‘What was that?’ Petal whispers, her head twisting in the direction of the woods, her eyes big and round like an owl’s.

We hear another high-pitched squeal.

‘It’s just a night bird with its prey,’ I tell her. I know all the sounds of Hushing Wood. I’ve walked, played, slept amongst the trees since I was small. They’re the first thing I see outside my bedroom window when I wake up, and the last thing I hear when I go to sleep. They are my woods and I love them.

Petal’s still not convinced. ‘Ziggy, can we please sleep inside? It’s scary being so close to the forest.’ She brings her sleeping bag up around her ears.

‘It’s the first warm night we’ve had this spring and I don’t want to waste it inside,’ I say stubbornly. I look up at the sky studded with stars. It’s so big and I am a tiny speck of plankton floating in a huge black ocean.

My name is Ziggy Truegood. It should be Ziggy Archer because that’s Papa’s family name. But when Momma got married she kept her own name. Truegood. When I was little I decided I wanted the same name as Momma and Grandpa. It just felt right. And I try to be true and good. Although it doesn’t always work out that way.

‘Look!’ I cry suddenly. A shooting star, bigger and brighter than any I’ve ever seen, slices the sky in two. My heart trembles with excitement. Even the trees have gone quiet, as if they’re bowing in awe.

‘Wow!’ says Petal, and for a moment I know that we both share the wonder.

I put my hand on my chest. For some reason, the words Grandpa Truegood said to me on Sunday drift into my head. We were sitting in the garden and I was staring at the grass, wishing that we were anywhere but there.

‘Don’t look at the ground, Ziggy. Look up,’ he said, lifting my chin. His eyes were unusually bright and clear. ‘The sky is your teacher. All that . . .’ he gestured grandly at the sky, ‘. . . is in there.’ And he tapped my chest.

‘I don’t understand,’ I replied.

‘You will.’

And then his eyes had clouded over and the moment was gone.

Petal grabs a handful of caramel-coated peanuts and her crunching brings me back to the present. The sky is dark again and the usual sounds of the woods have returned. I hear them purr. I hear the trees stretch their long roots like knobbly grey fingers. And I hear the rocks quivering in their cool earthy beds.

I lie my head down on the grass, listening to the rustle of beetles and worms tunnelling underground. ‘There’s a whole orchestra playing music down there,’ I say.

Petal laughs and bends down low to my ear. ‘You are crazy, Zigs. Guess that’s why I love you.’ Her breath is all maple-syrup sweetness.

I give her a shove. ‘I remember the first day at school when we met. You looked like a frightened baby owl with your big eyes and halo of hair like soft red down all fluffed up around your face.’

Petal laughs. ‘Well, I thought you were a brave heroine from a storybook,’ she says. ‘The way you stood up to that bully Harry Arnold, and he was so much bigger than you too.’ Petal waves her arm and the fine hairs on her arms shine in the moonlight like feathers.

I smile and watch her. Often people remind me of animals. When I get to know them, it’s like their real self appears. Grandpa Truegood is a bear, Petal is an owl, and my other best friend, Big Bobby Little, is a gentle elephant. Momma makes me think of a shy woods deer. My teenage brothers, Pete and Jake – just thinking about them makes my heart hurt – are like tiger cubs, and Papa is an elusive wildebeest. Each and every townsperson reminds me of an animal, some mean and some nice.

Strangely, I don’t know what I am. Sometimes I think I see a glimpse of something in the mirror or a window, but it’s just the light playing tricks. I hope I’m something true, something good. I like to think I am.

Petal flops down next to me and sighs deeply. I know she wants to go inside. Petal and me are best friends but we’re different in so many ways.

Well . . . I guess you could say I’m the different one. Different to everyone else in town. I love the woods. I wear pants, not dresses – I mean, who can climb trees or run along shadowy trails or crawl into burrows wearing a dress? I’d also love to leave Dell Hollow. Like Papa did. If I said this aloud to Petal, she would totally freak out. She loves our town, our life. Like everyone else in Dell Hollow, she has no desire to know what is out there, beyond Hushing Wood.

The sound of a plate smashing in the kitchen makes me look across to the house.

‘Darn,’ I hear Momma say as she bends down to pick up the pieces.

I remember not long ago when Momma and Papa were like a beautiful teapot filled with warm chamomile tea. Now there are too many missing pieces to glue back together. I guess that’s what happens when someone from the outside like Papa marries someone from the inside like Momma.

Papa left Dell Hollow four weeks ago. Momma says it’s not because she and Papa don’t love each other any more. She says it’s much bigger than that and I wouldn’t understand because I’m just a child. But sometimes I think children are smarter than adults.

Petal reaches out for my hand. Her touch is light, like a wing brushing my skin. She wriggles across on her bottom in her sleeping bag to be close. Then she looks down at her hands. I wait.

‘You could’ve gone with Pete and Jake when your papa left. Why didn’t you?’ she says at last. Petal’s never asked me this before – I think she was afraid I might choose to leave.

I glance at the house. ‘Someone has to look after Momma,’ I say. ‘She’ll never leave Dell Hollow, even though she promised Papa she would one day. And . . .’ I put my arm around her shoulder, ‘because then we couldn’t be best friends any more.’

Petal smiles sadly. ‘I hope you never leave, Zigs. I hope your dad comes home and everything goes back to how it used to be.’

So do I.

I sigh and watch my mother. Before Papa left, before Grandpa Truegood stopped living with us, before the nightmares, that’s how I long for it to be.

But I know it will never happen.

I know, because I am going to drown on my twelfth birthday.