I think of Mum, wishing she was here with every cell in my body. I know Paula does too.
She continues. ‘Lior is special, different ... Just like my little star.’
Dave kisses Paula’s cheek. ‘We could just call him Star?’
They both chuckle.
I pass Lior to my dad, who coos softly, careful not to wake him. Then I look around the room. I’ve had my flock here the whole time.
We pass the baby from person to person until he finally wakes, crying for food. Dad and I go to the hospital cafeteria to give Paula some privacy while the nurse comes in to help her with the feed. I want to tell him all about Pete and the campaign, but I’d be breaking confidence. I check my phone and see a barrage of messages in our private group between Stella, Miguel and Oliver. The campaign’s going live tonight; if I don’t ask Dad what he thinks now, it’ll be too late.
We sit down at one of the empty tables; it’s not hard to find one as the entire cafeteria is void of people.
Slowly, I tell him what has been happening and about my niggling feeling that what we’re doing—what I’m doing—is not right. I’ve been reading articles about cyberbullying after talking to Lucy, and my doubts have spread like lantana weeds. Dad nods every so often, listening carefully and asking questions to prompt me further. By the end, my feeling of dread has doubled, tripled, in size. My whole body is infested with lantana, but it’s not pretty like a flower.
‘I can’t do it, can I?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t think you would feel right about it. Do you?’
I know the answer is no: it had slowly come into focus as I was journalling in my notebook earlier today. I stare at my bottle of apple juice. The tingling in my arms and the happy feeling inside have stopped. Mum’s words light up in my brain, and I remember Issie’s message about kindness.
‘But how can I stop it now?’ I ask. ‘It’s too late.’
‘Let’s work it out.’ He puts his hand on mine. ‘Together.’
We order drinks and buy snacks, then slowly munch our way through them as we consider our options. Finally, the last packet of chips empty and the salt licked from our fingers, we agree on a plan.
I stay in the cafeteria and Dad returns to Paula and Dave. Biting my nails, I take out my phone and call Oliver. When I tell him how worried I’ve been, and that my misgivings haven’t gone away, I sense his mood plummet, but I force myself to continue. I describe how I haven’t been sleeping, that terrible nightmares have superseded my dreams. ‘Mum told me everyone deserves a second chance,’ I say. The line’s silent. ‘Oliver?’
‘Do the kangaroo and her joey get a second chance?’ His voice is flat.
Shit.
‘No, I mean ... Of course I don’t think ...’ I stumble over my words. ‘Oliver.’ I get a grip on myself. ‘Pete will have this label forever. It’s like the Chickengirl thing; this stuff sticks.’
‘But you can be proud of your label, Sky. Pete should be ashamed.’
‘Well, maybe he is. We don’t know.’
‘Do you want to go to his house and ask him about it? We can tell them to delay the campaign for a day and go talk to him.’
I imagine the scenario, confronting Pete and demanding an explanation. ‘You know I wouldn’t do that.’
‘You have your answer then. We should go ahead as planned. Miguel has put so much work into this campaign.’
More guilt. I try to shake it off. ‘But ... what if it’s so intense that Pete does something terrible?’
‘He’s not even on social media. His dad will get most of the shit.’
‘Have you seen the hundreds of comments on past Expose Them campaigns?’ I ask. ‘They want blood. Literally. That guy and the kitten—they’re searching for his address, sending him death threats and stuff. Miguel’s just leaving all those comments there.’
‘It’s like Miguel says: “People are responsible for their own actions.” Pete should have thought of all this before he beat up that joey. We’re not doing anything wrong; he’s the one who’s in the wrong.’
I continue trying to remind him about internet safety, about the dangers of bullying, but he just argues back. I stare into space as he repeats the same things he’s said before; words like justice, transparency, accountability. But I don’t hear them now. It’s like I’m speaking a different language, like I’ve stepped through a door and he hasn’t followed.
‘Oliver.’ I take a deep breath and pronounce each word clearly and slowly. ‘I don’t want to do it. And I don’t want you to do it. I’m going to tell them to cancel, okay?’
Silence.
I explain what the plan is, the lie that Dad and I have composed. When Oliver finally speaks again, his voice is monotone. ‘I guess you’re making a unilateral decision.’ Another word I’ve never heard him use before. Maybe I don’t know him as well as I thought.
‘I’m sorry. I really am,’ I say.
Oliver hangs up.
My heart is hurting, and I just want to curl up and cry, but I need do this now, while there’s still time.
I open our group messenger chat and start typing.
Stella and Miguel. There’s been a problem. My finger shakes slightly as I write. Two other boys in that same year wear the same bracelet as Pete. They must be part of a club or something!
I hit send. The exclamation mark was probably overkill.
I see the three dancing dots showing that Stella is writing back. What do you mean, Sky? Are you saying we can’t identify Pete as the killer?
I bite my lip. It could have been one of the other guys.
Now Miguel is online. You can NOT be serious. We have to go ahead with this campaign, Sky. It’s ready to launch.
Dad returns to the cafeteria and points to another table before settling in there to give me privacy. I must stay strong, just like he and I talked about.
We can’t, I write. There’s only a one-in-three chance it’s him. He hasn’t self-incriminated.
But your father saw him! Stella replies.
I’m expecting this and repeat what Dad and I agreed. My father’s not sure. He’s new to this town so he can’t be 100% positive.
But you can see from the footage! Miguel writes.
It’s dark and blurry. We guessed it was Pete, but it may not be.
But your dad was there. IRL.
I’m sorry. He says there was a large group of people, he’d had a few drinks, and he can’t remember which kid it was.
I know Stella would never go ahead with a story unless it was completely verified. She’s a professional. And if she isn’t on board, Miguel can’t go ahead either.
Miguel leaves the chat.
Sky, Stella writes. This is a very disappointing development. We’ll have to cancel the name and shame campaign now due to legal issues. And I’ll need to contact the editor and amend my article.
Sorry, I repeat.
I know in my heart I’ve done the right thing, but I still feel terrible. I’ve let Stella down and given up my chance to be a part of her world, part of a community of amazing people. And I may have given up my boyfriend too in the process. All for a kangaroo-kicking kid.
A notification sounds from Activists Unite, and I click on it to see Miguel has made a new post.
Our kangaroo-killer campaign has been cancelled. Feeling disappointed and angry at the wasted time and resources. Apologies to everyone who was ready to participate.
I watch as comments slowly appear. What happened? one person asks. I thought this was a done deal.
Will Miguel call me out by name? Tell everyone that Sky let them down, failed them, or worse, lied to them? Will he name and shame me rather than Pete, as a traitor to the cause? If he does, I’ll screenshot any threatening comments and report him, just like Lucy’s mum told us to do in her cyber-safety talk at school.
I message Issie and Celeste telling them I’ll explain everything later. I don’t want to lose them, but it feels like there’s a high chance I’v
e lost everyone.
Stay strong. I open Keep Kind, sign in, make my way through the back end to our video list and click the tick box next to the footage of Pete. The viewer stats are insane, now sitting at close to 50,000. I can’t risk Miguel or anyone else at Expose Them using the video. I press delete. A confirmation notice appears, warning me that I’m about to permanently delete the video.
I think of Oliver again, his voice cold and upset. We will lose all the likes and comments. Our subscribers may even leave. His internship application to Viola Films, due at the end of the week, will be irrevocably damaged. Will he forgive me?
I press the button to confirm, then refresh the screen and stare at our list of videos. The footage is gone.
I walk to Dad’s table and flop down onto the grey plastic chair. ‘What’s happening upstairs? How’s Lior?’
‘Paula’s feeding him and Dave’s snoozing in the chair.’
‘Can I spend the day here tomorrow?’ I don’t want to be away from Lior for a second more than I have to.
‘I don’t see why not. It’s a pretty special time, isn’t it? Your family’s growing.’ He smiles at me. ‘So,’ he gestures to my phone, ‘how did it go?’
‘I’ve done the right thing, haven’t I?’ I say. ‘Please tell me I have.’
He puts his hand on mine. ‘You have.’
Chapter 19
The following Saturday afternoon, after spending almost an entire week in hospital, Paula is finally released. Lior was classified as late pre-term, so they wanted to keep an eye on him for a few days. I’ve been with them most of the time, ditching school totally, only returning home to feed and walk Bella and sleep.
If I thought this week was going to be a holiday from school, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I knew that babies were hard work, but I didn’t fully understand. I learnt how to change Lior’s nappy, cleaning his little bottom and layering on thick white cream, and then how to rock him gently to sleep. I helped Paula with his first bath when, covered in oily bubbles, he slipped through her fingers. He was fine, but she started to cry. I’ve also been pacing the hospital corridors with Paula to get her blood circulating and help her body heal, and several times a day we’ve been sitting on the bench in the courtyard, positioning Lior so the sun’s rays saturate his pale yellow skin with their Vitamin-D-packed goodness.
Dave texts me. Outside.
I carry Paula’s overnight bag while she carries Lior, and we make our way past the nurses’ station, stopping briefly to say final thank yous and goodbyes, then go down the elevator. Paula is wearing her camel maternity pants, which I brought from home along with a button-down top that provides easy access for breastfeeding.
Dave is standing beside the car with the boot open, and I squash Paula’s bag in between boxes and massive plastic bags. Dave has been busy this morning buying equipment from the massive warehouse out of town. Tomorrow is Paula’s baby shower and next week we’re going to do a big shop for onesies and cloths.
They fiddle with the straps before settling Lior into his new car seat then we all climb in.
I messaged Stella earlier in the week apologising again and asking if there was anything else I could do to contribute to the cause. Since then, I’ve checked and rechecked my messages but she hasn’t replied. It’s likely that I’ll be kicked out of Activists Unite, and I don’t know if Stella will ever trust me again, but although it pains me deep inside that the woman I believed could be my mentor—a model of who I could strive to become— has rejected me, I can handle it.
Oliver, on the other hand, is a different story. I’ve longed to hear his voice, but he’s hardly communicated with me. First, I messaged to ask if he was okay, if we could talk, but he didn’t reply. Then I tried another tack, telling him about Lior and sending pictures. He kept his answers short, polite and civil. I tried calling but got no answer. I looked so beaten that even Dad said I should stop, give him space and let him cool off until we can talk in person.
But I’m struggling to give him space right now. His application to Viola Films is due today, and I know he’s been working hard on his showreel. I realise I’ve hurt his chances, and I love his focus and ambition, but he’s choosing his work over me. He told me he loved me, but maybe he didn’t mean it the same way I did. Maybe his words were like soap bubbles while mine were heavy, anchored deep in my heart. Have I missed signs? Does he not want to be with me as much as I do with him, or is he just not as attracted to me as before? I think of his excuse for not coming to the hotel. Maybe it was just that—an excuse.
I’m trying to prepare myself, but it’s impossible to fortify your heart to stop it from breaking.
‘All okay back there?’ Paula interrupts my thoughts, craning her neck to see Lior. ‘Poor baby, he can’t see a thing apart from the back of the chair because his capsule’s facing backwards.’
Dave pats her leg. ‘It’s meant to be the safest position in case of a collision.’
I haven’t told them about Oliver. They have no idea of the pain coursing under my skin. It’s like I’ve been bitten by a spider, the poison radiating inside me, but the symptoms haven’t appeared. I hold Lior’s little foot and try to focus on being here now, being present and positive. How many times do you get to welcome a new cousin into your life?
After a while, Lior starts kicking his skinny little legs and cries. He sounds like a kitten. I put my hand on his tiny tummy, cooing and reassuring him that he’ll love his new home.
Straw-brown fields slowly pass by us, the drought still in effect, and Lior eventually falls asleep.
I dig around in my bag and find my phone. There’s a message from Oliver. Finally.
Deep breath.
Sent in the application.
Phew. That’s something at least.
Congratulations! I reply. I stare at the screen for more, but he doesn’t respond. Fingers crossed, I write after a minute. I know they’ll see your talent.
I stare at my phone, waiting for the three moving dots, a sign he’s writing a reply. There’s nothing. After a while, I put my phone down. Dave and Paula are talking quietly in the front, and Lior is still fast asleep.
I stare out the window. We pass a field with a single black cow standing at the fence, so close I can almost touch her. Today, I feel just like her. Alone. I wonder if Lucy’s dad has heard back about the job in Russia. Russia. I try to imagine what it would be like, how I could visit her. Are there cheap flights? I check my phone again. Still nothing.
There’s a real possibility that Oliver didn’t want me in the first place, that telling me he loves me was just an act. Maybe he was trying out the words one more time, like new clothes, already knowing they didn’t fit him after all.
A tear makes its way down my cheek, and I wipe it away.
We are nearly back in West Creek, my chest sore from the aching in my heart, when Oliver finally replies. Where are you?
My heart leaps. On my way back home in the car.
Did you see the message from Miguel in Activists Unite?
I open Facebook and find the group, relieved I can still access it. I scroll down to find Miguel’s new post. Last time I work with amateurs. And they weren’t even real vegans. I should have known.
Oliver must be devastated.
I message him back. I’m really sorry.
I’m stuck working in Mum’s shop this afternoon. Come by?
I bite my lip as my chin trembles slightly. I want to reply, Are you going to break up with me? Did you even love me at all? But I don’t.
I ask Dave if he can drop me at Diana’s shop on the way home then message Oliver back that I’m coming.
We pull up by the pedestrian strip and I kiss Lior goodbye, gently so I don’t wake him. Paula turns from the front seat with a smile. ‘Tell Diana to let me know how I can help for tomorrow.’
‘Okay.’
‘When will you be home?’
‘I don’t know.’ How long does it take for someone to break your heart?
>
Paula looks at me carefully. ‘Is everything okay, sweetie?’
I paste on a smile. ‘Totally fine. I’m just tired.’
This seems to satisfy her. ‘We’ll get takeaway for dinner. The usual?’
I nod. Before I close the door, I lean over to Lior again to whisper in his little ear, which is snuggled against the starry fabric of the capsule: I’ll always protect you. May his heart never, ever be shattered like mine is about to be.
Slowly, legs heavy like I’m walking through wet mud, I make my way towards the shop. I pass the fish and chip shop, newsagency, the pharmacy where Paula used to work, inching closer to my destination.
The front door of Diana’s organic health food store has a colourful string of bells that announce my arrival with a flourish. The stained-glass door feels particularly heavy today. I hold it half open and, for just a second, I contemplate turning around.
Oliver is at the cash register looking at his phone. The shop, thank goodness, is otherwise empty.
‘Hey.’ I approach the counter.
He looks up. ‘Hey.’
No hug, no kiss. I already feel my eyes tearing up.
‘Should I ...’ I swallow and point to the back of the counter where there’s another stool. Usually when he’s working at the register I sit beside him.
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
I perch on the stool. ‘How do you think your application will go?’ Stupidest question ever. I know the answer—terrible. He has no chance since I deleted the kangaroo video and all the likes and comments are gone.
‘I wanted to talk to you about that.’ Oliver scratches his knee. ‘Sky, I have been thinking a lot—’
A gentle tinkling announces the door opening. It’s Diana.
‘Sky! I’m so glad you’re here.’ She scoots around the counter to give me a hug.
Not only am I about to lose Oliver, I’m losing her and Oliver’s sweet little sister, Sabine, too. In the time we’ve been going out, they’ve become my second family. I hold on to Diana for a moment longer than usual.
‘How’s Paula?’ She steps back to study me. ‘Is she settled in at home? I heard you chose the name. Did you hear, Oliver? Lior! Must be one of the more unusual names I’ve heard, but it’s lovely. Although, Sky, you know how much I love your name.’
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