My first impression of Winmaroo was that it was greener than I’d expected. Sure, the yard where we disembarked from the bus had patches of bare earth amid the grass. But generally it was green. The mountains in the distance were spectacular: dark green that faded into blue and then mauve. At the sight, a sudden tightness, like fingers gently squeezing my heart, began in my chest as long-buried memories clawed their way to the surface. Wow, I hadn’t been expecting that . . . They stole my breath and I had to pretend to focus on the view for a few minutes before I could turn back to face the others.
When I did turn back, it also struck me that, weirdly, it didn’t feel as hot as it should have. Sure, the sun beat down, but there was a little breeze that rustled through the trees and made it more bearable than it’d been in town.
I took a minute to check out the place. Maybe Harper had seen some kind of area map; knew the layout and was expected to know where things were located. Casually I glanced around. It looked pretty straightforward. Set down where the land sloped away, two long, white bungalows sat adjacent to each other and further to the right was another building marked ‘office’. In the distance a long, low house surrounded by vine-covered verandas rested peacefully in the afternoon sun. Probably the property homestead. Another heart squeeze. Another memory slipped under my Enter Only At Invitation sign. A memory of a time when we had a country homestead. And a mum.
I spun away and my eyes collided with a hand-painted block of wood hung from a towering gum. It pointed left to the stables that weren’t visible from where we stood. It was enough to zap me back to the present with a painful thud. Sobering. Very sobering.
The driver, Simon, was dragging our bags out of the luggage compartment and dumping them on the ground as I continued my ‘casual’ perusal. Three more red T-shirts stuck out like beacons in a corner of the yard: a guy and two girls. One girl, a brunette, had her butt shoved through a tyre swing that hung from an ancient pink-berried peppercorn tree that cast a huge circle of shade across a corresponding circle of bare, hard-packed earth. I knew it was a peppercorn because my great-nan used to have one and my sister and I used to climb it. Maybe if there was a session on tree identification I’d get at least one point. The other girl was stockier and she hung back and watched; like she was assessing everything. Like me, really.
Movement from the right dragged my gaze back that way, and I saw a guy with a clipboard and a bunch of folders wandering up towards the bus at the same time as I heard a shriek from the redshirts over under the tree. It was the girl from the swing; she’d extricated her butt and was charging at us.
‘Chazzzzzyyy!’
Chaz was right behind me, and I stepped to the side just in time to avoid being an innocent victim of the crash tackle aimed at him by the brunette.
‘Skyezy!’ he responded.
She was really pretty, and I shouldn’t have been ticked off that he seemed as glad to see her as she was to see him, but I kind of was. I felt like I’d lost my only friend.
Or maybe not. A hand landed on my shoulder. ‘Hey, Harper, this is Skye. We met a few years ago at a horse show. We’ve bumped into each other a few times since.’ He turned back to Skyezy and added, ‘Didn’t expect to see you here, though.’
It hit me then that maybe a few of these people would know each other; after all, they probably went to the same horse shows. That was confirmed by the guy who’d been waiting in the shade of the tree who was now chest-bumping and fist pumping the other guy from the bus. Guided by the sound of the giggles around me, I guessed these guys liked putting on a show.
Well, as long as they all came from the northern end of the state I should be okay—at least I hoped so—because Harper mostly competed in shows down south: closer to home, cheaper and easier for Dad.
By this time the guy with the clipboard had reached the bus, and everyone gathered around him. He was about as old as my dad, and had about the same amount of sun wrinkles. He and my dad might have different passions but they both spent way too much time unprotected in the sun. Just that one little reminder of Dad sent me spiralling again. What was he doing right now? What was he planning? Would he—
Stop! The word snapped into my head so suddenly and so harshly that I wondered whether I’d said it out loud. A little peek to either side seemed to indicate I’d kept it to myself. Relieved, I made myself focus on the man with the clipboard. His hat sat low, and when he pushed it back it revealed a white strip across the top of his forehead as though a kid had stopped colouring in at some invisible line. He turned to Simon. ‘How’d we go?’
‘Got ’em all, Boss.’
The Boss man nodded. ‘Good.’
Boss? So this was Steve Hanbury? My sister had raved about him for weeks until I wanted to gag her. This guy was supposed to be the country’s best jillaroo and jackaroo trainer. One good word from Steve Hanbury could get you places. At least to the sort of places my sister wanted to go . . .
My nerves ratcheted up again, and I jammed my hands into the back pockets of my denim skirt to stop them shaking.
‘Okay,’ he said, his voice gravelly, ‘so I guess you all know that I’m Steve. You can call me that or “Boss”. Most of the people who work here call me “Boss”, and considering that for the next ten days you’re going to be treated just like them, it makes sense. Probably by the end of some of those days you’re gonna call me worse things than that. I hope not.’ He paused and most of the kids laughed.
He went on a bit about rules and safety and the consequences of breaking those rules. ‘Every rule is there for a reason—either to keep you safe or to keep our animals safe. We don’t care who you are—break ’em and you’ll most likely see yourself getting shipped back home. Now, I know some of you are just here for some fun—for the experience—and that’s fine. But a couple of you are relying on a good report from me to help get you into the ag school up in Tamworth’—did he look right at me then?—‘so just remember that. Have your fun, but don’t mess this up for anyone else, okay? Righto,’ he finished, ‘let’s get you all checked off. When I call your name, step over here.’
It was obvious the list was alphabetical, and even though there were three letters between G for Gage and J for Jarrett, Chaz was the name called out after mine. After each name called there was a cheer; beside me, Chaz was right into it. My cheers weren’t quite so hearty; I was distracted by the folders in Steve’s hands. Each kid had a folder that obviously included all our info—and a photo. I got a quick glance at ‘my’ folder before it was shuffled to the back of the pile. Even with such a brief peek at the photo, I felt some of the tightness inside me slip away. Unless I totally stuffed up, no one would know I wasn’t Harper Gage.
Yeah, okay, she was older, but twelve minutes hardly counted. As identical twins went, we were a good example of the total freakiness of twindom. Dark-haired, olive-skinned, grey-eyed, we wore the same size clothes and were slightly shorter than we wanted to be. Dad reckoned that sometimes happens with twins because they’re often a bit smaller than most babies at birth. Dad was full of trivia like that.
There were differences, of course, but you had to know us to pick them. Like, my sister was left-handed and I was right. We each had one dimple—hers was in the left cheek, mine right. Dad reckoned we were the mirror image of each other. Then there were our nonphysical differences: I was skirts, she was jeans. I was pink lip gloss, she was clear lip protection, which kind of summed up our personalities, really. I was frills and she was no-fuss. I was impulsive and in the moment—while Harper planned things out, thought about them. Her life was mapped out. Mine? It was evolving day by day.
If I had to pick the biggest physical difference that set us apart from each other it would have to be our hair. Mine curled a bit more and went wild and crazy when I grew it, which was why I kept it a bit shorter than hers. Mine was just below my shoulders, while hers hung down her back. The fact that she’d slicked it back into a pony for her photo was perfect . . . Maybe I could pull this off after all.
Steve had reached the last folder, but there were no kids left. Waving it in the air, he announced that there was one boy who’d be arriving a bit later. Apparently there’d been some kind of truck spillage on the highway and they were caught up in traffic. A quick head count amounted to eight of us. Seven wearing their red Ts, jeans and boots. And one loser in a denim skirt, black shoestring cami and thongs. So much for staying under the radar.
When the final boy arrived we’d sit at nine: four boys, five girls. Considering this place would never be my choice, I was surprised there were even that many. I knew that it cost a chunk of cash to get in—which was why this had been my sister’s Christmas and birthday presents, plus everything she’d been able to save from her after-school job, which just made this whole situation suck even more.
‘Okay, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover and a lot of fun to have, so we’re getting started this afternoon,’ Steve continued. He hitched a thumb down towards the two long white buildings down the slope that I’d noted earlier. ‘Girls are in the bunkhouse on the right, boys on the left.’ He paused then, and looked at the ground. When he looked up, his mouth was weirdly mangled, and he’d begun tugging on one ear. I’d seen my dad look like that when he was uncomfortable about what he had to say. Steve was about to do the same. ‘And I don’t want to hear of any sleepwalking, right? I checked with all your folks and none of you suffer from that disorder, so trust me, I won’t be very patient if that’s your excuse for being anywhere near the wrong bunkhouse after lights out. Got it? Remember, you’re fifteen—some sixteen—not twenty-six.’
There were a few chuckles at that, and two of the guys started shoving each other. I glanced up at Chaz. He wasn’t shoving or elbowing—he was just standing there with a little grin on his face. He must have sensed me peeking at him, because he suddenly looked down at me. I had no idea why that made me feel stupid, but it did. Immediately I looked away but not before I caught the cheeky little wink he sent my way.
OMG. My face burned. Had Chaz thought I was thinking about him when Steve was going on about ‘sleepwalking’? I hardly knew the guy! My mouth was already dry from the heat and from nerves—now it threatened to choke me with embarrassment. I mean, I could see why girls would throw themselves at him—literally, in Skye’s case. He was cute and super nice, but I had one aim and that was to get through the following ten days with as little drama as possible. I needed to keep my head down, do the best I could and not make a fool of myself. Or—more precisely—not make a fool of my sister, seeing as I was pretending to be her . . . Guys didn’t factor into that equation. Cute or not.
Trapped in my embarrassment haze, I suddenly realised that Steve was talking again and that I’d missed some of it.
‘. . . come back up here and we’ll meet up under the big pepper tree.’ He waved to the spot across the yard. ‘We’ll have some food and drinks ready, get to know each other a bit, and then go and introduce you to your horses.’
Our horses . . . Of course there’d be horses, I’d figured out that much. This was the Horse Capital of Australia, after all. I just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. While I pushed back another surge of rampaging elephants—no butterflies here; we were way past butterflies—everyone else started trudging off, and for a moment I stalled, staring around me to work out what was going on. Ahead of me, Chaz moved to the side of the bus, hoisted his bag over one shoulder, shoved on his hat and then slung a guitar case over the other shoulder. Okay—we were going to our quarters. Got it.
I was only a heartbeat behind everyone, but Chaz noticed. He paused and turned back. ‘You okay? Need a hand?’
I shook my head. ‘Nah, I’m okay.’ I tucked my skatey under my arm, grabbed my—Harper’s—bag—a soft black thing that looked like a million other outsized sports bags—and slipped my other arm through her backpack.
He waited. Of course he would . . .
All I could think about as we started off down the slope was to act cool; to prove to him that he’d misinterpreted what had happened earlier. I nodded towards the guitar case. ‘You play?’
And failed the cool test once more. I mean, duh, of course he played. Why else would he cart around a guitar case?
‘Nah—it’s where I keep my machine gun.’ He held up one hand with his pointer finger folded back and assumed what I guessed was his best mobster voice. ‘They call me Charlie Four Fingers.’
I shook my head. ‘Okay Al Capone, I deserved that.’ Al Capone? Lame, but that was the only mafia guy name I could come up with . . .
Thankfully he laughed. It was loud and kind of carefree, like he didn’t care who heard him or what they thought. ‘What about you? You play anything?’
‘Um, soccer, touch footy, netball—’
He chuckled again. ‘Okay, okay—I meant musical instruments.’
I couldn’t help but grin back at him. ‘As a matter of fact, I do. I play some guitar too. And I do a bit of drumming. Actually, Dad and my sister and I formed a little band a couple of years back. Him on keyboard, Har—’ I paused, pretended to clear my throat and then continued, ‘Heidi on guitar and me on drums.’
Right then the drumming was coming from my heart, but his face lit up and it was like being bathed in warm, soothing calm. ‘Yeah? That’s mega cool! Did you play any gigs?’
Calmer again, I laughed. ‘Are you kidding? We stink!’ He began to shake his head but I hurried to convince him. ‘No, truly! We’re sooo bad. We torture the family at birthday parties but that’s about it. Oh, except for our jamming sessions, of course. We love it; we’re just bad.’
‘It’s still cool, though. So where’s your guitar? Didn’t you see the note about bringing any portable instruments?’
My temporary happy bubble burst with a loud ping—at least in my head. ‘No,’ I answered honestly. Of course I hadn’t seen that part of the note, because I’d never seen the note. I mean, what did I bring? A skateboard! And what do you need for a skateboard? Concrete! Hard road surfaces! And what is there hardly any of on a property? Hard road surfaces! Of course, when I’d made my escape early this morning, it was a no-brainer to grab it and ride it to the bus stop, and then to the station. It was what I did. If I wasn’t riding the waves, I was riding my skatey. But here? Then again, maybe it was for the best; maybe Harper didn’t need it under her nose as a reminder of why she was stuck at home and I was here, where she wanted to be.
Of course, if she was home from hospital, Harper would have checked by now to see what I’d taken and what I’d left behind—haunting images of the red T-shirt came to mind—and she’d probably be having a major stressout. And I couldn’t blame her . . .
We were almost at the bunkhouses when someone called Harper’s name. Turning, I saw Steve walking down towards me, a frown on his face. This couldn’t be good . . . My heartbeat picked up speed again and I tried not to look guilty, which as everybody knows always makes you look more guilty.
I stopped and waved Chaz on. Swallowing, I tried to smile. ‘Hi, Steve, what’s up?’
His frown deepened as he drew closer, then he dropped his head and asked softly, ‘Did you get your package, Harper? Your shirt, socks and stuff?’
My mouth opened but no sound came out. Had Harper received a package? Had she told me something about that? Something else I probably tuned out? How did I answer this? If I said no and then discovered the shirt in the bag—or if I said yes and it wasn’t . . .
He jumped in to fill the silence. ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to wear the T-shirt all the time. It was for identification purposes today, but it’s a keepsake really. I was just making sure you got it—and if you didn’t, then make sure you collect one before you leave. Office is over there at the far end,’ he added with a nod towards the smaller building I’d noted earlier. ‘See Amanda, she’ll help you, okay?’
I muttered a thankyou, grateful I hadn’t had to answer. He tipped his hat and started to move away, then turned back, frowning again as he looked at my feet. ‘Oh, and you might be better off wearing your boots this afternoon. We’ll be in the horse paddocks, and apart from the obvious,’ he grinned, ‘as you know, if a horse steps on your bare foot he could break it. And of course we probably get a few more bitey things up here than you get in the city.’ He tipped his hat again. ‘Righto then. See you at smoko.’
Bitey things? What bitey things? At the very sound of those words something curled and slithered inside my stomach. Ewww . . . I hated even the thought of them.
Forcing my feet to move I started off again for the bunkhouse, this time on tiptoe, though I wasn’t sure how that would help if some big ugly critter decided to taste my wares.
I almost fell in through the bunkhouse door, and relief surged through me. After the glaring sunlight it was much darker—and cooler—inside, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust.
When they did, I saw a long room, a sea of white floor tiles, ten pristine beds and four girls all propped on or near the ones they’d chosen. Bags were open and clothes were spread everywhere—just like the tables at a secondhand shop. As I walked in, the chatter stopped and the only sound was the hum of the air-conditioner hanging off the wall.
Four pairs of eyes stared at me. Four pairs of curious eyes. One pair more curious than the others. Thankfully, one pair crinkled into a smile. ‘Hey, Harper! Where you been?’ Skye waved at the six spare beds. ‘Grab a bed!’ Turning to the others, she announced, ‘Guys, this is Harper. Where’d you say you’re from?’ she asked me.
I hadn’t, but it didn’t matter. ‘Sydney. Coogee, actually.’
‘Cool! Okay.’ Skye pointed to the girl on the furthest bed. She’d been the one standing under the tree when we arrived, and she was hard to miss—dark-haired, tall, solidly built. Wow—she looked strong. And she was staring at me with a weird look on her face, her eyes narrowed as if she was waiting . . . for what? I didn’t have time to wonder, as Skye went straight into introductions. ‘This is Sophie. And this is Grace.’ I recognised Grace from the minibus: skinny, with red hair, she had loads of freckles, and a cheeky smile that she was flashing right then. ‘And this,’ Skye said waving at the last girl, ‘is Violet. Right, Veevee?’
Violet—or Veevee—suited her name. She was small and blonde. Delicate. She kind of reminded me of the angel on top of our Christmas tree, and she looked like she’d be more suited to playing a violin—or a harp—than tossing a cow, or a calf, or whatever it was that jillaroos tossed. She’d also flinched when Skye had introduced her, and I wondered why.
‘Do, um, you guys all know each other already?’ I asked as I offered a little wave to each.
‘“Know” is a bit strong,’ Sophie answered. The weird look was gone, and it didn’t take me long to realise that she was just one of those kids who are nervous around new people. The occasional quiver in her voice undermined her no-nonsense country twang. ‘The horse shows are huge up here, hundreds of entries. Couple of us have run into each other a bit around the northern ag and horse shows. We know each other mostly by sight, really.’
‘Yeah, I didn’t even know any of your names until today,’ Grace added. ‘You haven’t been to the last few, have you, Sophie? Although you look heaps different—’ She stopped suddenly, and I bet she was wishing the bright red flush that instantly stained her face and neck would disappear just as fast.
Sophie shrugged, but she didn’t look happy. Grace rushed to cover the gaffe she’d apparently made. ‘So, hey! It’s gonna be so cool now at the shows. We can hang out. Well, you and me and Skye.’
As though acknowledging our exclusion, Violet smiled at me. ‘I, ah, I don’t do shows and stuff.’ She pointed to the bed next to hers. ‘This bed’s free if you want it.’
I noticed that her smile dropped a bit when she mentioned the shows, but still, there was something about Violet that made me feel better. Maybe it was because she looked as lost as I felt. I nodded my thanks and dumped my stuff on the lime-green and white patterned bedspread.
White sheets and freshly ironed white pillowcases peeked out from under the bedspread, and the whole place smelled like cleaning stuff. Each bed was separated by a tall, narrow white metal locker and a matching small metal bedside table. A lamp hung out of the wall above each bed. A bit sterile, but it was clean and ultra modern. Not too bad really. I’d been expecting way worse.
I was opening the zipper on my bag when I spied the sign taped to the side of the locker. A quick glance told me everyone had one. Leaning in, I squinted to read the small print, but then found I didn’t have to. ‘It’s just a note about not leaving bags and stuff on the floor,’ Skye said. ‘Once we’ve unpacked we’ve got to shove our bags in that big locker up the end. And if you brought any food, it’s all got to be kept in sealed containers.’ Skye pointed to the end of the room where a huge stainless-steel fridge, sink and metal cupboard were lined up beside two big dispensers: a drinks machine and a snack machine. Both filled to the brim. Now we’re talking . . . ‘And stored in the fridge.’
I stared at her blankly. ‘Why?’
An evil gleam came into her eyes. ‘Rrrrratszzzz!’
‘Rats?’ I repeated lamely.
‘You’re in the country now, girlfriend,’ Skye said as she plopped onto my bed. ‘They get plagues out here sometimes! Why do you think the covers are tucked in tightly so they don’t hang down? And why the beds are so high? To keep those little buggers from climbing up to keep you company at night!’
There was no way I could have suppressed the shudder that rippled through me. Did she have to sound so cheerful? And really? Was this what my sister dreamed of? Sharing her bed with vermin? That girl had some serious issues!
‘So, how do you know our Chazzy?’ Skye continued.
Still stuck on rats, slimy things, and all the other critters I imagined were lying in wait for me to wander helplessly into their clutches, it took me a moment to try to compute the change of direction, but finally I shrugged and started shoving stuff into my locker. Undies, socks, bikini . . . Hmm, my new bikini, I noted. When was my sister going to tell me about that? The lost red T-shirt . . . yay! The rest went onto the shelves in a blur. ‘I don’t. We just met on the bus. He took pity on me because I obviously looked pathetic.’
‘You didn’t!’ Violet interrupted. ‘You looked a bit sad and lonely, that’s all. I was feeling like that myself until Grace, Chaz and Zac rescued me. I think Chaz might just be like that—kind, you know? Everyone seems to like him—he’s just one of those guys, I think.’
So it wasn’t my dazzling good looks or my big soulful eyes that had brought him to my side? Okay, I hadn’t really thought that it was, but still it stung just a teeny bit to realise that I wasn’t special; that if Chaz was the guy Violet thought he was, then it wouldn’t have mattered who I was, Chaz would have befriended me. Yep, it made him a nice guy. A super-nice guy. But somehow it still stung, and I wasn’t really sure why.
However, I quickly pushed that thought aside, because something else was way more urgent. ‘Hey, is there a bathroom here? A loo?’
Violet pointed down towards the kitchenette. ‘Through that door, behind the kitcheny thing.’
Again it was all white tiles, with four enclosed shower stalls and four toilet cubicles. I peeked in one of the cupboards and found it filled with piles of fluffy dark grey towels. Stainless-steel soap dispensers were attached to the wall just above the basins. This whole place wasn’t too bad. Not exactly luxe, but it had everything you’d need. Maybe I could come down with some dreaded disease and just hide out in here for the next ten days? If only it could be that simple.
Back in the main room, I found the others gone and wandered back to my bed to drag the last few things out of the bag. The first thing caught my attention and I held it up, curious as to why it would be in Harper’s bag.
‘What are you doing? That’s my puffer.’
The puffer was snatched from my hand and I turned to Violet in confusion. ‘But I don’t understand . . . Why was it in my bag?’
The anger in her eyes faded and she started to smile. ‘This is my bag. I went outside for a mo and you must have come back to the wrong bed.’
‘What? But it . . .’ I turned around, and sure enough on the next bed was another bag with Harper’s things spread out around it. And I saw now that my bag was identical to Violet’s. I turned to her, my face on fire. ‘Oh my God, I’m so, so sorry . . . I thought it was mine. It’s exactly like mine . . .’
Violet’s smile turned into a giggle. ‘It’s okay.’ Then the giggle became a full-blown laugh. ‘You should have seen your face! You looked like you’d stepped into another dimension or something!’
My own laughter bubbled. ‘You should have seen your face. You looked like you’d just uncovered an axe murderer!’
‘No! You were way worse! You were hilarious!’
By now we could hardly stand up. ‘Uh-uh—you win that prize!’
Falling onto our beds, we rolled around and laughed and laughed. It was stupid. It wasn’t even that funny, but every time we looked at each other we were off again. It was probably just some kind of emotional response, like relief, but whatever, it was just what I needed. Maybe Violet did too.
Finally she pulled herself up to a sitting position, swung her legs over the edge of her bed and rubbed her hands across her face. ‘How hilarious . . .’ she said, choking on a last chuckle. Sighing, she said, ‘I’ve gotta call my mum, let her know I’m here safe and sound.’ Another random giggle bubbled up. ‘Need to take some deep breaths . . . try to stop laughing.’ She did just that, and then looked across at me again. ‘You got to ring your mum too?’
‘My mum died seven years ago, but yeah, I’ll contact home and let them know,’ I answered with my fingers crossed.
Vee’s face crumpled and I felt bad. It was always like this. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry . . . Oh God, I wouldn’t have—’
I smiled to try to put her at her ease. ‘It’s okay, truly! All good.’
‘So, your dad . . . ?’ she asked tentatively.
‘Is the best!’ I answered truthfully. ‘He lectures at Sydney Uni. He’s so cool, and I’m not saying we don’t miss Mum, but he’s just always there. He fills the blank spaces, you know? We do heaps of stuff together—me, my sister and Dad. But he takes time with each of us too. Like, I love surfing, and he and I do that—and we’re mad about Batman movies.’ She smiled, though I glimpsed a telltale glisten in her eyes. ‘And my sister and Dad love cooking Asian food and they do these really tricky jigsaws. Sometimes I have to help them out,’ I added with a grin.
I’d begun to worry that I’d spilled way more than she wanted or needed to know, but she looked kind of—entranced. ‘He sounds really cool.’
‘He is.’ And that brought another jolt of guilt. I fell silent, and maybe she mistook it for me being sad and needing some space, because she hopped up quickly. ‘Um, I should get going . . . We’re going to be so late. And I’m starving.’
I grinned to show I was okay. ‘I know. Me too.’ I dragged myself up off the bed, fished the famous red tee out of my locker and pulled it on over my cami. ‘I have to get my jeans and boots on. Save me some food, okay?’
‘Sure!’ she said as she started for the door. ‘And Harper? It’s really cool to meet you.’
‘You too, Violet—or do I call you Veevee?’
She rolled her eyes and pretended to puke. ‘Violet or Vee—but puh-lease don’t call me Veevee . . .’
So that was why she’d flinched. ‘Message received, Vee.’ I grinned back.
Speaking of messages, now was my chance to try one more time to get my sister. Coverage was weak and patchy, but as long as I had one bar . . . Holy nowhere-ville, Batman. One bar was all I had.
Quickly I called Harper, but again she didn’t pick up. I didn’t have much time, so I flicked off a short message asking her what was happening and to get in touch ASAP. What about Dad? Should I send him a message? My fingers hovered over his name in my contacts. But what if Harper was softening him up right then at that moment and I interrupted? Maybe that would tip the balance away from us . . .
Our dad was pretty easygoing about most stuff. He adored us, but sometimes he just looked a bit lost; overwhelmed, like he didn’t really know how to cope with two very headstrong, determined, opinionated twin daughters. And because of that, occasionally he put his foot down hard. Only occasionally. But I couldn’t risk that this would be one of those rare times. I shoved the phone into my locker and walked out, hoping I’d done the right thing.
When I first joined the others at the pepper tree I felt more like I belonged. In the bathroom, I’d freshened my lip gloss, finger-combed my hair so that it fell in its usual waves, and most importantly, I was wearing the uniform of acceptance: the red tee, jeans and boots.
That little bubble of confidence lasted all of three seconds. Right up until I realised that everyone else had changed out of their red T-shirts. Why hadn’t I noticed that in the bunkhouse? Man, I was soooo a disaster . . . Sighing, I tried to ignore the stares and snagged one of the plastic chairs set in a big circle in the shade of the tree. In the middle of the circle were two tables piled with sambos, fruit and cans of drink. Everyone was diving into the food like they hadn’t seen any for weeks.
My stomach rumbled and I jumped back up to join them, piling a paper plate with half a salad sambo, a fat egg and lettuce roll, and two pieces of chilled watermelon. I hadn’t eaten all day and it was like my stomach had just remembered.
Turning, I discovered that someone had pinched my seat; as I looked around for another, a hand shot up from the far side of the circle. ‘Harper? Here!’
I felt my face heat up as I made my way over to Chaz and the spare seat he was minding. I scanned for Vee, and relaxed when I saw her chatting to Sophie.
Steve followed me across the crowd, coming to a halt in the middle of the circle. He looked across at me and grinned. ‘Nice shirt, Harper.’
I grinned back and tried not to blush. Maybe it was because there hadn’t been a trap waiting for me at Winmaroo, maybe it was because so far I hadn’t been unveiled as a fraud, maybe it was the delicious food, maybe it was making a new friend in Vee, or maybe it was the very cute guy beside me who—although I wasn’t special, I reminded myself—was being super nice to me: whatever it was, I felt more relaxed than I’d been all day.
My teeth sank into the juicy salad sambo just as Steve spoke again. ‘Okay, everybody, our last member has arrived. Let’s hear it for Trent Weston!’
My head jerked up. What?
‘Trent?’ Steve repeated. ‘Where’s Trent?’
The expectant cheer from the other seven kids faded away as everybody realised there was no one to cheer for, and in the silence I was sure they must all be able to hear my thundering heart.
I tried to tell myself that it would be okay; that there was bound to be more than one Trent Weston—wasn’t there? A Trent Weston who didn’t go to school with my sister. One who wasn’t her arch rival. One who wouldn’t love to see her fall flat on her face.
Even as I prayed frantically that there really was another Trent Weston who was as crazy about rural life as my sister, my head was telling me he was the one I so didn’t want to see.
The one who could wreck everything.