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Kid? I’m almost sixteen.

  ‘Sorry for embarrassing you, Mr Stevenson,’ I say. ‘Truly.’

  He leaves the apology hanging and I’m getting nervous. What is he planning to do? Is this some kind of golf club lunch torture? We open our menus and Greg calls the waiter.

  ‘She’ll have the salad,’ Lorraine points to Marissa, ‘and so will I.’

  ‘But Mum,’ Marissa interjects. ‘I never have pasta, I really feel like it.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, you have a casting next week. Do you want to lose weight or not?’

  Marissa nods.

  The salad is garnished with bacon and I scan the menu for vegan options – nothing.

  ‘Can I have the spaghetti but no bolognese?’ I ask hopefully.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian,’ Greg says.

  I take a breath, ‘Yes.’

  Marissa looks at me, then quickly away.

  ‘I knew it!’ Greg exclaims. ‘You’ve had an agenda all this time.’

  That’s not true, but I don’t want to contradict him.

  ‘Will you have the usual, Mr Stevenson?’ the waiter asks, ‘The roast?’

  ‘No,’ Greg says, catching my eye, ‘Today I feel like chicken.’

  Greg opens his briefcase with two clicks and pulls out a file.

  ‘You trespassed and stole our property. And now I’m paying for it,’ he hands me a document. ‘An online petition. One hundred signatures already.’

  I stifle a smile as I read the intro. It’s written by Oliver and Lucy – I had no idea.

  ‘Demanding,’ Greg continues, ‘that I discontinue my broiler production. Chickens that are well-loved by our family …’

  He pulls out more papers to show me. ‘And it doesn’t end there. I’ve received emails from Mark Michaels vouching for you, some self-proclaimed bird expert. Some teacher called Miss Higgins asking me to consider your grieving process; isn’t she your Science teacher, Cupcake?’ He looks at Marissa before jabbing another page, ‘and Mr Peterson apologising, but insisting your passion can be harnessed and used constructively. And this is the worst,’ Greg bangs a newspaper onto the table. ‘Front page news this morning.’

  ‘Oh. My. God,’ I say. The headline reads, ‘Teenager Accuses Local Farm of Cruelty’.

  It’s me on stage, my mouth open, staring at Chirp who is midair, wings blurred in motion. Next to it is a large photo of Marissa holding her neck, face contorted in angry disbelief.

  ‘Have Paula and Dave seen this?’ I ask.

  ‘That’s why I asked you all to come,’ he says. ‘To show you. But you think you’re all grown up already, don’t you?’

  Maybe he’s right. This is a lot to handle alone.

  Lorraine inhales sharply. ‘Marissa has a career as a model. She is being cast for the new face of a big national brand. She can’t afford ugly pictures,’ Lorraine points at the picture. ‘Look at her double-chin; what a horrid angle …’

  ‘Mum!’ Marissa says.

  When our food arrives, I take the chance to send a few quick texts under the table. One to Paula and Dave updating them; to Oliver and Sky to say thank you; and to Marissa, apologising again. I feel terrible, I didn’t mean to ruin her chances at being a successful model.

  Marissa’s phone beeps and she reads my message quickly. Still, she doesn’t look at me.

  ‘I don’t know how your mother brought you up,’ Lorraine spreads her white linen napkin on her lap. ‘Hippy druggie commune, I suspect.’

  ‘Mum!’ Marissa says. At least she’s not ganging up on me as well.

  ‘But I would not tolerate anything of the kind,’ Lorraine snaps. ‘Stop frowning Marissa, you’ll get wrinkles. Paula needs some lessons in raising children.’ She glares at me. ‘I tried to give her advice. Can’t say I didn’t try. Have no doubt, Sky, if she doesn’t have the nerve to have a civilised lunch with us now, we will have words later and—’

  ‘Paula wanted to come, and I told her not to,’ I interrupt, adding, ‘And for your information, my mother was an amazing woman.’ I bite my lip hard, I can’t cry, I won’t cry.

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ Marissa takes the paper for a closer look.

  ‘Darling,’ Lorraine stabs her fork into the salad. ‘The money I spend on treatments and products, do you think an international modelling career happens by accident if you only—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Greg interjects, cutting into his chicken. ‘Now. Our tarnished company image aside, my mayoral campaign requires me to present an immaculate public image,’ he chews his food and continues. ‘My lawyer has written a statement on your behalf, Sky, you will say you were incorrect and apologise publicly.’

  ‘But Daddy …’ Marissa says.

  ‘Not now, Cupcake,’ he dismisses her. ‘Local news. Radio. I’m calling favours from all my mates in the press. All you need to do is sign the document with Paula and Dave’s consent as your guardians; we’ll make the calls, clean up this mess.’

  ‘Daddy …’ Marissa tries again.

  ‘Listen here, Sky,’ he keeps his focus on me. ‘This family will not be held hostage by a bunch of—’

  ‘Dad!’ Marissa shouts.

  ‘Cupcake, what is it?’ Greg stops to turn to her.

  ‘Stop calling me that. I’m not five years old anymore,’ she gives him a stern look. ‘Dad, I want to see the farm. Before Sky signs anything. I need to know what’s going on.’

  I can’t believe it. Oliver must have convinced her.

  ‘Darling,’ Lorraine barks, ‘you’re being ridiculous. There’s nothing to see, just a bunch of brainless chickens.’

  ‘No, Mum,’ Marissa interrupts and turns back to her father. ‘Daddy, I’m not a child, stop treating me like one.’

  ‘Cupcake,’ Greg says. ‘I mean, my love, what’s going on? Don’t I give you everything you want?’

  ‘Pretty please,’ Marissa pleads. ‘I want to see inside the sheds.’

  ‘But Cupcake …’ Greg says smoothly.

  ‘Marissa. This is not your concern,’ Lorraine says.

  ‘And if not,’ she glares at her mother, ‘I won’t go to the casting next week and I’m throwing away my food diary.’

  She pauses and I see a slight smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

  ‘And eating a croissant,’ Marissa declares, ‘with chocolate. And you can’t stop me.’

  Lorraine chokes on her lettuce leaf and Greg jumps up to slap her on the back. In any other situation, it would be funny.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Marissa,’ Lorraine says, once she stops coughing.

  ‘Dad,’ Marissa glares at him. ‘I’m serious, if you want me to ever talk to you again, if you ever plan on me answering to “cupcake” again. Ever. You’ll do this.’

  Chapter 24

  I hear the front door open and run down the corridor.

  ‘Dave, you’re home!’ I hug him.

  ‘Nice to see you too,’ he smiles, putting down his bag, and kisses Paula who appears by my side. ‘What’s the occasion?’

  ‘Sky has news,’ Paula says. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Remember my lunch with the Stevensons on Saturday?’ I say.

  ‘How can I forget?’ Dave says, ‘You’re waiting to see what Marissa thought of the sheds, right? And if you’ll publicly apologise or not.’

  I show him the local weekly newspaper, which is only due out tomorrow.

  ‘Greg sent me an advanced copy in case I’m called by the press for a quote. He even gave me instructions on what to say to them, some “key messages”.’

  Dave reads out the headline. ‘New Horizons for Greg Stevenson – Award-Winning Chicken Farmer and Mayoral Candidate’.

  David frowns.

  ‘No, it’s good news,’ I say. ‘He’s turning half the farm free-range. At least some of the chickens will have room to roam and places to roost; there will be dirt, grass, bushes and stuff, they’ll see the sun and sky, and he won’t use the same Frankenstein breed. But the other chickens—’

  �
��You’re kidding me,’ Dave interrupts excitedly.

  ‘For real!’ I say. ‘I have no idea what got into him, he seemed so angry at that lunch. He told me the news on the phone and said I should spread the word to my hippy friends, whatever that means, and I don’t have to publicly apologise either.’

  ‘Well done,’ Dave puts up his hand for a high-five. ‘Good job, mate.’

  ‘I didn’t do it alone, and thank you again,’ I tell him and Paula. ‘I really mean it.’

  They both grin happily.

  ‘But, it’s not perfect,’ I add. ‘It’s only half the farm. And I’d prefer if no one ate chicken, no offence, but they’re still killed at the end and the baby male chicks are also killed by the breeders and transporting them is super cruel and the abattoirs, I mean, it’s just horrible. I saw this one video by Animal Liberation which showed how—’

  ‘Sweetie, you did well. Great. It’s a start,’ Paula puts her arm around me and squeezes.

  ‘But what about the other half of the chickens?’ I chew my nails. ‘It’s not a win for all of them. They’re still going to suffer in the exact same way that I saw. And in the end—’

  ‘Slowly, slowly, mate.’ Dave says. ‘You can’t change the world in a day.’

  ‘I guess,’ I nod. If I was Chirp I’d want to spend my life roaming outside, no matter what happens after that. ‘But still, why kill all these beautiful animals? Nobody needs to eat chicken; you’ve seen how delicious vegan food can be. Maybe I’ll keep protesting and eventually we can close him down for good.’

  ‘Well,’ Paula says. ‘You can keep educating people about being compassionate, and about chickens’ personalities and the things you’ve learnt about the industries. I’ve learnt a lot from you already, sweetie, actually, I think I’m going to phase it all out of my diet. Chicken, I mean. You can be a voice for them.’

  ‘A chirpy voice,’ Dave grins.

  I smile. ‘I’ll be Chirp’s chirp and not stop chirping until they’re all free!’

  It reminds me of Franimals and the guest blog I promised to do. Maybe I can write something after all. Share Chirp and her awesome personality with the world.

  ‘When will they make the changes?’ Dave asks.

  ‘Greg already has approval from Council. He says …’ I read the article,

  ‘Stevenson’s Family Farm will transition to a new business model, capitalising on the growing market of consumers looking for increased welfare-friendly meat,’ I pause. ‘Greg Stevenson says,’ I continue reading, ‘“this is currently a trial, but if it increases profits, we’ll turn the whole farm over”.’

  I pass the paper to Dave who continues reading it.

  ‘I messaged Marissa to say thank you and even tried to call, but she won’t answer.’

  ‘And your other friends?’ Paula asks.

  ‘I called Oliver already, he’s so excited, but I wanted to tell Lucy and Mark in person and see Chirp, too,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll drive,’ Dave jingles the car keys in his hand. ‘But before we go, there’s something Paula and I want to tell you.’

  Paula takes a deep breath. ‘Let’s sit down for a moment and have a cuppa.’

  If tea is involved, past experience has told me this is something big. But what?

  ‘Please know,’ Paula starts as we get comfortable on the couch, ‘that you’re our family and nothing will ever—’

  ‘Ever,’ Dave adds, taking a biscuit from the tin.

  ‘Ever replace you,’ Paula says.

  That’s a serious disclaimer. And it’s not hard to guess what is coming up next.

  ‘You’re pregnant,’ I say, taking a sip of my tea.

  ‘How did you know?’ Paula asks. ‘It’s still early, but I hope you—’

  ‘I’m really happy,’ I say, and I mean it. A little cousin? Me, babysitting? It suddenly seems like an awesome idea.

  ‘I know you feel—’ Paula starts.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m really excited for you. Honestly. And for me, too.’

  ‘Well, that was easy,’ Dave laughs and turns to Paula. ‘I’ll take Sky to Lucy’s place now, okay, babe?’

  ‘Can Paula come too?’ I ask, and they exchange a smile.

  Sitting in the backseat of the car I’m on such a high, nothing can bring me down.

  Finally, since Mum died, I have a real family again. Melody will visit when she’s ready, and that’s cool, we’ll have a few new things to talk about for sure. And my father, well, maybe one day … who knows.

  We arrive at Lucy’s and sitting in their living room I show them the newspaper and repeat what I told Dave. Lucy’s mum, Gail, opens a bottle of sparkling wine to celebrate and Lucy and I are given a half a glass too. Dave thanks Mark for caring for Chirp and supporting me but Mark insists I’m the hero. It’s so not true, I say again, I couldn’t have done it alone.

  I go up to Lucy’s room because she wants to show me her new binoculars. Her walls are filled with her sketches. They are amazing and they look like they belong in a gallery. Lucy and I take lemonades outside and sit with Chirp under the red bottlebrush tree. Her painkillers are working, her swelling has lessened, but her breath is still heavy.

  ‘This will cool you down,’ I place her into a container of fresh water where she splashes around, cute as ever. Then it’s time for cuddles and a tiny taste of watermelon, a low-calorie snack. For Chirp, of course.

  ‘See you Saturday night!’ Lucy says as I leave.

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it.’ I say and can’t help but jump up and down a few times with excitement.

  This week has turned out to be awesome – going to the dance with my best friend, wearing my mum’s beautiful dress and dancing with the nicest, cutest boy at school, Oliver.

  Mum would be happy for me. I imagine her face as I tell her the news. I give her a big galactic hug that passes through time and space and whisper, ‘I love you’.

  Chapter 25

  Dave offers to take me and Lucy to the gala. He’s like a devoted papa bear, smiling and gushing with pride the whole drive, and I’m loving it. I only wonder, for a single second, about my father and what he would say or do at this moment. But then I let it go; I have more than enough.

  I insist on taking Bella, can’t leave her behind on such an important night. Although I regret that decision for a minute when she slobbers on my hair, trying to lick my neck from the back seat. Or maybe she wants to eat the beautiful purple flower Paula gave me from the garden that I clipped into my super high ponytail. My hair’s slicked back and behaving itself for once. I touch the flower again to check– it’s intact. Paula’s the real deal flower-whisperer; everything she touches blooms. I’m feeling good, even my pimple has disappeared. Glittery gloss makes my lips shine and I’ve brushed mascara on my lashes.

  ‘I won't be long,’ I tell Dave as I jump out of the car, my black high heels click-clacking up the path to Lucy’s front door. I think they’re what Kristy calls ‘kitten’ as they are small heels. I bought them with my remaining competition money but the strap around the heel is already rubbing.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ Gail says as she opens the door.

  ‘Thank you,’ I follow her into the kitchen to wait for Lucy. I balance on one foot to rub my fresh blister and Gail hands me two Band-Aids without me even asking and insists I drink something to hydrate myself. It’s a warm night.

  Lucy comes downstairs. She’s wearing striped stockings under a mini skirt, a flouncy top and long peacock-feather earrings. She looks like a crazy cool gypsy. She’s taken off her glasses, and her pale blue eyes look beautiful and are accentuated with liner.

  ‘You look amazing,’ I say.

  ‘What a pretty dress,’ Lucy admires mine.

  I run my hand down the silky fabric and the silvery moons. ‘It was Mum’s, from her Year Twelve formal,’ I say. ‘She had great taste.’

  Lucy hugs her parents goodbye and we sit side-by-side in the back seat of Dave’s car until Bella nuzzles her way in between. She doe
sn’t seem to mind the fur and licks, soon scratching under Bella’s chin, making her tail thump on the seat. I check my phone quickly in case Oliver’s messaged.

  We walk into the school hall and stare at my classmates transformed by their fancy clothes. I barely recognise them. I see Marissa, Kristy and Jules by the drinks table and I freeze.

  Marissa looks stunning in her hot pink dress, her hair curled and swept to the side to reveal the pink-diamond heart necklace her dad gave her. It glitters under the strobe lights.

  Jules spots me, waves and runs over.

  ‘You look nice.’ I try sounding enthusiastic. Surprise, surprise, she’s not wearing the red and black retro mini.

  ‘Marissa chose it for me in town, but I’m not sure …’ she trails off, looking down at her lemon flouncy cocktail dress. So not her style.

  ‘You look gorgeous,’ she gushes and I feel a wave of relief. She still likes me.

  ‘Is this vintage?’ she touches my dress. Her nails are painted with tiny stars. I feel a twinge of regret– I don’t care about the manicure, but I miss Jules. Is there a chance we can be friends again?

  ‘I love Old Hollywood; Mum has posters of Cary Grant and this actress, what’s her name again. She has hair like …’ Jules starts to wave her hands around her head.

  But Marissa calls her back over. I wave and Marissa lifts her hand in greeting, like the Queen. That’s a good sign, but although I want to talk to her about the article in the paper, I’m too scared to go over. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want contact. I’ll have to give it time.

  ‘See you later,’ Jules sashays off, charm bracelet tinkling.

  I can’t see Oliver, so Lucy and I find a seat at the back of the hall. Soon some other kids from Landcare join us and we talk about the summer holidays ahead.

  The floor fills up and the music is rocking. No sign of Oliver, and I’m starting to stress. I check my phone, but nothing.

  The music changes from pop to cheesy romantic. Boys approach girls to ask them to dance and Lucy is swept away by an older boy I’ve seen at Landcare. She smiles and gives me a thumbs-up.

  Suddenly, the crowd disappears and all I can see is a tall handsome boy, broad shoulders and lips so kissable I want to scream.