The gym smelled of stale sweat, sour milk and broken dreams.

By the time Alex and Zoey arrived the try-out was in full swing. Overexcited parents blocked the gym entrance, forcing them to push through the crowd until they reached the front. Alex spotted Dad and Grandpa, cheering louder than anyone.

“You’re late!” said Dad.

Grandpa narrowed his eyes and sniffed, as if he could smell the ocean on Alex’s clothes. “And where’ve you two been, eh?”

Alex chose to ignore him. “Did Bridget notice?”

Dad clamped a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “She told me to tell you she’ll tear your arms off later. She probably didn’t mean it though.”

Alex wasn’t so sure.

A long bar fixed with metal plates the size of life rings sat on a wide blue mat. More plates were stacked either side. Coach Barge checked it over, ticking boxes on his clipboard. He was barrel-chested, muscular across the shoulders, with a solid mound of a belly hanging over skimpy shorts. Once he was satisfied that everything was in order he blew sharply on a whistle slung around his neck.

“After a series of back-breaking, cartilage-straining tests, only four remain to fight it out to win a place on the team! Please welcome back our remaining triallists for the final test!”

A screen had been set up at the back of the gym. Three boys in snug shorts and baggy vests draped over their muscles emerged from behind it. The third boy was a little taller than the others, longer hair knotted up in a miniature bun. He threw a wave to the coach as he passed.

“That’s Baron Barge,” whispered Dad. “The coach’s son.”

“Snot-nosed hipster clothes horse,” grumbled Grandpa.

Bridget was the last to appear. She wore her bulging muscles like a fashion statement, accompanied by bright lipstick and dramatic eyeshadow, hair perfectly coiffed into a brassy sweep. Determination was etched into her face.

“It’s so cool seeing your sister compete,” said Zoey. “I want her to throw me around like a medicine ball.”

“It’s been neck-and-neck the whole way between Bridget and Baron,” Dad said breathlessly as the remaining triallists lined up at the barbell.

The boys eyed the weight nervously. Bridget simply smiled and cracked her knuckles, each pop loud as a gunshot.

“The Olympic press is the ultimate test of any weightlifter!” announced Coach Barge. “More weight will be added until only one triallist remains.”

One by one, the boys dusted their hands with white chalk and tested their grip on the thick metal bar. Next they squatted down before straightening up sharply to lift the weight onto their chest. To complete the move, they pushed the bar above their heads until their arms were locked straight, before dropping it with a heavy clatter.

Although Alex was sure his own arms would snap like sticks of rock candy, the opening weight was light enough for each boy to manage easily. The crowd cheered every successful lift.

Bridget was last to approach the bar. The crowd hushed as she dusted her hands and crouched in position.

“Blast through the burn, sweetie pie!” shouted Dad.

“Crush him under yer brawny thumb!” added Grandpa.

Bridget picked up the bar like a lunchtime baguette and hoisted it easily above her head. She flashed a smile and winked winningly before setting it back down on the mat.

More plates were added to the bar. The first boy managed to bring the weight to his chest. It stuck there while veins popped from his neck. Finally he made a noise like a flatulent seal and dropped flat onto his back. The plates thumped down either side of him, the bar driving the breath from his chest.

Coach Barge blew his whistle. “Eliminated!”

The boy was dragged limply away from the mats to make way for the remaining competitors. Both Baron and the other boy managed to lift the bar above their heads, though Alex noticed a wobble in their arms.

Bridget lifted it as if it was no heavier than before.

“I think your sister is a superhero,” said Zoey. “Does she own a cape? I’m going to make her a cape.”

Alex studied the barbell as even more plates were added, idly wondering how much the Water Dragon weighed in comparison.

“The weight is now increased by ten kilograms!” announced the coach.

“How much is that?” asked Alex.

Zoey considered for a moment. “Like a fat spaniel?”

The second boy chalked his hands, wrapped them tightly around the bar, and squatted down. He held the position. And held it. Gradually, the boy’s face flushed red, until he had turned roughly the colour of ketchup.

“You can lift whenever you’re ready,” prompted the coach.

“I am lifting!”

There was a sharp crack and the boy went rigid. He let go of the bar but remained rooted to the spot.

“My back,” he whimpered, the colour draining from his face altogether.

A couple of his gym mates carefully picked him up and hauled him away behind the screen.

“Just you and me,” Baron said to Bridget, a quiver in his voice betraying his nerves.

Bridget smiled at him. “Soon just me.”

Baron took a deep breath and chalked his hands. A wisp of powder drifted on the air as he took position over the bar.

“You’ve got this, son!” shouted Coach Barge.

“I thought he was supposed to be impartial,” muttered Zoey.

The heavily-loaded bar drooped around Baron’s hands as he heaved it up to his chest. Every centimetre of his body trembled with effort, spit flying from his mouth. For a moment it seemed he wouldn’t have the strength to heft the bar any higher. Then he roared, a ferocious cry from deep in his belly, and jerked the barbell above his head.

The crowd cheered. Baron let the bar drop, making the ground tremor under their feet.

“That’s my boy!” cried the coach, jumping up and down on the spot.

From behind the mat, Bridget studied the bar appraisingly. She stepped up and snapped her fingers to get the coach’s attention.

“Add another ten kilograms,” she said.

The crowd gasped. Coach Barge choked and almost swallowed his whistle.

“Nobody in this gym has ever lifted that much.”

Bridget put a hand on her waist and popped her hip. “Not only am I going to lift it, I’m going to look fabulous doing it.”

Two more plates were attached to the bar. It was completely full now. A few people in the crowd took out their phones to snap photos.

Unintimidated, Bridget crunched her neck side to side and chalked her hands. Everybody fell silent as she approached the bar, squatting down to grip the metal.

“Lift from your knees, honey!” called Dad.

Bridget took a deep breath and adjusted her feet on the mat. The muscles in her arms and shoulders flexed as she heaved the bar off the ground. Every centimetre of her shuddered with the strain. For a moment, her knees wobbled as if they might buckle, before the bar came to rest on her chest.

Another pause. Another breath. Bridget’s face flushed deep red, eyes popping.

Then she pushed the bar straight over her head in one fluid movement.

“Yes!” screamed Alex.

Even the supporters of the other contenders broke into wild cheering. Bridget, the bar still suspended over her head, threw them a wink.

“I’m going to ask your sister to marry me,” said Zoey. “And I don’t care about getting your blessing.”

The floor shook so violently when the bar dropped that Alex was almost knocked off his feet. The crowd surged forwards to smother Bridget with congratulations. Sweat glistened on her skin. She was right – she did look fabulous.

Alex managed to reach her before anybody else. “That was amazing!”

“Like I don’t already know that,” Bridget scoffed in return.

The shrill warble of Coach Barge’s whistle cut through the clamour, loud enough to get the crowd’s attention.

“This competition is not over!” he bellowed, before turning to his son and pointing at the bar. “Go on, then!”

Baron’s face turned the colour of sour milk. He winced at the waiting barbell, before turning back to his dad.

“I can’t.”

Alex grabbed his sister’s wrist and threw her bulging arm into the air. The crowd began to applaud.

“Hold on just a minute!” The coach blasted his whistle again. “There appears to have been a violation!”

He marched over to snatch Bridget’s hand out of the air.

“See here – nail varnish!” Bridget’s nails were painted an immaculate glossy pink. “This, uh, reinforces her fingers and gives her a better grip on the bar!”

Bridget glowered at him. “That makes no sense and you know it!”

Coach Barge blew his whistle in her face. “It gives me no pleasure,” he said with a broad smile on his face, “to disqualify you. Which means my precious firstborn son – I mean, uh, Baron Barge – is the winner of this try-out!”

The crowd roared in protest. Dad and Grandpa rushed the coach as if they might try and strangle him with the cord of his own whistle. Baron, the apparent winner, shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Bridget seemed to deflate. She turned away from the braying crowd and hurried off behind the screen at the back of the gym.

“I’ll go after her,” Alex said, leaving the others to threaten the coach with some particularly creative ideas for personal injury.

He found his sister in the cleaning cupboard that had been repurposed as the gym’s female dressing room, throttling the handle of a crusty mop between her fists.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter.” The wooden mop handle splintered in half.

Alex took a step back in case Bridget decided she needed something else to break. “You won. Everybody knows you were the best by a mile. I knew you were strong, but not that strong.”

Bridget dusted the last of the chalk from her hands and dropped onto a rickety bench shoved into the corner under a shelf of cleaning sprays and suspiciously yellowed towels.

“I should have known they would never let me onto their team. I thought if I could prove I was strongest, beyond any doubt, Coach would have no choice.” She sighed. “I guess I was wrong.”

Alex sat down beside her. “What if there was another way?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m listening.”

It felt impossible to explain about the Water Dragon without sounding as if he had lost control of his imagination. Still, Bridget listened intently while he told her everything that was happening.

“We need somebody strong enough to lift the dragon,” Alex said. “And you’re the strongest person I know.”

Bridget thought about this for a moment. “If this is some kind of joke I swear I will pound your face into the ground like a fence post.”

“We can’t rescue the Water Dragon without you,” Alex said. “My team wants to use your strength for something that really matters.”

Voices echoed along the hallway outside. Baron Barge and his friends passed the cupboard in a celebratory huddle. The undeserving victor stopped in the doorway for a moment, fiddling with his hair bun.

“I’m really sorry—” he began to say, before his friends hustled him away.

Bridget clenched her fists. “All right, I’ll help you. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Alex decided it was probably best not to answer that question.