I hurried back across the log and ran all the way up to the house. I had to find Gran.
I found her in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup on the stove.
‘Smooch is gone!’ I spluttered, trying not to cry.
Gran looked small and frail stirring the big pot. She was staring into it, like the swirling soup had hypnotised her.
I tried a little more loudly. ‘Gran!’
She looked up, startled. ‘Rosie! There you are. Sorry love, I was miles away. Ready for dinner?’
‘Gran, Smooch is missing! There are orange stakes down the creek, they’ve scared Smooch off, and—’
‘Slow down, Rosie,’ sighed Gran, setting out the bowls.
‘Smooch is missing. They won’t know that a koala lives at the creek! They’ll chop down all the trees.’
Gran pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. ‘Rosie love,’ she murmured. ‘Smooch is a big boy now, all grown up, just like you. I’m sure he’s not missing. He’s probably just gone for a little explore. Now, do me a favour and lay the table.’
I could hardly eat my soup. Gran wouldn’t hear any more about Smooch. She said she had enough to worry about trying to sell the farm machinery and cleaning out the sheds without adding a missing koala to the list. She didn’t want to hear about koala websites or letters or laws about koala trees. Apparently there was some hiccup with the sale contract that was making Uncle Malcolm extra cranky and Gran drifted off to bed as soon as the dishes were done.
I hoped the hiccup was a big one. A giant one. Perhaps it would mean we wouldn’t have to sell the farm.
On the way to school the next day, I stopped in at Carol’s. I had to tell her that Smooch was missing. I found her in the back garden, feeding the wild rosellas.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said as she dug into the bin of bird feed. ‘He’ll be back.’ Seeds flicked everywhere as about 20 noisy rosellas squawked and flapped over the dish. ‘Maybe he’s just growing up?’
There were those two words again. Growing up. Why did everybody keep talking about growing up? A black and white butterfly flittered past. I frowned. Butterflies. Grown-up caterpillars. I stuck my hands in my pockets. Why was everything growing up?
‘Will he come back?’ I said, my voice growlier than I meant it to be.
‘Course he will,’ said Carol, sealing the lid on the feed bin. ‘Male koalas wander all the time. Smooch isn’t old enough to mate yet, but he’s probably gone off to check out all the pretty girls in the neighbourhood. Don’t worry about it. He won’t be too far away.’
Part of me was cross that Smooch was growing up, but a bigger part of me was relieved that he wasn’t hurt. Maybe, while he was wandering, he’d find a safer place to live.
‘But what about the orange stakes?’ I asked. ‘They’re everywhere at the creek. Does that mean the council’s been? When Smooch wasn’t around? Because then they won’t have marked his trees.’
Carol looked sadly around the garden. ‘Yes. The orange stakes will be surveyor’s pegs, marking out the land for development. Which means the council would definitely have already been through.’ She slapped a mosquito trying to feast on her arm. ‘We could have a problem.’
‘What about my letters?’ I insisted. ‘I mean, they’ll help, won’t they? I wrote to everybody the website suggested. Surely someone will . . .’
‘Maybe not, Rose. People often have bigger things to worry about than koalas. We’ll have to think of something else. Something more convincing. Something impressive. Any ideas?’
I chewed the inside of my cheek. ‘What about a fundraiser?’ I suggested. ‘We have silly socks days and pyjama days at my school. We could have one for Smooch and use the money to buy the creek back.’
Carol shook her head. ‘No, too late for that. And we’d need a lot of socks! We need something to raise awareness about the koalas and their trees.’
‘Like a protest march? We could start at the farm gate and march into town, with banners and loudspeakers and—’
‘Maybe not a protest march. Not yet. There has to be something else we can try first.’
We decided we’d have a better think over the weekend. After saying goodbye to Carol, I ran all the way to school. But it was no use. I was late. The rest of the class was already copying notes from the interactive whiteboard. Mrs Glover didn’t turn around when I walked in.
I squeezed behind my desk and ruled up a new page in my book.
‘Miss Nunn?’ said Mrs Glover in her sharp don’t-mess-with-me voice. ‘You have a note, I presume?’
I sat still, hoping she’d get distracted.
‘Miss Nunn. A late note?’
I shook my head.
‘This is the second time you’ve been late this term. I hope it’s not becoming a habit.’
I wanted to tell her that I was never late on purpose. Only if Mickey twisted his rug, or if Sally got out and I had to chase her back into her yard. It wasn’t my fault if I was worried about Smooch. Surely she’d understand? This was an emergency.
But I kept my mouth shut. I knew there was no point arguing with Mrs Glover.
The morning lesson was about petitions made to the Queensland Parliament. Mrs Glover handed out a pile of examples and asked us to work in groups. She stopped beside me and pointed to Kellee and Tahlia. ‘You can work with the girls at the back today, Rose,’ she said. ‘There are some tricky words to watch out for in this worksheet. Girls, give Rose a hand, please.’
Kellee said, ‘Oh, great!’ And Tahlia groaned.
I stared grimly at my desk. Anybody but them.
Mrs Glover gave a petition to Tahlia, and clicked her fingers impatiently at me. ‘Snap, snap, Rose. We haven’t got all day,’ she said curtly.
I stood and dragged my feet to the back of the room.
‘Snap, snap, bumpkin,’ giggled Kellee. She and Tahlia shuffled their chairs together as I fumbled into my seat. I gripped my pencil and rubber for moral support.
‘What’s the matter, scarecrow? Too much straw for breakfast?’ sniggered Tahlia.
I pretended to study the petition. It didn’t look that different to the letters I’d written to the newspapers and politicians. Only with a heap more signatures.
Tahlia reached over and snatched the petition away. ‘As if you’d know, hay brain,’ she hissed, flicking my pencil to the floor. She and Kellee turned their backs to me and bent over the worksheet. I bit my lip. Like I really cared about some old petition. Especially when koalas were being bulldozed in Redland Bay.
That got me thinking.
‘Mrs Glover,’ I asked when she came over. ‘Could anyone write a petition? I mean, even if they’re not someone important?’
She straightened up and peered at me over her glasses. ‘Yes, of course. Isn’t that what today’s lesson has been all about?’
Kellee and Tahlia curled their lips.
Mrs Glover didn’t notice. ‘These are ordinary people putting forward petitions, trying to make a difference about things that really matter to them.’
‘So, if I sent a petition about something really important, even I could make a difference? The people in Canberra would listen to my petition?’
Mrs Glover tapped her finger thoughtfully against her cheek. ‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘Now that all depends on what the petition is requesting. If it’s asking for a change in things like taxes or employment, then, yes, you’d send it to Canberra. But if it’s to do with the environment or school, then you’d send it to your local State Member of Parliament. They would listen and lodge it, but they wouldn’t necessarily have to agree to do whatever it is you want.’ She folded her arms. ‘Why? What do you want to change, Rose?’
Kellee nudged Tahlia’s leg with her pencil. She did it just under the desk where Mrs Glover couldn’t see. But I saw. I decided not to tell Mrs Glover about my idea.
I would write a petition for Smooch. A petition to save koala trees. I would ask everyone to sign it and I’d send it straight to my local state member. If I made sure it was good enough, they might even show it to the premier.
I ducked into the library at lunchtime and nabbed one of the computers before anyone else. Instead of working on my PowerPoint, I typed up a petition asking for the protection of koala trees and made a whole heap of lines for people to sign their names. I checked the spelling four times and printed it off. For the first time in weeks, I felt a little sparkle of hope. I couldn’t wait to fill the petition with signatures. Surely now Smooch would be saved.