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  ‘You have to wear it to the gala with Oliver,’ Kristy whispers, drawing his name out long. ‘Afterwards, he’ll take it off before you have a long bubble bath, massaging your neck. Oooooh, soo romantic.’ She reaches over to tickle Marissa’s neck and they erupt laughing.

  The TV show ends and Kristy sneaks some tequila from her overnight bag and we all do shots. I only have one as it burns my throat. But Kristy and Marissa have a few and soon the music is on and they’re dancing around. It’s pretty funny. We dress up Princess in sunglasses and bunny ears and other outfits. With Snapchat they make rainbows come out of her mouth and add funny captions. Then we pose her for the perfect glamour shot. Princess is patient as a saint, poor thing.

  I hope Marissa doesn’t use the #Westcreek that I used at the roadside café when I moved. And if by chance she does come across VeggieGirl and looks at my pics, I hope she won’t recognise anything. Especially Bella who I’ve now posted, quite artfully, about five times in a range of super-cute positions including mid-jump. She can leap as high as a fence.

  When I go to the bathroom, I check her Instagram feed and am relieved to see she doesn’t even mention West Creek.

  When I get back to the room, Marissa and Kristy are hanging out the window sharing a cigarette.

  ‘Do you smoke?’ I ask Jules.

  ‘Mum caught me a while ago,’ Jules says. ‘She smelled it in my hair and I was grounded for a month. Could only leave the house to go to school. I’m not taking any chances now. And anyway,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘It’s disgusting, and my uncle died of lung cancer.’

  ‘I don’t even want to try it,’ I say, relieved that there was no pressure on this one.

  Eventually, we go to bed. Marissa and Kristy are sleeping in hers and Jules and I have single mattresses on either side.

  It is close to midnight when I hear the three of them in Marissa’s queen-size bed. Occasional giggles erupt and I can just make out a few words, ‘Hilarious … Ernie … see her face’. I squeeze the pillow against my ear to muffle the whispers and I stare at the wall. Later, the glow of phones makes dark ominous shadows like ghosts moving up on the ceiling.

  I count sheep and then time my breaths in and out, but I feel too guilty about the chicken, betraying VeggieGirl, and losing the opportunity to guest blog. And what about my blog on Franimals announcing to the world I’m vegan? I’m a disgusting hypocrite. I force my mind back into my old small colourful apartment, the smell of the bakery after school, my mum’s tinkling Indian bracelets, even the clanking recycling trucks at six in the morning. Missing them feels like a branding iron to my heart. I eventually doze off, pleading with God (or anyone else who might listen. Buddha, hello?). Begging the universe for my mum to come back, just for a moment, to kiss me goodnight.

  I wake early. The girls are still sleeping and I sneak off my mattress to look into the bed. Kristy and Jules are fast asleep but Marissa is gone. I go to the bathroom down the hall to change and hear voices from inside the master bedroom.

  ‘Darling, I have already told you, that kaftan dress isn’t flattering,’ Lorraine says. ‘Your shoulders are too sloped. That poor new girl, on the other hand …’ I hold my breath. What is she going to say about me?

  ‘She could do catwalk with a little work,’ Lorraine says.

  I can’t even believe it. Me?

  ‘Why did we have to invite her anyway?’ Marissa says. I stop breathing again. Meanwhile, Princess has bounded up the stairs, dressed in a bunny suit.

  ‘I’ve told you,’ Lorraine sounds impatient, ‘As head of the P&C, my reputation is everything. What do you think it would look like if I didn’t embrace this forsaken orphan-Annie? Take a page out of my book, darling, Sky’s a good girl and you’d do well to keep her as a friend.’ People may pretend otherwise, but it is important what others think. And after the damage control I had to do after—’

  ‘Please, Mum, not again.’

  ‘Fine. Now, I’m booking the hairdresser and a mani and pedi before the gala for you and the girls like last year and …’

  Marissa says something but I can’t hear.

  ‘Good, that’s settled.’ Lorraine says. ‘Scrub your face; your pores are clogged and I bought you an expensive French exfoliator. Did you put on the hair masque this week?’

  I tiptoe away to get dressed. A part of me feels like crying and calling Paula to pick me up. Being Lorraine’s charity-do-good case is horrible. And Marissa agreeing? Humiliating.

  I stare at myself in the mirror looking for answers. No, this won’t get me. I shake the feeling off. I’ve come this far.

  Back downstairs we sit around the kitchen table. Marissa opens a large box of pastries: luscious chocolate croissants and swirls of almond cream. We take plates and fill them up. I haven’t had dairy for a long time; it’s rich and delicious, I gobble mine in a few mouthfuls. Marissa’s about to take a bite when Lorraine appears.

  ‘No chance,’ Lorraine swiftly confiscates it before it hits Marissa’s lips. ‘Not even on your birthday.’ Marissa winces. How humiliating, my mum would never in a trillion years do that. I look at Jules to see her reaction, but she’s looking down. So is Kristy.

  ‘Didn’t want it anyway,’ Marissa announces. ‘Sugar makes you old. Gross.’

  Before we leave, Marissa announces ‘Princess has something to give you.’ Holding her cute little paw, they pass out small chiffon bags tied with ribbons. I don’t expect anything; Marissa will probably leave me out just like in the pictures.

  ‘You’re in the group,’ she says giving one to me. ‘On probation, of course.’

  I nod enthusiastically, I don’t even care that her mum’s forced her. I’m in!

  ‘It’s like a sisterhood,’ Jules exclaims, putting her arm around Marissa.

  Inside the bag is an expensive-looking charm bracelet; a silver chain with black glossy stars. The girls help each other with the clasps but I fiddle with mine, dropping the chain until Jules helps me, too.

  ‘Thanks so much, Marissa,’ I say as I’m pulled in for a group selfie, everyone holding their wrists together.

  Jules lets me see the pic before it’s uploaded with #lifesgood #bestfriendsforeverandever and #girlsjustwannahavefun. I’m a little embarrassed. Marissa, Kristy and Jules are posing elegantly, strawberry and blackberry lips pouting like red-carpet celebrities, while I’m grinning like a little girl.

  But I do a little dance inside my head –#Ihavemadeit! #Iampopular!

  Chapter 10

  ‘I know the side-effects,’ Paula says. She’s on the phone, standing by the sink, her back to me as I walk into the kitchen to make breakfast.

  ‘Mood swings, bloating, nausea. Yes, got it,’ she nods. ‘I’ll pick it up this afternoon.’

  ‘What’s that about?’ I slide a slice of bread into the toaster.

  ‘Hormones,’ Paula turns to look at me, ‘to help with fertility.’

  ‘You’re having a baby?’ I recall the tiny clothes in the back of my wardrobe. My stomach sinks. It feels like rejection.

  ‘Not yet,’ she turns off the tap, all smiles, ‘but fingers-crossed I’ll be able to get pregnant again. I’ve been trying for years. I want, so much, so desperately to have a child of my own …’ she stops.

  ‘I mean, you’re my child, of course …’ she stops again. ‘I want my own child, well, you know …’

  ‘I know.’ I say.

  Paula starts talking about the ins and outs of fertility, but I can’t listen. All I hear are her words, ‘my own’. I’m not hers and there’s a good chance Paula didn’t, never, wanted me. She got stuck with this whole situation, a teenage pain-in-the-neck. She wants her own baby daughter and I’m a poor substitute.

  I leave my toast uneaten and walk towards the front door. I can’t wait until Melody visits, she’ll understand. She finally texted back promising to come in a couple of weeks.

  Paula follows me, ‘Are you okay, sweetie?’

  ‘Fine,’ I grab my schoolbag and power walk to the bu
s stop without looking back.

  ‘Sky!’ Paula calls after me. But I don’t turn around.

  In the schoolyard we sit in a circle and Jules’s charm bracelet jingles as she gently plaits my hair into a side corn-row; my scalp tingles, partly painful but it also feels nice.

  ‘It’s so thick and long,’ Jules says admiringly.

  ‘No, make it turn to the right,’ Marissa instructs Jules, ‘so that it falls over her shoulder. Have you heard of glitter roots?’ Marissa pulls up a pic on her phone. ‘You could do gold, that’s the best.’

  I’m feeling super special, the centre of attention, everyone watching. Kristy even takes a picture, oohing and aahing about how pretty I look. I forget about babies and Paula and instead feel like a movie star ready for the red carpet.

  Jules insists we share sandwiches and I don’t want to ruin the moment so I chew the ham quickly, willing myself not to think of the sad pig pictures I’ve seen on Franimals, and swallow.

  I also don’t want to lose WildRider so even though it’s happened a few times, I’m keeping it quiet. Once my probation is finished, my popularity secured, confidence regained, I will go back to being veggie.

  Jules also offers Marissa a bite, which she takes quickly before going back to her salad. She takes out a notebook and jots something down.

  ‘Food diary,’ Kristy says, noticing me staring. ‘She counts, like, every single calorie and…’

  ‘I have gotten skinnier,’ Marissa says quickly; her voice is high-pitched and she sounds stressed. ‘Haven’t I?’

  ‘Totally,’ Kristy says and everyone nods.

  Kristy continues, ‘I meant it’s her secret weapon to skinniness.’

  Marissa sighs. ‘Mum can literally smell carbohydrates in my blood or something. She has super senses. If I don’t tell her about the sandwich she’ll find out anyway.’

  ‘She can also sniff out your hair.’ Kristy continues. ‘Remember that time you slept over and used my shampoo? Your mum went freaking nuts the next day. Said your hair was ruined and it was my fault. I even had to call and apologise!’

  ‘I spent the entire afternoon in an emergency keratin conditioning wrap,’ Marissa laughs. We all join in.

  For the last few weeks, we’ve spent our breaks trying out hairstyles for the gala, and talking dresses so we don’t clash.

  ‘Two years ago Marissa wore peach and I wore turquoise, so gross, we couldn’t even stand together to take a selfie,’ Kristy says.

  ‘What happened last year?’ I ask. ‘Did you all match?’

  ‘Marissa wasn’t here; she was at boarding school. Sad face.’ Kristy makes a big frown.

  ‘Did you like it, boarding school?’ I ask Marissa. Maybe I’ll be let into some more information.

  ‘It was fine, whatever,’ Marissa says. Okay, I’ll have to wait.

  Today we are writing a dress list to avoid that disaster and Kristy gives me a pen. I’ve been assigned the job to write it down, which makes me strangely happy.

  Marissa has already ordered hers from Sydney; the same designer who was showcased at the Music Awards.

  ‘So expensive, OMG, I had to plead double hard with Daddy.’ She shows us a pic. It is strapless and has shimmering gold and pink embroidery. ‘It’s sexy Bollywood chic,’ she says. And it really is wow.

  I write down the details, making note of their accessories, pink high heels, diamond necklace, hair in soft curls.

  Kristy dictates her dress description to me. Spaghetti straps, lilac with a baby blue belt, cream heels. Stiletto (not kitten like last year). I’m not 100 per cent certain what kitten heels are but don’t want to ask. Hair in a messy side plait.

  ‘Next year I’m doing that rainbow hair thing, so awesome,’ Kristy says.

  ‘It’s already out of fashion,’ Marissa says. ‘But you could go totally pink.’

  ‘Love it!’ Kristy says.

  Jules has found a mini dress, red and black. It looks retro and cool.

  Marissa inspects the picture. ‘No way.’

  ‘But I’ve bought it already, and Mum will freak if I change my mind again,’ Jules pleads. ‘It won’t clash. Come on, Marissa. It’s a bad pic and I’m sure you’ll like it when you see it.’

  ‘What about you?’ Marissa turns to face me, her back to Jules.

  ‘I still don’t know,’ I say.

  I have no clue where I’m going to get the dress money. Winning the competition is my only option. With school supplies and Bella’s expenses, I can’t ask Paula for more cash. Luckily I have a great idea for my project, something to make it extraordinary.

  Suddenly, a shadow falls over our group.

  ‘Coming to Landcare?’ Lucy pushes her glasses up her nose. I freeze. I’d been so engrossed in my newfound girlfriends that I had forgotten today was the first day – the teacher is back.

  ‘Hi, Birdie,’ Marissa smirks. ‘How’s the twitching or tweaking going? What do you call it in bird language?’

  Kristy laughs. I want to defend Lucy but can’t bring myself to open my mouth.

  ‘You still coming?’ Lucy asks, ignoring the jab. I wish she had forgotten, but I can’t send her away.

  ‘I’m already signed up, so …’ I say, giving Kristy back her pen. ‘Better go, sorry.’ I hold the end of my half-finished plait and stand up. ‘Can you finish it later, Jules?’

  ‘Sure,’ Jules says. ‘I love gardening with my gran. She has these lavender bushes and …’ Trust Jules to always make things better when they get awkward. I feel like hugging her.

  ‘Ewwww,’ Marissa snorts. ‘You can’t be serious, Sky, digging in the dirt like a wild pig, so disgusting, and you’ll ruin your nails for the mani.’

  ‘Do you think?’ I ask. I look down at my hands. Maybe I shouldn’t go after all. I still can’t believe I’m included in their plans, all expenses paid by Lorraine for total pampering before the gala: hair, nails, facial, eyebrows.

  But I’ve already told Lucy and Miss Higgins, our science and Landcare teacher that I’m coming to help.

  ‘It’s for the environment,’ I smile. ‘Gotta look after it.’ I roll my eyes like I don’t care.

  I follow Lucy to the planting area, gulping the rest of my apple juice to try and wash out the taste of ham from my mouth. We join the group of digging, planting kids of all ages. My phone beeps, ‘U beta not ruin da bracelet,’ Marissa texts.

  There’s also a new message from Paula. ‘You ran off this morning, are you feeling okay? Let’s talk later.’

  ‘No!’ I want to shout back. ‘Everything is not okay, stupid. You’re going to get pregnant, and then what? You’ll lose interest in me.’ I’ll be just an annoyance, a burden, an expense they can’t afford. My head’s spinning as I think of the fall out of a new baby. Will I share a room with it or sleep on the couch? Or will they finally have the family they really wanted and hand me off to some unknown fourth cousin in Western Australia? Even though I don’t have any fourth cousins.

  I ignore Paula’s and Marissa’s texts and grab a spade and pots of small saplings.

  Working side-by-side with Lucy is relaxing. Time floats by in a mindful trance. I don’t worry about fitting in, saying the right thing or what I look like. Dirt under my fingernails is surprisingly warm and comforting. Drops of sweat appear on my forehead and I don’t smooth down the inevitable hair frizz. I stop thinking and it feels great.

  ‘How are you managing?’ I hear a voice and look up to see Miss Higgins smiling.

  ‘Great to see you join in,’ she kneels so that we are eye to eye.

  ‘Planting is fun,’ I say sincerely, patting the earth around my fourth sapling, satisfied with my work.

  ‘Look, I thought you may like to plant a special tree,’ she says, ‘in memory of your mother. It’s a tradition for many people, especially of the Jewish faith, who have experienced a loss. The tree is a symbol of wisdom and life and it can be a great healer.’ She looks at me intently. ‘What beautiful eyes you have,’ she adds. ‘What do you think?�
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  ‘No thanks.’ I say, looking away. I pat down the earth hard with the spade. ‘Mum hated trees anyway,’ I lie.

  Miss Higgins stands up. ‘I’ll put one aside for you,’ she says sweetly and I feel really bad about what I said to her. ‘In case you change your mind.’ I hear her walk off but I keep my head down.

  My eyes sting and the relaxing feeling is gone. I bite my lip. Mum loved trees, adored them. Her favourite was scribbly bark, and I even saw a paperbark, her second favourite, in the cluster of saplings. But I can’t plant her a tree when all I feel is angry. Three things keep circling in my head.

  One – Mum left me with an aunt who barely knows me.

  Two – She didn’t fill me in on her mystery fights with Paula, and now I’m left with nothing but suspicions and resentment.

  Three – She gave me to an aunt who wants her own baby, not me. Why didn’t Melody take me? For a second I imagine a life with Melody, full of excitement and adventure, travelling from protest to protest. I could even interview the activists and turn these adventures into a best-selling memoir.

  So – no, I’m not planting trees for Mum today, or ever.

  I hear footsteps approaching and since I don’t feel like speaking to Miss Higgins again, I concentrate on digging the hole for sapling number five.

  ‘Hi Lucy, hey Sky,’ says a deep voice. I know who it is but am too scared to look. I can’t believe Oliver’s seeing me like this; my hair is a hot mess, sweating and covered in dirt. My eyes are probably red from holding back tears. Total disaster.

  ‘Are you making possum boxes?’ Lucy asks him, taking a break from her digging. ‘I heard the supervisor mention them, but what about bird boxes, there’s several species that need…’ Lucy continues.

  I smile as I watch them talk. I can’t believe Lucy’s so relaxed and confident around him. Does she not understand basic social rules? Oliver’s one of the popular kids; they shouldn’t even be talking. Oliver catches my eye and grins. Lucy calls over Miss Higgins and the three of them talk. Miss Higgins agrees to add bird boxes and they discuss shapes and sizes for Oliver to sketch and later construct in the woodshop. They’ll be attached to the larger trees around the school as nesting sites.