: This guy’s new. And we all know what happens to new guys. INITIATION!

  JAMIE_THE_EEL: Yup. And didn’t you all notice this new guy had a nice, full head of hair?

  EN_MARQUEZ: You guys are going to do this again? Really?

  TIGERSHARK: It’s settled then, right?

  JAMIE_THE_EEL: I can bring the stuff.

  TIGERSHARK: I can present him with a new team swimming cap.

  SCOTT13: This never gets old, does it?

  Andy sat in front of the computer and ran his right hand over the stubble on his head. Even though he’d yet to shave his face, Andy had become an expert with a razor blade. Coach Ocampo had told him that a swimmer had to do every little thing to make himself quicker in the pool. Even a tenth of a second could be the difference between an Olympic medal and finishing back in the pack. So Andy made sure he didn’t have hair on his head, or on his chest, or on his legs. If his skin was smooth, he’d glide through the water.

  Superpuke, you’re gonna have to learn, Andy thought. We’ll be doing you a favour.

  2

  Getting There

  The quiet was broken by the sound of his mother calling from the kitchen. His bedroom rattled from his mom’s deep, booming voice.

  “Und-raassshhhhhhh,” she yelled. She always used his full Hungarian name. Never “Andy” or “Andrew.” Always András, pronounced with a long, hard shhh at the end, as if she wanted it to be followed with a moment of silence.

  Andy opened the door, headed down a steep narrow staircase and made a right turn into the kitchen. A white tablecloth with embroidered flowers covered the kitchen table. Blue plates with floral designs hung from the wall.

  His father sat at the far end of the table, in front of an open laptop.

  “Kar-chee,” Andy’s mother said to his father. “Please put that computer away. Time to eat.”

  His father shut the laptop and laid it on an open seat next to him. “Six more weeks. I just checked.”

  “You check almost every hour of every day,” Mrs. Kovacs snapped. “It doesn’t change. You said ‘it should be six more weeks’ this morning.”

  “Sorry for living,” Mr. Kovacs sighed. “It’s just that the union is hopeful that new shifts might be added sooner than that.”

  “Well I am happy if you will be going back to work in six weeks,” Andy’s mom said as she ladled out some dark red stew into a bowl. “Because since the plant shutdown, you’ve been sitting here in this kitchen driving me nuts.”

  Mr. Kovacs smiled and pointed to his son. “You see? Till death do us part, huh? Can’t wait to get rid of me!”

  Mrs. Kovacs brought the bowl of gulyás to the table and placed it on the mat in front of Andy.

  “There’s an old Hungarian saying that the empty can makes the biggest noise. Your father makes a lot of noise. Complaining about this and that. András, you are lucky you are at school or at practice most of the time.”

  “So Andy,” his father said as he tore off a piece of bread from a loaf that sat in the middle of the table. “How goes the swimming?” His father plunged the chunk of bread into the stew and popped it into his mouth.

  “I’m swimming the time. I can make it to nationals.”

  His dad swallowed hard. “And where are these nationals this year?”

  “Edmonton.”

  “Okay so, to help out with the travel, you’ll have a bit of money saved from your job?”

  “I hope so. I wanted to talk to Mr. Patel about some new shifts here and there.”

  “Good, good. Look, we’ll be okay.”

  “But, Karcsi . . .” his mom said. “Have you seen his math marks? He needs to spend his spare time studying, not swimming more, not taking on more shifts. I finally remembered the password and checked the SchoolZone account the other day. His teacher said Andy is having a hard time. He doesn’t pay attention!”

  “I’ll do better, Mom,” said Andy. “I think Mr. Chalmers has it out for me. But I will get the mark up. You’ll see.”

  WELCOME TO THE DUFFERIN-PEEL CATHOLIC DISTRICT SCHOOL BOARD’S SCHOOLZONE

  Parent login:

  Student: Kovacs, Andrew

  MATHEMATICS (MID-TERM GRADE): 55

  TEACHER: CHALMERS, SCOTT

  COMMENTS: Andy is still struggling with some of the concepts required in grade 9 mathematics. Part of the problem is Andy’s constant inattention in class. He can’t grasp the lessons if he’s not paying attention to them. His attitude needs to change.

  ***

  Andy looked at the cover of Galaxy Queen No. 119. The heroine was wearing a black body suit with a blue cape flowing behind. She was falling from a red sky, blonde hair flowing. Her lips were cherry red.

  “Stop staring, start sorting,” said Mr. Patel as he looked up from the cash register where he’d been counting money.

  “Sorry, Mr. Patel,” Andy said. He took a pile of comics from the table and started sorting them on the new-release rack. He did the A titles first. Agent 19; Alan Fine, P.I.; ARGH!; Armed Combat; Awesome Adventures.

  Mr. Patel smiled. “You are like a kid in a candy store.”

  “Oh, this is way better than a candy store.”

  Andy had been coming to Comic Relief since the store first opened on the second level of the Bramalea City Centre, the largest mall in town. When Mr. Patel put a “help wanted” sign in the window a couple of months ago, Andy thought he was dreaming. Could there be a better job for him?

  For every comic-book fan, Wednesday was the best day of the week. That’s when all the new comics were released. But to have them ready for Wednesday mornings, Mr. Patel and Andy stayed behind on Tuesday nights, after the store closed, to open the boxes and get the comics onto the shelves. And that meant Andy got to see the comics a day before most of the rest of world did. The job started out as a great way to preview the latest comics. Now he needed to save every cent from his paycheques to help pay for his trip to the Canadian Age Group Championships.

  Andy finished putting the final few comics on to the new-release rack: Weirdest Worlds; Yellow Planet; Zyzyk: Lord of the Dark Realm. Meanwhile, Mr. Patel was behind the cash register, counting bills and sorting through receipts.

  “Looks like you’re going to be done before me,” Mr. Patel said.

  “Need any help with those?” Andy asked.

  “Oh, no, I can’t promote you to do the accounting just yet,” Mr. Patel said. “I’ll be fifteen minutes or so . . . then I’ll lock up and we can both go.”

  “By the way,” said Andy, “if there’s anything else you need a hand with, I can take on some extra shifts.”

  Mr. Patel laughed. “Andy, it’s June. And that means exam time for you. And then you have your practices. You surely don’t have time for more shifts.”

  “I can fit them in, honest.”

  Nothing was more important than qualifying for nationals and getting to Edmonton.

  3

  The Numbers

  WELCOME TO THE OFFICIAL WEBSITE OF

  SWIM CANADA

  RANKINGS: ONTARIO

  100-metre freestyle (14-year-olds):

  1. Kovacs, Andrew, COBRA, 56.21

  2. Li, Mark, WHITBY, 56.65

  “So, if you take the variable and place it on the other side of the equation . . .” Mr. Chalmers’s voice trailed off. He looked to the back corner of the classroom, where Andy was sitting.

  “Mr. Kovacs.” Mr. Chalmers ran his hand over his close-cut afro. “What could be on your phone that is more int
eresting than what I am talking about right now?”

  Andy looked up. His face was as red as the school sweater he wore. “Um, sir, I wasn’t looking at my phone . . .”

  “Oh, Mr. Kovacs.” The teacher sighed and then slowly walked across the classroom toward Andy’s desk. “Really, don’t make it harder for yourself. I can see you trying to hide it there under your bag. You thought you could watch it without me noticing. Problem is, you didn’t take into consideration that the screen gives off a glow. Look, let me keep the phone to the end of class, even though you know about the rules against devices in the classroom. But lying might get you a trip to the office. Neither of us wants that.”

  “Okay,” Andy stuttered, “I was just trying to get some math help.”

  Mr. Chalmers hurried his pace and snatched the smartphone from Andy’s hand. He looked at the screen. “Yes, it looks like you were seeking help on the website for, let’s see, swimming rankings. Congratulations, I see here that you are a better swimmer than you are a math student.”

  “Sir!” Andy croaked. “You can’t look at the screen. Invasion of privacy.”

  Mr. Chalmers nodded, turned around and walked back to the front of the class with the phone in hand. “Yes, Andy, I suppose it is,” he said. “And you can take the matter up with the principal if you’d like. But then I can also share your recent test scores with him.”

  Andy shrugged and looked down at his math textbook. “Okay, you win. Keep it and I won’t say a thing. Sir.”

  At the front of the class, Mr. Chalmers talked about flipping equations. Andy tried to concentrate, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how smoothing out his flip turns could shave a few more tenths of a second off his lap times.

  Andy passed the next twenty minutes trying to focus on the numbers on the board. But he just kept writing the number 56 in his notebook.

  At the end of class, Andy reclaimed his phone from Mr. Chalmers. Enalyn waited for him in the hallway.

  “You do realize exams are just two weeks away?”

  “It’s okay,” Andy said. “I’ll do well enough in this class to squeak by.”