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Miranda reached out and her fingers wrapped around the handle, just below my own hand. The muscles of her arm strained, as if holding the umbrella required all her strength.

Something’s wrong with her,
I thought.
She’s sick.

The wind whipped round and splattered raindrops across Miranda’s arm. A car went by and her arm was suddenly lit up. I stared. The skin where the water had touched wasn’t the same
shade as the rest of her arm. Like the skin of a totally different person.

The water beaded and rolled away, leaving a white-ish streak.
Make-up. That’s all it is.
But who wore foundation on their arm?

With a sudden movement, Oona darted a glove out and tugged Miranda’s coat sleeve down. ‘Come
along,
Miranda,’ she said nervously, and gripped her arm. ‘We’re
heading home. Now.’

Miranda’s mouth curved up at each end. Perhaps it was meant to be a smile. Then she turned and floated off along behind her great-aunt, pushed along by the wind, umbrella held high.

There was a post on the Jubilee Park High School blog the following week with photos of the new students. I’d promised myself that I’d never look at that load of
merde
again, but I did take a quick peek to see if it had any new information about Miranda. But it just said the same old stuff.
Lived overseas
.
New to our community
. There
was a photo but it was so low-res that if it hadn’t had her name at the bottom, I wouldn’t have known it was her.

There was a photo of New Guy too. The one with the mocking smile. The one I’d been careful not to look at ever since that first time. I didn’t bother reading what was written about
him, but I couldn’t help seeing his name. Lachlan Ford.

By that stage, everyone else had completely lost interest in Miranda. The rumours, the suspicion, all that build-up surrounding her arrival – everything had been forgotten. By everyone
except me and Ami, that is. We watched Oona drive up in her funny little bug-like car every morning, just before the bell went. We watched Miranda drift like a cloud to our classroom. During
classes she sat down the back, near me. Totally silent and still. Miss Falippi never called on her to answer questions. She would look over at Miranda sometimes, but an unsure expression would pass
over her face and she’d look away again.

And we watched Miranda during breaks as she sat on the bench near the back fence. Eyes half-closed. Palms together in her lap. Was she praying? Photosynthesising, maybe? I never saw her eat.

‘Go and talk to her,’ Ami urged me sometimes. ‘She’s so alone.’

I always found an excuse.
I think she’d rather be alone. She’s not much of a talker
.

‘She’s just new,’ said Ami. ‘It’s shitty being new.’

But I wanted to observe Miranda, to try to work her out, and you have to stay back if you want to do that. The only thing was that sometimes I felt like she was the one observing me.

Then one lunchtime, Miranda wasn’t on her bench. I felt the same dizzy confusion I’d had when the portable classroom was moved to the back of the field. I knew it could move. I just
wasn’t expecting it to.

For the rest of the break I felt jumpy. My skull had begun to throb when Ami nudged me. ‘Miranda’s behind us,’ she murmured.

I turned, as subtly as I could. Sure enough, Miranda was there, blending in with the shadows. I couldn’t see her face, but I didn’t need to. I knew what she was doing. She was
watching me.

An ice-spider scuttled down my back. ‘Let’s start walking,’ I whispered. ‘See if she follows.’

We walked along casually, and we were nearing the corner of the library when Katie etc. came around it. Katie was in full rant mode. She swished by and plonked herself down on a bench. Paige and
Justine sat on either side of her. Paige was holding a massive bottle of water, her hands interlocked around it like someone might attempt to steal it. Katie reached out and tugged it from her
hands. She took a swig, then handed it back, without even looking. Cameron was a little way off, joking around with someone. New Guy. No surprises there. Two puzzle-pieces of sky, clicking
together.

Katie’s rant continued. I assumed it was the usual stuff. The stuff I’d heard a thousand times when we were friends. Her agent wasn’t getting her enough work. The jobs she was
getting weren’t good enough. She deserved more. Like,
everyone
said so. Paige and Justine nodded in all the right places. Made the appropriate shocked noises. No butting in. No advice.
No contradicting.

She’s just as bad as ever,
I was about to mutter to Ami. But that wasn’t true. She was worse. No-one told her when she’d gone too far anymore. No-one pulled her up on
anything.

I suddenly remembered Miranda and looked around. She wasn’t far from Katie etc. Her head was to one side, forehead creased with concentration.

‘She’s eavesdropping,’ I whispered.

Ami shook her head. ‘She’s not close enough, is she?’

When the bell rang, Katie stood up and moved off, still talking. Justine and Paige followed.

Ami turned. ‘We’d better go too.’

We started towards our next class. But after a few steps I steered the other way, pulling Ami with me. Ami looked at me curiously. ‘It’s a test,’ I said. ‘To see what
Miranda does.’ A few seconds passed before I risked a look behind to see if Miranda was following us. I admit I was surprised when I turned and she wasn’t there, lurking in the
distance. It took me a moment to spot her, trailing behind Katie.

When Katie reached the door she stopped. Miranda, a few metres behind, stopped too. Katie smoothed her hair and adjusted her skirt. Miranda stood still and watched. Two seconds passed. Three.
Then slowly Miranda raised her hand to her head and smoothed her hair, just as Katie had done. Then she tugged at her skirt, making it perfectly straight. Just like Katie.

I turned to make some comment to Ami, but the look on her face silenced me. Ami, my ever-calm, logical friend, looked disconcerted.

‘What?’ I said.

‘There’s something –’ Ami broke off and I could see the rational part of her struggling to come to terms with what she was about to say. ‘There’s something
not quite right about that girl.’

The pain in my head grew suddenly stronger.

By that afternoon, my headache was so bad that I let Ami convince me to go home. The idea of curling up in the darkness of my room for a couple of hours, maybe with Luxe playing
very softly in the background, was too appealing to resist. I wobbled off home on my bike, the afternoon light playing weird tricks on my aching eyes.

When I’d come home from the clinic, I did some major redecorating. I stripped my bedroom of all the girly, princessy elements that Katie and I had loved, and I considered leaving it like
that – bare and stark and ugly – but in the end it was too much like my room at the clinic. What I needed was something I could escape into. Once the idea of a fortune-teller’s
tent struck, I became obsessed. I suppose it was something to think about other than my mess of a life. I sourced some lush red velvet curtains and nailed them to the ceiling and the walls so they
made a basic tent shape. I moved my bed so that it was in the middle and arranged a whole lot of cushions around the room, as well as a Persian rug that I’d relocated from the hallway. I kept
my Magic 8 Ball on top of the ancient – but still excellent – ottoman I found in the neighbours’ rubbish.

Riding home that afternoon, I focused on how good it would feel once I was in my room with the curtains down and it was that thought alone that kept my feet turning the pedals.

Dad used to describe our place as a
weathered-
board house, which is the kind of bad joke he was fond of making and that Mum laughed at every single time. Or used to. The thing was that
neither of them meant it – the beaten-up-ness of our house was one of the things they loved best about it. Most of the damage had been caused by the wind blowing in off the bay and as far as
Mum was concerned, the sea air was something magical. If it thought we needed fewer roof tiles, then so be it. The other thing Dad joked about was what he called our free-range garden, i.e. the
weed paradise. I swear that things evicted from other people’s gardens would turn up in ours. Every time we wanted to have a barbecue, Dad had to mow down a path to it. He’d lift up the
things he unearthed along the way – buckets, shoes – pretending they were treasures. When he moved out he took the gags with him, but left the mower and the barbecue set. The grass grew
longer and longer anyway.

As I walked up our creaky steps the front door flung open and two hopeful faces greeted me.

‘You’re home!’ said Toby. He was grinning, but looked pale. Paler than usual, that is.

Mum stroked his hair. ‘Tobes came home at lunchtime,’ she said. Her voice was cheerful, but I heard the concern beneath it, flickering like a pilot light. Then a third face squeezed
between Mum and Toby and began enthusiastically licking my hand.

‘Hi, Ralphy,’ I said, giving his head a scratch.

‘How about you three stay outside for a while?’ said Mum, eyeing me. ‘A bunch of orders came through at lunchtime. I’d love to get them out.’ She worked for a
health-food company, selling vitamins over the internet.

I could see the door to my room from the hallway. Beyond that door was my fortune-teller’s tent and the promise of peace. Then I looked back at Toby and Mum.
You owe them,
I
reminded myself.
Big time.

‘No problem,’ I said, slinging my bag down on the porch. It was probably best if Mum didn’t know about the headache. It felt a little better now I was home, anyway.

‘Mum bought a watermelon,’ Toby said. ‘Want to help me kill it?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘I can’t believe you’re even asking. Go and grab the smashing sticks. I’ll meet you down the back.’

‘Awesome!’ yelled Toby, running off. Ralph ran behind him, doing a crazy dog dance of joy.

I shook my head. ‘Is it possible to die from overexcitement?’

Mum laughed. ‘You were exactly the same at seven,’ she said. ‘Maybe worse
.
I used to hide on the couch whimpering and praying that we’d both survive until your dad
came home.’

She gave one of those fragile smiles. The sort I hated because it meant she was remembering the life we’d had before. The life I’d wrecked. Her eyes glistened. I hugged her –
fierce and tight. Trying to squeeze the sadness and worry out of her. Or the guilt out of myself.

‘You know,’ I said, ‘Ami says it gets easier.’

Instantly Mum stiffened.

I usually avoided mentioning Ami to Mum. Talking about her always seemed to lead to more worry and hassle. For some reason, though, I didn’t feel like hiding our friendship today.

‘Jeez, Mum,’ I said. ‘It’s not like she’ll give away any family secrets.’

Mum made a weird noise – a snorting sort of laugh. ‘Well, I know
that
,’ she said.

I pulled away, feeling the old irritation rise. ‘I need someone to talk to about it with. A
friend
,’ I added quickly, before Mum inevitably said that I could talk to her. Then
immediately, I felt bad. I had no right to get cross. Not after what I’d done.

I buried my face into her shoulder like I used to. ‘I’m sorry.’

Mum stroked my hair. ‘Oh, Liv,’ she murmured. ‘Don’t be.’

‘Olive!’ Toby’s voice rang up from somewhere down the back of our yard. ‘Come
on.
’

I gulped in some air. Counted to three. ‘Coming!’ Then I put my hands on Mum’s shoulders and swivelled her around so she was facing the house.

‘Go and work,’ I commanded. ‘The vitamin-deficient citizens of the world need you.’

‘You’re a love,’ said my mum. She stooped and picked up a shopping bag that was tucked behind the front door. Inside the bag was a large watermelon. Mum gave it a pat as she
handed it over. ‘May your death be swift, brave fruit,’ she intoned. ‘And your suffering short.’

Kill-the-watermelon was my idea. I invented it shortly after I’d finished constructing the fortune-teller’s tent. Around the time I first met Ami. I wasn’t feeling great
myself, but Toby was in total shut-down mode. He used to spend hours on his own in the backyard, just sitting there in a chair like an old man. And I guess I felt responsible – because he was
upset about Dad, and Dad would never have left if it hadn’t been for me. So one day I went to our fridge and took out the biggest thing I could find. A watermelon. Then we took it down to the
back fence and smashed it to a pulp with sticks. Not the most complicated game. And yeah, totally wasteful.