I’m standing a few metres away, but I don’t move, strangely transfixed by Pete’s dark outline through the car window. When Bruce’s back is turned, I see Pete give him the finger. Pete’s black hoodie is pulled up over his head and it’s too dark to make out his expression. I step back, sure to be out of sight, and watch as Bruce takes out his phone, the light making his face glow yellow as he starts to scroll. He can’t see what I can: Pete’s torso heaving up and down. Is he laughing or crying?
My phone beeps. The ice? Where are you?
I run back inside the hospital doors, shaking the image of Pete from my head. I’ve taken way too long— must find ice.
At the information desk, they direct me to the cafeteria, so I jog there and fill two large plastic cups before legging it back to the room. Paula’s still groaning and neither of them notice me coming in and going out again.
Back in the waiting room, I take out my phone. I have a message from Oliver; he’s waiting for me at the park, asking where I am. I totally forgot about our meeting. I message him back explaining what’s happened, and he calls me immediately to find out if Paula’s okay. My dad does the same. I don’t think Paula wants visitors, so I tell them to stay tuned.
I open up my socials to distract myself, and see I have a new message in the private group with Stella and Miguel. This time it’s from Miguel.
We’re putting the campaign together. The mock-up’s coming soon and we’ve got a group of activists waiting to get going.
Mock-ups? Get going on what?
@Miguel, Stella writes, hold your horses. I want to explain what’s happening first; they need context.
This is all happening in real time.
You there, Sky? Stella writes.
I’m here. I tag Oliver, hoping he’s online too.
I see him pop up. We’re all online now.
I found a way to identify Pete without breaking any laws, Stella writes. I found his father’s account.
Images of Bruce flash through my head: him getting drunk at the barbecue and kicking beer cans, swearing at Pete on the video—although that was with good reason. And just now, outside, pushing Pete with his broken arm into the car.
Bruce has a Facebook page where he boasts about all his hunting exploits, Stella continues. Typical of toxic men of that kind.
How did you find the page? I ask.
Miguel and I sent Bruce a friend request. Yesterday, he accepted it.
There’s a pause as I try to understand how he could have accepted her friend request. That’s beyond strange. He’s a hunter and she’s an activist.
Oliver is obviously as perplexed as me because he writes, Why would Bruce do that?
Stella replies. We used one of Miguel’s other accounts.
Other accounts? It’s just like I learnt in class—you can’t know who’s really behind a profile.
This is Bruce’s last post. Stella attaches a screenshot of a photo posted on Facebook. It’s him and Pete before the hunt, the same day that your father took the footage.
In the photo, Bruce and Pete are standing next to the ute. Bruce has his gun propped on his hip, one hand holding the barrel and his other arm around Pete. Bruce is smiling but Pete has more of a grimace, a can of Coke in his left hand. The caption reads: Nothin’ better than this. Hunting roos with the boy.
See Pete’s left arm? Stella writes.
I squint at the photo before opening it up full size and zooming in. One of Pete’s sleeves is pushed up to reveal a chain-link bracelet on the hand holding the Coke can. I’ve actually noticed the bracelet before when he’s passed me on the bus. But why is it important now?
The bracelet? I ask. No answer. I refresh Messenger. After a minute, I send a private message to Oliver asking if he knows what Stella’s talking about. He has no idea either.
Several minutes later, another screenshot pops up—a still of Pete from our YouTube video. Stella has circled a part of the frame in red. I zoom in. Pete’s wearing short sleeves, and his bracelet is clearly visible.
Stella sends another message. What I’m saying, Sky and Oliver, is that we can identify Pete Kelly as being the assailant using the photograph his dad posted. Sky, this means you and your father are off the hook. They have self-incriminated. It can now be public knowledge that Pete is the guilty party.
But how would you have known to look if I hadn’t told you? I reply.
Simple. I was researching kangaroos, came across your video and wanted to find out who the person was. Stella’s words fly across my screen. Your video is marked with a location, so I did some hard-hitting research into West Creek and found the kangaroo-hunting group. I looked into the list of members, discovered Bruce, then found this photograph and matched it to the footage. Done.
My fist clenches, digging my nails into my palm. Why am I feeling so uncomfortable?
Your turn. Stella tags Miguel.
Okay, Miguel writes. Now we have a picture of Pete we can use, our team can mock up some designs. But since Pete doesn’t have an online presence to barrage, we’ll link to his father’s Facebook page, and to your channel of course. The beauty of it is you don’t have to un-blur his face, comment or do a thing. Pete will go down and you can just sit back and watch justice being done.
Stella adds, I’m submitting my article to the editor next week. Pete will be named there too, so we’ll have a multi-pronged campaign launching at the same time.
I’d almost forgotten that Stella was writing an in-depth piece on kangaroos for a major newspaper.
Oliver writes, You’re going to share this on Expose Them? And link to Keep Kind?
Not only that, bud, Miguel replies to Oliver. We have big money to boost the post—from past experience, it will go viral within twenty-four hours.
I can practically feel Oliver’s excitement at seeing our subscribers skyrocket beyond 1000 and into the stratosphere.
And we have people on stand-by to attack, Miguel continues. Bruce will be running for the hills. He’ll delete his entire Facebook page within days, no doubt, and Pete will be infamous. He’ll never hunt again, that’s for sure—and good luck to him finding a job after this.
I stare at the screen. Bombarding Bruce’s account? Attack? This sounds full-on. And Pete will be infamous? I didn’t expect that.
Does it have to be so ... I search for the right word. I want to say, mean, but that sounds childish. Intense? I know Pete has done something terrible, but this is next level.
Miguel replies: Damaging someone’s reputation is a highly effective form of communal punishment. Remember, shame can be used as a force for good; it’s been used throughout history to promote social cohesion in communities. Believe me, name and shame strategies are a proven success.
I read his message a couple of times. It does sound convincing.
When will it begin? Oliver asks.
The countdown has begun, Stella says. Get ready, my young activists. You’re going to be famous. I’m excited about LA; we’ll find the money to fly you both in.
Miguel adds a happy-face emoji.
I hear someone call my name and look up to see Dave waving me inside the delivery room.
Chapter 16
I left the hospital last night after the doctor told Paula it would likely still be a while before little star arrives so she should try to get some sleep. All set up with pain relief, she had calmed down, unable to feel the now occasional contractions. I left her and Dave there together, feeling like a third wheel. Dad and Diana came to pick me up, and they quickly checked in on Paula and delivered Dave some home-cooked food.
Today, we drove to Diana’s place, where we had lunch. She and Dad are behaving more like a couple than ever, which is not helping my churning stomach. At the table, I searched for signs of romance between them, especially when Dad scraped his chair closer to hers to show her his photographs from the Country Music Festival. Diana had her hair down and was wearing a top covered in cherries, her blue eyes framed with black kohl. She looked ext
ra pretty. Maybe I just need to ask Dad straight out.
Diana then dropped Oliver and me at my house. There’s wet laundry in the machine and I know I need to hang it out before it gets smelly.
I carry the box of multicoloured pegs through the back door towards the garden. Bella is at my heel and Oliver’s following behind, holding the heavy basket of wet laundry. Bella immediately goes over to the fence post and starts digging, deepening the hole she’s been working on for a while. I don’t stop her; she’s allowed to cause chaos in that part of the garden.
‘I just don’t know, Oliver ...’ I say as we pass the outdoor table and vegetable garden and arrive at the far back fence. It’s a cool afternoon. The last of the frangipani flowers have fallen off and the tree is losing its leaves. Tomorrow school starts again.
‘What’s not to know?’ Oliver plonks the laundry basket down next to the Hills hoist.
‘The whole “naming and shaming” Pete, and getting his dad involved ... There must be another way.’ Abort mission, is what I want to say.
‘Pete did a disgusting, cruel thing and he’ll learn his lesson. Don’t worry.’
Worrying is all I’ve been doing, and because we’re meant to keep it secret until launch day, I can’t even talk to anyone about it except Oliver.
‘But can’t he learn his lesson without everyone knowing?’ I swing Paula’s maternity pants onto the line. A cackle of cockatoos squawks from the back tree; they’re extra noisy today, almost deafening, and I feel like screaming at them to be quiet. ‘Maybe if we ...’
‘What?’ Oliver pegs up a line of socks.
‘We could talk to Dad ... and your mum too.’ I trust Oliver. I know he’s a good guy, with good values. That’s why I love him. But if we had an outsider’s perspective, I’d feel a million times better.
‘Miguel said we should keep it quiet for now, and not tell our family or friends to avoid any potential trouble before the big day. And like I said, they won’t help anyway. Our parents hardly use social media; they don’t get the whole activist world and it’s just going to freak them out. This is something we are doing on our own.’
‘But what about the kids at school? They’re going to find out.’ I think of the label I’ve been given, Chickengirl—relatively harmless, but it’ll likely stick with me for the rest of school, whether I like it or not.
‘That’s the whole point, Sky.’ Oliver looks at me in surprise. ‘That’s what a name and shame campaign does.’
I concentrate on pegging clothes onto the line. My stomach has been queasy ever since Miguel’s messages. ‘But Pete seemed like an okay guy,’ I try again. ‘I saw him on the bus giving up his seat to old people.’
‘You’re supposed to get up; everyone knows that!’ Oliver’s voice is getting a tinge of frustration.
‘But he did it even when he didn’t have to.’
‘Sky.’ Oliver rolls his eyes.
Even though Oliver’s frustrated, I have to say my piece. ‘I saw Pete pet a dog on the street the other day, and—’
‘You’re overthinking this,’ Oliver butts in. ‘None of that undoes what he did to that joey. Remember the joey?’
I feel tears prick at the memory of the poor baby, his mother shot. Now he’s dead too. I swallow and tell Oliver how I saw Bruce and Pete at the hospital last night. ‘I wonder how Pete broke his arm,’ I finish.
‘Probably beating up some poor dog,’ Oliver says. ‘If Pete and his dad are like that with kangaroos, who knows what else they get up to? Look, we’re doing this to get justice for that joey. Focus on that, not all the other things Pete has done, okay?’
I nod and haul out a bed sheet, and we each take an end. The cockatoos haven’t stopped their shouting.
‘I know you’re nervous,’ Oliver continues, ‘but this is going to be epic. Can you imagine, once the campaign goes live, how many people are going to click through to our page?’
I finish pegging the sheet, not looking at him. ‘Numbers aren’t everything.’
‘But they’re something that will impress Viola Films.’
He’s happy, and I know I should be too. Our relationship is back on track, he has a chance at being accepted into his dream job, but ...
Tears are welling and I make an excuse to go to the bathroom, leaving Oliver to finish hanging up the washing.
Inside, I take a tissue, dab my eyes and blow my nose. Then I stare at myself in the mirror and see Pete, his arm in a cast, being pushed into the car, his shoulders heaving when Bruce’s back was turned. He must have been crying, but was it because of the pain in his arm, or was it guilt?
Then the joey flashes back into view, Pete’s boot kicking at it. I wipe my eyes again. Maybe Oliver’s right; this is justice for the joey and all the other kangaroos who will be shot, their babies killed, tonight and every other night.
My phone beeps as I turn off the tap and dry my hands. It’s a message from Issie asking which animal issue our next YouTube video will cover. She has a few ideas she’d like to run by me.
I scoop my hair up into a ponytail and put on some lip gloss before returning to the garden. Oliver’s gotten through most of the laundry and there are only a few items left wet and crumpled at the bottom of the basket. I fling my IAAD singlet over the line and stretch it out, pegs armed and ready. I read the text on the back: Justice for Animals. IAAD. Stronger, together.
My phone rings.
‘It’s Dave.’ I look at Oliver, panic–slash–excitement rising. ‘Maybe Paula’s had the baby. Do you think your mum could take me back to the hospital now, or should I call Dad? He could borrow her car and—’
‘Answer the phone, Sky!’ Oliver points to my hand incredulously.
‘Right.’ I nod and answer the call. ‘Dave?’
‘Sky, if you could do a couple of errands that would be great.’
‘Errands? Has Paula had the—’
‘Just the basics. And if you could get to the post office before it closes ...’
I listen as he gives me a thousand instructions, his voice flat and weary. Paula obviously hasn’t had the baby.
After I hang up, I text Dad and ask him if he wants to come with me to the supermarket. He says we can go in about twenty minutes. Then I see a new post from Stella in the Activists Unite group.
Stay tuned friends. Miguel and I are teaming up with a couple of upcoming activists, Sky and Oliver. She’s tagged us. You may have seen them at IAAD if you were able to join us. We’ll soon be exposing the stark realities of kangaroo hunting. New campaign and info coming soon.
I show the post to Oliver, who looks extremely pleased.
People are quick to comment with encouraging remarks. Issie writes, Go Sky! I knew you were going to be a force to be reckoned with. And Celeste sends a cute gif of a bunny singing Congratulations.
After all my fears and doubts, it’s too late to change anything. Bella barks at the cockatoos; she must be sick of their noise too.
‘Bella, shush!’
She stops, looks at me, wags her tail then continues barking. Carefully, I secure my shirt on the line but the peg breaks in my hand. I grab another from the box, but it’s broken too.
‘They’re such powerhouses, aren’t they?’ Oliver says. ‘I mean, Miguel’s tattoo ... Seriously awesome. Maybe I’ll make a doco about it or something. Miguel’s story needs a film, don’t you think?’
‘Uh-huh.’
By going ahead with Stella and Miguel’s plan, I will become an integral part of the group. I’ll present at an international conference, as well as get to know Stella, which is an honour, along with learning the language of the movement. Maybe I’ll even find myself with an award one day, just like Miguel. I think of my new online friends, Issie and Celeste, and the crowd of activists at IAAD, each brave and empowered enough to speak out for animals. Now they know who I am too and they’re supporting me on my journey to make a difference.
‘Do you feel like we’ve found our people?’ I ask Oliver.
&nbs
p; ‘You’re my people.’ He hugs me from behind and kisses my neck, which tickles and makes me laugh.
I understand that, unlike me, Oliver isn’t looking for a community; he is focused on the path he needs to take to succeed. I like that about him. He’s his own person.
‘I love you.’ I turn to him and we kiss. I let my fears drain from shoulders into my feet and into the grass below.
My phone rings and we break apart. It’s Dave again. He’s probably forgotten something on the list. I answer, but before I even have time to say anything, he starts speaking.
‘Sky, it’s happening!’ His voice is high.
‘What? Is she having the baby? Is everything okay?’
‘Come now,’ he says. ‘Just come, okay?’ The line goes silent.
‘Dave?’
I look at my phone screen, but the call has been disconnected. I look back to Oliver, and my face must have crumpled because he hugs me tight. ‘It’s going to be okay.’
I nod into his shoulder. I trust him, but I’m also so unsure about everything. Things are either falling apart or coming together. I can’t tell yet. What I do know is, between Pete and my new baby cousin, my life is about to change.
Chapter 17
I’m in front of the enormous weeping willow tree by the school gates. It’s Monday morning and the magpies are harmonising their songs like an out-of-tune choir.
Yesterday, after I got Dave’s call that the baby’s birth was imminent, Oliver took the bus home and in a flurry of excitement I made my way to the hospital with Dad. But then Dave messaged to say that Paula’s contractions had slowed before ceasing entirely. He told me he was coming home to shower, so Dad and I re-routed to the supermarket. When I got home in the evening, Dave, weary and red-eyed, came back to gather his things so he could to return to the hospital to spend the night on a trundle bed sleeping by Paula’s side. I tried to convince him I should go too but he insisted there was no need. For the first time in my life, I was home alone and rather than it being a party for one, it just felt lonely. And now it’s my first day back at school, and I barely slept last night, save for some nightmares. I’ve got double English—a breath of fresh air between Maths and Biology—but to say I’m not in the mood for school doesn’t begin to describe my burning desire to turn on my heel and go to the hospital to be with Paula.
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