Dad’s face gives nothing away. ‘West Creek Tourism would have to sponsor me for a work visa. But who knows?’
Dave slaps Adam on the back and gives a grunt of approval.
My dad mumbles, ‘The light’s a little low on this one. Maybe I should have waited until closer to dusk and—’
‘Dad,’ I interject. ‘They’re great. You’re really talented! Is the new site up yet?’ The West Creek Tourism website will feature heaps of his photographs and he’s been working closely with the web developer and fretting about everything not being flawless before he goes back to Alaska.
‘As of,’ he looks at his watch, ‘ten minutes ago. Eleven am they told me.’
‘The town will be famous thanks to you,’ I say. West Creek really is a nowhere town, not famous for a single thing. I’m so proud of my dad for doing something positive, and my secret hope that they’ll sponsor him for a full-time job is kept alive.
Dave chuckles. ‘The international tourists will be flocking.’
‘We’ll become the Paris Down Under,’ Paula says with a laugh as she puts her feet up on the chair next to her. ‘There’s also our famous antique markets. Gotta capture that beauty.’
‘And the dog park is cool.’ I reach down to pet Bella, who has her chin on my foot. ‘Don’t you think so? Who’s a good doggie?’ She thumps her tail. ‘There are plenty of amazing native birds too,’ I say, thinking of Lucy and how my appreciation of birds has soared since meeting her. ‘And don’t forget our world-famous kangaroos.’ I look pointedly at Dad, but he doesn’t notice. I decide to drop the subject, and clap my hands together. ‘Time for presents?’
‘Let’s clean up first.’ Paula puts her feet down and goes to stand but Dave jumps up and stops her.
‘I’ll clean up.’ Dad stands, popping the remains of a potato into his mouth. I baked them to a crisp with rock salt and paprika and they’re very moreish.
Dave waves at Dad to sit back down. ‘No mate, I’ll do it.’
‘No, bud,’ Dad says. ‘I’m already up.’
‘I’m up too.’ Dave almost forces my dad back into his seat. ‘You relax, mate—you’re the guest.’ He scoops up a pile of dishes and marches into the kitchen. I swallow my laugh as they compete for the Good Bloke of the Year Award.
Paula looks between them. ‘I even miss doing the dishes. First bed rest and now these damn puffy feet.’
‘I miss you doing them too,’ Dave says as he steps back outside to collect another stack of dishes. He kisses the top of her head and she looks up at him adoringly, her irises transforming from circles to hearts like she’s a cartoon. Couple goals.
I help Dave clear the table and load the dishwasher, and then, when Dave returns to Paula, I stay in the kitchen, peeling off silver foil to uncover the banana cake I baked. I had to consider carefully what to make Paula given her sugar restrictions, but she insisted everyone else shouldn’t suffer, so she’s just going to eat a teensy sliver. I begin to arrange the candles when my phone chimes.
Four more subscribers. It’s Oliver.
I lick the lemon icing from my fingers and reply: Crustaceans are making a comeback!
Maybe the Facebook Page helped, he writes back.
Possibly. I’ve been sharing our YouTube videos on the new Keep Kind Facebook page I created. I even tagged Stella in a few. But so far we’re only getting a scattering of likes.
Before I bring the cake out, I quickly check my Facebook notifications to see if I’ve been accepted into Activists Unite yet. Nothing. But there is a message from Lucy telling me to call her. That’s weird. I look outside to the table. Everyone’s busy chatting, so I slip into the lounge room and quickly make the call.
‘Luce. Everything okay?’
‘There’s something I need to tell you, but I don’t want you to freak out. Don’t freak out, okay?’
Is she about to tell me that she and Malcolm broke up? But why would she keep that a secret? And why would she think that would freak me out, anyway?
‘Sky?’
‘Yeah. I won’t freak out—promise. What is it?’ I press the phone to my ear so I don’t miss anything.
‘My dad lost his job.’
I take a moment to let that sink in.
When Lucy speaks again, her voice sounds strange. ‘It’s possible ...’
‘What’s possible?’ I ask.
‘That we’ll have to move. I mean, if he doesn’t find anything close to West Creek.’
‘But he’s super qualified. He’ll find something else, won’t he?’ I hear panic in my voice.
‘I don’t know. They cut the budgets for the whole wildlife research department. There’s been a ton of lay-offs so there’s a bunch of people who are all going to be looking.’
My brain is zapping. That’s why Mark didn’t seem himself at the barbecue.
She sighs. ‘Well, I guess there’s no point in me doing my Instagram anymore.’
‘Lucy, we’ll find him something. Don’t worry. There has to be another job close to here.’
‘I hope so.’
After I hang up, I carry the cake outside and we sing the birthday song, Dad and Dave belting it out, and then we shower Paula with cards and gifts, which makes her tear up. As instructed, there are no gifts for the baby-to-be since the baby shower is happening soon.
Dad bought her an expensive food processor, and Paula seems to find his generosity so shocking that she argues with him that she can’t take it, to no avail. Dave gives her a soft terry-towelling nightgown to replace her tattered one and I give her a beaded pouch for cosmetics—she can take it to hospital when the time comes.
I start to tear up too, because, despite my promise to Lucy, I am freaking out. Seriously. I’m not only devastated for her—she’s in danger of losing her life in West Creek, and so many things she loves, like her home and bird sanctuary and boyfriend—but also for me. If my best friend leaves me, what do I have left in West Creek? At the moment, only an iceberg boyfriend.
I plonk myself down in a garden chair with a cup of tea as everyone settles around the table again. Dave picks up the newspaper and begins to flip through it.
‘Can I have the comics?’ I ask, needing something to get my mind off Lucy. Sixteen or not, you’re never too old for Garfield. Then my eye catches the heading of one of the letters to the editor on the back page of Dave’s paper. Kangaroo numbers blow out.
I ask him to pass it to me. ‘Listen to this.’ I start to read out loud. ‘Our farms are overrun with kangaroos in plague numbers, depleting precious water and feed and making the drought worse.’
‘That’s what those fellas at the barbecue were saying,’ Dad says as he helps himself to another slice of cake. Bella begs by his side.
‘Dad, sugar isn’t healthy for dogs.’
Dad puts down the small piece he’s broken off and pats Bella on the head instead. She’s not impressed.
I continue. ‘When will the government take action and relax the laws on shooting licences? There’s next to no one shooting these days. Do we have to wait until our cattle are dead from starvation to get rid of this pest?’
‘They’re overpopulated, right?’ Dad asks and Dave nods. ‘The guys told me the landowner lets them come onto his property to shoot. It’s a win–win; he gets rid of them, they get to hunt.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Not a win for everyone.’
It takes Dad a moment to understand my point. ‘No, not everyone.’
‘If they say they’re overpopulated, they probably are,’ Dave says. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t want to talk for farmers. Not now with the drought; they’re struggling even to feed and water their stock. Some of the stories I hear ...’ He exhales a sigh. ‘Families broken up. The debt is crippling.’
‘I don’t get it,’ I say. ‘How they can be a pest?’
‘We have, what, toxic cane toads, foxes, cats,’ Dave says, counting them off on his fingers, ‘rabbits, deer, carp ... What am I missing?’
I’ve heard all this before, but it sti
ll doesn’t sit right with me to think that any animal, even ‘pests’ are killed. I look at Bella, who’s now snoring loudly. While we’re snuggling with our dogs in our beds and taking them to the vet when they’re sick, pests are trapped, poisoned, shot at from helicopters and treated like they don’t feel a thing.
‘But we brought all those animals here to Australia, it’s not their fault,’ I say.
Dave shrugs. ‘Even so, they’re doing damage. What do you think, Adam? Do you have the same problem in the States?’
‘Sure do,’ Dad says. ‘Wild boars are hugely destructive. A pest is a pest. Gotta deal with them to protect the wilderness.’
I look to Paula for back-up, but she’s focused on stirring her tea, lost in her own world.
‘No one gets what I’m saying. Pests feel the exact same pain as other animals.’
‘I do understand,’ Dad says, his voice sympathetic. ‘And it’s a terrible situation, but there’s no other option if we want to have healthy landscapes and protect biodiversity.
‘Kangaroos,’ I say, trying another tack. ‘They’re native animals. They were here way before us so they shouldn’t be called a pest.’
Dave sighs. ‘Still, they cause a lot of problems.’
‘We cause the problems—humans,’ I reply. ‘Aren’t we the real pests?’
‘Touché,’ Dad says.
Dave turns the page of the newspaper. ‘Guess it’s just a different perspective, Sky.’
I look to Dad, but he’s gone back to the paper as well, so I return to the comics. They’re no longer funny.
Taking out my phone, I turn my attention to the problem of our failing YouTube channel. I open Stella’s page and do a search for live export. When I find her series of posts from a while ago, I add a comment to each one, linking to our YouTube video. Maybe Stella will see the comment and like it, possibly reply and ideally click through to watch our video. In my fantasy world, she’d do all of that and then share the video with her huge audience.
A notification pops up. Has she seen my comment already? No. It’s just the app alerting me that she’s posted something new. I open it.
I’m honoured to be a part of the esteemed international judging committee for this prize. Who’s ready to see the inspiring list of nominees for Young Activist of the Year?
‘I am.’
‘What’s that, sweetie?’ Paula’s looking at me.
I must have said that out loud. ‘Nothing.’
The post says the list is being released tomorrow. I move away from the umbrella shade and lay my head back to look up at the blue sky. The sun is directly overhead and I let my eyelids close, feeling the rays caress my cheeks. I’m worried about my relationship with Oliver, and the thought of losing Lucy is making panic swirl inside me like a gurgling bathtub. At least I still have Stella. Through her, I’ve not only discovered people and causes I never knew existed, and followed vibrant discussions online, but I’ve found thousands of activists, like Issie, who think and feel like me. When I read their thoughts and feelings, my heart pounds with a sense of ... coming home. Belonging. If only they’d include me.
If only.
Chapter 6
The waning sun makes my room glow orange. Outside my bedroom door, Paula, with her Mickey Mouse pyjama pants reinstated, naps in the lounge room with the newspaper over her face. Dad’s gone back to his place and Dave is in the shed clanking around with his tools—his usual Saturday habit. Lucy and Oliver are in my room. With no homework or school for the next two weeks, my friends and I can finally chill.
I’m on my bed, belly down and feet in the air, and Lucy’s beside me, cross-legged, back against the wall. She’s busy posting one of her latest bird sketches on Instagram. Oliver’s on the floor with his computer. The window’s open and a cool breeze moves the fine fur at the tips of Bella’s ears. She’s lying by Oliver’s side, and he rubs her belly with his left hand while his right hand flits around the keyboard prepping our latest video for YouTube. I swear, some days I think he’s more into Bella than me.
‘Does Malcolm know about your dad?’ I whisper to Lucy. He’s coming over soon so we can binge a Netflix series on his new iPad—an early birthday present from his grandparents.
‘Yeah, I told him last night,’ Lucy says.
He knew before I did.
‘How did he react?’ I ask.
‘He came over straight away. He was super calm and supportive. I love that about him; nothing ruffles his feathers.’
‘That must have been really hard.’ I try to imagine how Lucy must be feeling, the fear and sadness.
‘It’s okay,’ she says. She’s such a trooper.
Oliver looks up from the floor. ‘What are you two talking about?’
As Lucy fills him in on what’s happening, and Oliver reassures her that it will be okay, I take a moment to process how I feel about Lucy telling Malcolm before me. It hurts. But I can’t think like that. I would have done the same if I’d been the one leaving—I’d tell Oliver first. That’s what happens when boyfriends come into the picture. Before Alaska, it was just me, Oliver and Lucy, a group of three, a triangle, the strongest shape in nature. With Malcolm around, the extra person changes the geometry.
Next to me, Lucy opens her file of illustrations and I take a moment to watch her as she browses through them. I’m struck again at how talented she is, how beautiful the sketches are, each one capturing the essence of the bird. But Lucy is not only an artist. I feel lucky to have such a good friend. To have had such a good friend, I try out the past tense. My heart feels like it’s been punched. There has to be something I can do to help. To keep her.
I open a job search site and play around with the settings. I type in Biology and Wildlife and enter the geographic parameters. I click on the search result and swivel my computer around to show Lucy the job description. It’s a role in a laboratory in a town not too far from here.
‘For Dad?’ she asks.
‘Who else?’
‘Sky, I think he can manage to find a job by himself.’
‘But it can’t hurt, can it? I can be a second pair of eyes in case something slips by.’
She looks at me and back to the computer. ‘Seems a bit junior.’
I keep scrolling, but don’t see anything else.
Lucy and Oliver are now both deep in their work, so I decide it’s a good time for me to do some research. Kangaroos will be the subject of our next video. I start with a simple Google search. It doesn’t take long to discover how it all works. I’d wrongly assumed kangaroos were farmed, but they’re shot in the bush in their millions. Their meat is not only fed to pets, like I’d heard about, but marketed by top chefs in cooking shows and exported around the world. It’s known as the largest land-based commercial wildlife hunt in the world. How did I not know about this?
Oliver hands Lucy his laptop. ‘Let me know what you think of the final frames of our burger video. I’ve tried something new.’
Lucy presses play. We watch her watch us do the introduction. She smiles as Oliver says, ‘Did you hear the great news about Burger Box?’
‘Burger Box? No, I didn’t!’ I hear myself say. ‘Tell me, Oliver.’
‘They’re one of the latest fast-food chains to turn over a new leaf.’
I know my acting is questionable when I make a mock-confused face at Oliver and ask, ‘A leaf? But don’t they love burgers?’ Lucy’s lips curl upwards slightly as she watches the screen and I hope she’s laughing with me, not at me.
‘Well, Sky, until today they haven’t had any options for vegans and vegetarians, but now they’re trying out a whole new plant-based meal.’
We go on to explain how the vegan burger will be rolled out slowly and tested in the market before they make a final decision on whether to keep it on the menu permanently.
‘What do you think? Would you try the new burger from Burger Box?’ I hear myself ask from the laptop speakers. And then my tone changes to a higher, perkier one, just like we pr
actised: ‘Let us know in the comments.’
Increased comments mean higher engagement, which affects the algorithm leading to a bigger YouTube audience. It also fosters community and gives us ideas for new videos. But we’ve decided on a zero-tolerance policy. Any spammy or rude comments will get deleted, and trolls will be blocked.
The video comes to an end, and Oliver’s vamped up the final animation sequence so it looks very high tech. We wait for Lucy’s verdict.
‘Super cute,’ she says. ‘But you know Bella’s snoring is loud and clear in the background audio.’
‘Damn, I thought I fixed that. I’ll try again.’ Oliver frowns. ‘Did you say cute?’
‘Not cute,’ Lucy says carefully. ‘It’s really good, high quality and informative. I’d totally watch this if I didn’t know you guys. Professional, but also funny and interesting.’
Oliver seems satisfied with this and takes back his laptop. But after a minute he looks up. ‘Only one more. Can’t even reach seventy subscribers.’
‘What about cross-promotion with another channel?’ Lucy suggests. ‘That’s what everyone’s doing these days.’
‘Isn’t that what Jaxon just did?’ Oliver asks, turning to me.
I measure my voice. ‘Yeah, I saw that. Someone added them as their featured channel. The label must have organised it I guess.’
He looks away. ‘Anyway, we’re still too small. If we can just get over the hump we could do all that, even product placement stuff.’
‘I’ll wear a designer handbag for a million bucks,’ I say, trying to lighten the mood.
‘Sky, the new Kardashian sister,’ Lucy adds, and we start giggling.
‘I’ll go platinum blonde, the works.’
‘We need original content,’ Oliver says and I stop laughing. ‘We can’t keep recycling old news and pretending Keep Kind is different from the hundreds of other channels.’
That hurts a little. I’ve tried really hard to make our material original.
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ Lucy says to me. ‘I told my dad that your dad was invited to go kangaroo hunting and he literally just saw this documentary about it.’
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