Star

by Ondine Sherman

  Your heart will never lead you astray

  Sky’s aunt and uncle are expecting a baby, her boyfriend Oliver seems more interested in their YouTube channel than in talking, her father is settling into life in West Creek, and her best friend Lucy is in a new relationship. The problem is, Sky is still trying to work out where she fits in.

  When she learns about an animal cruelty situation close to home, Sky is desperate to help. She travels to an animal rights conference where, surrounded by people who share her beliefs, she finally feels like she belongs.

  But when she’s asked to take her activism to a new level, Sky starts to question what doing the right thing really means. She’s spent so long searching for her people. Will she risk losing them?

  ‘It’s easy to stand in the crowd

  but it takes courage to stand alone.’

  MAHATMA GANDHI

  For Elaine, shining bright.

  Also by Ondine Sherman

  The Animal Allies Series

  Sky

  Snow

  Vegan Living: A simple guide to a cruelty-free,

  healthy, plant-based life

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Acknowledgements

  Author Bio

  Chapter Sample

  Chapter 1

  I adjust my laptop and stare at the screen, open to Facebook. The cursor of my mouse hovers over the button: Join Group.

  No, she’ll never accept me. I return to my new obsession of scrolling through the comments on Stella’s latest post, reading and liking as I go.

  As I lie on my bed, a burst of perfume from the brilliant yellow wattle blossoms outside floats in through my bedroom window. Autumn hasn’t got the message that summer’s party is over. I hear the roaring start of our neighbour’s lawnmower and the squawks from a crackle of white cockatoos in our back tree. I learnt that more than one cockatoo is called a crackle from my bird-watching best friend, Lucy. Groups of birds have the weirdest names: king parrots are a ‘company’ and owls a ‘parliament’. Inspired by Lucy, I can now identify many bird calls, like the fluty melodies of the Australian magpie and the screeching of the rainbow lorikeet.

  I sit up, cross my legs, lean my back against the wall then click back to the group’s main page. Activists Unite is a private group on Facebook run by Stella Morris, a journalist and animal activist with multiple social media platforms. Stella is admired worldwide and followed by millions. She’s constantly travelling, speaking, writing and publishing books. She gets interviewed on CNN, BBC and even Al Jazeera when world news breaks on an animal issue. But unlike some, she’s not all about self-promotion; she regularly shares other people’s accomplishments, supporting and encouraging their advocacy. She’s currently on a world tour, delivering eighty speeches in twenty days in ten different countries. Today she’s speaking in Beijing and has posted a petition against bear bile farming, an industry that cages bears and removes their digestive fluid so it can be used in traditional medicine. Stella is living the kind of life I aspire to, although I think I’m too shy to command a stage like she does.

  I add a comment below the post: Thanks for this, then delete the last two words. I want to sound more articulate. Thanks for informing me about this, Stella, I write instead, tagging her name as always. Occasionally she pops into the comments and replies to people, but never to me. I’m just one person among a squillion fans.

  My phone bings. It’s my dad. I got the job!

  That’s amazing, I write back. I’m so happy for him. He’d been waiting to hear if he was going to be photographing West Creek’s Country Music Festival, the town’s pride and joy.

  I met my father for the first time this year when he sent me a plane ticket to Alaska. My three-week trip was packed with more drama than a reality TV show. At my sixteenth birthday dinner, no less, I found out he was a hunting guide, something he had been keeping from me and a job that goes against everything I believe in. For an animal lover like me, it was devastating. And then, right at the end of the trip, I interrupted him and his client mid hunt, causing my dad to get suspended. I felt horrible that my recklessness got him in so much trouble and cost him a whopping fifty thousand dollars from his client. But instead of being angry at me, he spontaneously jumped on my flight back to Australia so we could spend the next few months getting to know each other better. He made me feel, instead of unwanted, like a VIP and showed me his love was unconditional.

  Not long after we arrived, West Creek Tourism discovered his photography skills and offered him a cash-in-hand gig. Now it’s becoming a regular thing. Like me, they think he has serious talent. The organisation is aiming to put West Creek on the map as a destination for festivals and even rustic weddings. The more his confidence is boosted with photography, the bigger the chance he won’t return to being a hunting guide.

  Dad responds with a smiley face, and I return my attention to Activists Unite.

  I read comment after comment, some posted in real time. Many already have tens, even hundreds, of likes from others in the thread.

  This is disgusting, ugly, vile and heartless.

  Stella, u r my inspiration.

  Stop animal exploitation.

  The animals thank you.

  The doorbell rings.

  ‘Coming!’ I call through my bedroom window. I leap off my bed and run to open the front door.

  My dog, Bella, rushes to greet Oliver, her tail circulating like a ceiling fan. She snorts with happiness and rolls onto her back as he kneels down to find her secret tickle spot.

  He gets to his feet and we hug. ‘Missed you,’ I say into the crook of his neck.

  He pulls back. ‘We saw each other in the park last night.’

  ‘But that was yesterday.’

  ‘Remember, Sky. I said we’d take it slow.’

  ‘I know.’ A knot of doubt lies undigested in my stomach as I lead him inside the house. It’s been over a month since Oliver and I got back together, but things still aren’t the same as they were.

  ‘Is that you, Oliver?’ my aunt Paula calls out. She’s on the couch in her default position: laptop perched on a floral pillow and a cup of tea within reaching distance. Paula’s in her last trimester and although the doctor gave her the all clear to end her months of bed rest, she’s still full of anxiety about something going wrong. She looks up from her computer, her fine brown hair sticking up a little at the back, and smiles at Oliver. ‘How are your holidays going so far?’

  ‘Paula,’ I interject. ‘They start next week, remember?’ She’s so unfocused these days; it’s like she sees me but doesn’t hear me. But I give her a smile; I know she’s having a hard time with her pregnancy. Not to mention she was beyond patient with me when I first arrived here, so I want to do the same for her.

  When Mum died from cancer last year, I moved from Sydney to small-town West Creek to live with Aunt Paula and Uncle Dave. At the time, I had nowhere else to go. I didn’t know my father yet, or his parents, who live in America, and my maternal grandparents had passed away long before. I felt abandoned, alone and orphaned. Paula and Dave made so many sacrifices to give me a new home and tried their hardest to shower me with love. Not that I appreciated it at the time ...


  ‘Want some more tea?’ I ask Paula.

  ‘I’m all tea-ed out today.’ She adjusts her legs, which are propped up by a pillow under her knees. She’s wearing the same Mickey Mouse pyjama pants as yesterday although she’s put on a clean grey top.

  ‘That’s a first!’

  Paula lives on tea, and we’ve always connected over a hot cuppa.

  Oliver digs around in his backpack then hands Paula a large bottle of supplements. ‘These just came into the shop. Mum says they’re meant to be the best pregnancy vitamins out there; all raw or organic or something like that.’

  Paula sits up. ‘How thoughtful. I’ll call Diana to say thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate her taking on the baby-shower project. I keep telling her I’ll help organise it, but she won’t let me lift a finger! She’s an angel.’

  When Oliver and I started going out, Paula and Oliver’s mum, Diana, who runs a health-food store in town, got to know each other and they’ve been close friends ever since.

  Paula frowns, patting the back of her hair down. ‘I wish I could give you freshly baked cookies, like the old days.’

  The old days were only a few months ago, before I went to Alaska. ‘It’s okay, Paula. Where’s Dave?’

  ‘Groceries. You just missed him.’

  ‘I can make dinner tonight,’ I offer. ‘I’ll text him to buy a can of lentils for veggie burgers.’ Paula has gestational diabetes, which means she can have next to no carbs or sugars, so she’ll have to eat her burger without the bun.

  ‘What do you think, my little star?’ She looks down, rubbing her belly. ‘Lentils? Or too much gas?’ She replies to herself in a super high-pitched voice, like she’s the baby: ‘Yum!’

  The word obsessed doesn’t come close to describing Paula with this bub: she sings, talks and even reads magazines to her little star. I feel for her, knowing she’s experienced the pain of several miscarriages before. And although it was a little hard for me at first, I’m excited for her to have this baby too. I have no siblings and no other young relatives, so to have my very own flesh and blood cousin ... it’s a gigantic deal. I do like the baby’s latest nickname too.

  Oliver chuckles and I roll my eyes as we head to my room, leaving Paula to continue her conversation with her belly. I text my uncle Dave quickly about dinner before closing the bedroom door. Paula and Dave have never had a problem with the door being closed. It’s not like I have total privacy, anyway; when they want to talk to me, they just knock and open the door.

  Oliver and I kick off our shoes and plop onto the bed. I hope Oliver will take me in his arms again, but instead he lies on his stomach holding his phone.

  ‘We’ve gotta get more subscribers.’ He stares at the page of our YouTube channel, Keep Kind, on his screen. ‘This number is stressing me out.’

  Sundays are our YouTube filming day. We started the channel together because Oliver is applying for work experience at Viola Films, a famous film production company, and when he trawled through the application process he realised they’re looking for not only an impressive body of work but a strong social media presence with at least a thousand followers. He says thousands of high school kids will apply, but if he gets chosen, the benefits roll on. The winning candidate will get to intern on the set of a major production next summer. It will also give him a real chance of getting into the competitive New York film school he wants to go to after we graduate next year.

  But while he’s focused on making the best films possible and attracting the most subscribers, I have other things in mind. Inspired by Stella Morris and her work, I want to use Keep Kind to raise awareness about animal cruelty and make a difference. I’m taking the lead on what subjects we cover, consuming reams of articles on different topics. I’m following all the advice I’ve read and trying my best to make it newsworthy, light and interesting, while Oliver does the filming and editing. Ever since I was little, I’ve wanted to be a journalist—ideally, one that travels the world and helps animals too. The TED Talk Stella did last year was flawless and has nearly half a million views. She talks a lot about open discourse, transparency and freedom of speech. Often when I read her articles, I get a fluttering in my chest, a feeling she is reading my mind, sharing my thoughts. Knowing there’s someone in the world who talks about how animals should have their own legal rights, who questions their treatment as unjust, unfair and unacceptable, and who people actually listen to, it’s so special.

  Last week, Oliver and I covered a team of poachers-turned-wildlife-protectors; a real feel-good news piece. I loved watching the videos of elephants roaming. The research process was harder for our first video, when I wanted to write about the live export industry. Hundreds of sheep died from heatstroke, squashed into ships from Australia to the Middle East in the height of summer. Stella’s articles on the history of the ban campaign helped me enormously, and Oliver was sure that the video would be a hit; it’s a huge topical issue. But nope. To say our channel hasn’t attracted much attention is the understatement of the century.

  ‘It is embarrassing,’ I agree. Sixty-three followers is about low as you can get. Some people who haven’t even posted a single thing have more than that. I lie next to him, laptop in front of me, following the instructions to sign Stella’s bear petition. I refresh my Facebook feed and share a post from a page called Expose Them.

  ‘Sky?’ Oliver prompts.

  I look up and realise he’s holding his phone up to me. I wriggle closer. ‘That’s, what, sixty-four? Better than last week!’ I try to sound positive, but he nosedives into the covers.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s so bad. I’ll never get that internship. How did Jaxon get a thousand in a week? His single isn’t even that good.’

  I cringe inside. I met Jaxon when I visited my father for the first time in Alaska a few months ago. Jaxon and my dad are really close, as Jaxon’s own father is mostly absent. When I first arrived, I resented Jaxon’s presence as I wanted time to get to know my father. But despite first impressions, we ended up becoming really close friends. Before I left, there was a moment between the two of us and we sort of kissed, but I stopped it before things went too far, and now we’re just friends. But while I want to stay friends with Jaxon, if it’s interfering with my relationship, I am prepared to cut it off. That’s how much I love Oliver. When I left Alaska, Jaxon’s band was about to be signed with a big label. Now, they’ve just released his single and my dad, who doesn’t know about the kiss and apparently hasn’t guessed a thing, can’t stop bringing it up.

  ‘You haven’t even listened to it,’ I say to Oliver.

  ‘Whatever,’ Oliver says into the covers.

  ‘Be patient.’ I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘We’re competing with millions of channels. Have you seen what’s out there when you run a search on animals?’

  He doesn’t answer.

  ‘All the funny pet videos; the cat obsession is insane. And that’s just in the animal category. We’ll get there.’

  ‘Time’s running out.’ He shrugs off my hand. ‘And my application is going to suck.’

  Nothing I say seems to help. ‘You’re a great filmmaker,’ I try again. ‘They’ll see that.’

  ‘I’d be better if I had that new editing program. It has so many features and would take us to the next level.’

  ‘But it’s insanely expensive.’

  ‘Maybe ...’ He lifts his forehead up and then drops back down into the pillow.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Should I ask my father?’ He rolls over and tilts his head, his eyes all sad puppy.

  I resist the urge to kiss his eyelids. ‘For sure.’

  Oliver’s parents divorced four years ago, and since then Oliver’s father has been living in Melbourne. Oliver and his little sister Sabine barely see their dad, although he is flying Oliver down to Melbourne for a rare week together these holidays. Oliver tells me that corporate lawyers work twenty-four seven.

  Oliver sits up, takes out his phone.
His brow is furrowed as his fingers fly over the screen.

  ‘Done,’ he says and slumps back to his original position.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll make Keep Kind better than ever.’ I press my lips to his single freckle, my favourite spot on his face.

  We lie quietly and I feel the heat from his skin transmit into mine. It’s moments like this when I’m desperate for him to say it again: those three words. I haven’t heard them since I was in Alaska—before the drama with Jaxon. I want to hear him say it again; it will mean he’s forgiven me and we’re back to where we were.

  I force myself to sit up. ‘Okay. Time to make a video. Better than ever, right?’ I put my hand up for a high five.

  Oliver remains face down.

  ‘Camera?’ I prod him.

  Oliver sighs and gets to his feet. ‘Okay, I’ll get set up.’ He fetches the equipment from my cupboard then starts to fiddle with the el-cheapo tripod stand.

  I go to the bathroom to check my hair, smooth down the fuzz. I wonder if I should try to look a bit older in the videos. Maybe people would take us more seriously if I looked less like a kid doing a school project and more like a real presenter. I put on some mascara and gloss. Better.

  Before I head back to Oliver, I open Stella’s page again. She’s posted a short video of her talking to a crowd of hundreds at a university.

  A red notification pops up telling me someone’s liked my comment then another one telling me they want to become Facebook friends. I click on her name—Issie Yam—and see she’s a vegan, judging from the posts she shares. At school, Lucy’s mum, who’s a counsellor, came in to do a lecture on internet safety. She gave us ten instructions and I’ve followed most—like adjusting my privacy settings and cleaning my profile of any personal details. But Issie looks legit and there are heaps of pictures of her with foster cats. She’s listed an animal shelter she’s volunteering at so I google the organisation to double-check this isn’t a fake account. I see a picture of her on their page, bottle-feeding a kitten. I hardly know any vegans like me so it’s nice to connect with others who share my beliefs. I press Accept.