Mickey Bloom: five foot tall, dyslexic, and bullied at school. Mickey knows she's nothing special. Until one day, she discovers running.

Mickey's new-found talent makes her realise she's everything she thought she wasn't – powerful, strong and special. But her success comes at a cost, and the relentless training and pressure to win leaves Mickey broken, her dream in tatters.

An unforgettable debut novel about change, family and grit, and what it takes to achieve your dreams.

Extracted from Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts by Josie Shapiro, published by Allen & Unwin NZ, RRP $36.99

ONE 

THERE WAS NOTHING IN MY childhood that suggested I’d be a good runner, let alone a great one. My mother, Bonnie, was an intensive-care nurse, ambivalent about sports in general; my father, Teddy, was a journalist who fancied himself an eloquent man of letters, and whose attitude to all sports other than cricket and rugby was one of simmering hostility. Neither of them encouraged me towards athletics. Bonnie was loving but preoccupied with my older brothers and sister — the twins, Helen and Kent, and Zach. My father, well, he wasn’t there to direct me in one way or another.

My mother told me I was late to walking, that I crawled like a crazed bear cub until I was eighteen months old. I refused to take a step, even with Bonnie, Zach, Kent and Helen all cajoling me to get up and toddle to their open arms. By the time I did take my first steps, Teddy was in Auckland, living with his new girlfriend. Once I was up on two feet, I didn’t stop moving. ‘You’re responsible for all these grey hairs, Mickey,’ Mum liked to remind me. ‘One for every time you did something you shouldn’t.’

I was born with big ears, and Bonnie said I made snuffling squeaks exactly like a mouse. My birth certificate might say Michelle Joan Bloom, but everyone called me Mickey.

WE LIVED IN NGĀMOTU, ON a small section near the beach. Three bedrooms, one bathroom, everything the same since the day it was built decades earlier. The carpet was thin and starting to fray, the linoleum in the bathroom was peeling up from the floorboards in the corners. The kitchen light fitting constantly blew its bulb. None of this mattered, though. With the noise and the mess of four children, it felt like a home.

I shared a cramped, yellow-wallpapered bedroom with my older sister, Helen. We’d lie in bed and sing, or tell each other secrets, and when I woke from a nightmare, she’d whisper, ‘It’s okay, Mickey. It’s just a bad dream. Everything’s going to be okay.’ Our hands would stretch out and touch, and I’d fall asleep again, my hand still in hers. 

Bonnie worked long hours at the hospital, managing her shifts around the menace of school and kindergarten drop-offs and pick-ups. When the weather warmed, she’d pack a bag with towels, sunhats and a box of homemade ginger crunch, and we’d walk together across the domain to the river. There was a secluded swimming hole she’d known since childhood, and she preferred it to the dumping waves of the beach. I loved it too. 

I remember the day she took us there when I was five. Us kids ran ahead, Helen and Kent streaking to the front on their long legs, Zach not far behind. The grass in the domain was long, dry and tough. It felt to me like a wide, tussocky plain, and my short legs struggled to wade through it.

‘Wait for me!’ I screamed, and I remember my voice floating up towards the high and dusty-blue sky. They didn’t slow, the lure of the river too strong. 

‘I’ll walk with you, honey,’ Bonnie called. I didn’t want to walk with Mum, at her leisurely pace, strolling through the heat of the afternoon. I hungered for speed, for wind in my hair, and I shot on ahead of her. By the time I reached the river, my body was stiff and slimy with sweat. Helen and Kent were already on the far side, clambering up the bank to the rock where they’d jump, slicing their bodies down into the deepest part of the bend. Zach was in the middle, in the thick of the current, his arms working to swim against the undertow, refusing to let the green pull of the river rip him downstream. I was furious they’d got in without me. 

Bonnie’s one rule about the river was that until you could swim freestyle from one side to the other and back without help, you must be always with an adult. ‘You can’t tell what the river’s thinking,’ she would say. ‘She’s a moody one. It’s not worth taking any silly risks.’ 

That day I ignored the rule. I splashed into the water alone. My feet slipped on the mossy rocks; my skin pimpled from the shock of the cold. I lunged toward Zach, and then found I couldn’t touch the bottom. I paddled frantically, my hands slipping through the water, my head dipping under. I struggled, kicking my legs, and my head popped up above the surface for a moment. ‘Mickey!’ I heard Bonnie screaming my name. There was time just to sip in a mouthful of air, and then I was down again, into the viridescence. 

It was quiet down there. My chest tightened as I dropped deeper. Then hands gripped my chest. Kent heaved me up, and onto his back. When he made it to the rocky foreshore, Bonnie rushed over to us, her face pale. 

‘She’s all right, Mum,’ Kent said, lowering me to the ground. His arm stayed fast around my shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.’ 

‘Mickey, my dear.’ Bonnie shook her head and put her hand on my cheek. ‘You’re going to be the death of me.’ 

‘Stop it, Mum,’ I said. ‘Can I get back in?’ 

She glanced at Kent, who nodded.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute. Keep her close to you, Kent.’

Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts is available in all good bookstores.