A little voice from far away is calling me. ‘P? P! Peony!’

Applejoy shakes me awake. ‘Aaj?’ I moan and open my eyes.

The little voice is going on far away. AJ is up, standing, puffing like he’s been running, eyes all panicky. ‘She’s taking Magnolia instead,’ AJ says.

‘Mags!’ I throw the blanket off and fall out of the bunk. Scramble up and run. Down the path, out onto the dusty road, to Gramps standing there, staring down the road. ‘Peony!’ he says.

Ma is dragging Mags, too fast, her feet are kicking up dust as she stumbles, looking back. ‘Peony!’ Mags screams. And the bus is rumbling over the rise in the distance. I run. I run as fast as I can. My feet are moving so fast they’re slipping on the dirt under me as they touch and push. My chest is bursting with the effort, but I need to go faster.

The bus pulls up. Ma drags Mags around the back of the bus. Mags looks back at me one last time, reaches for me. I’m not going to make it. But the bus doesn’t pull away. The bus waits. And I reach it and run around the back, and Mags is lodged there. Her feet either side of the doorway as Ma pulls her arm, and thumps her hand to make her let go and screams at her. I run and grab Mags around the waist, pull her back.

‘Let her go!’ I scream.

‘No!’ Ma says. ‘You come instead!’

‘No!’ I say, and Ma pushes Mags on top of me, steps out, leans down and latches onto my foot.

Mags scrambles up and grabs my arm, pulls me back. Then she gets a fire in her eyes. Her face sets hard. She lets go of my hand, makes a fist and rips her arm from across her body up, up, connecting the back of her hand with Ma’s cheek and then on up into the air. Ma’s head snaps back and she falls onto the bus steps.

I scramble up, grab Mags around the waist, pull her away.

Ma shakes her head, sits herself up and rubs the side of her face. She looks up at us and scowls and stands slowly.

I can’t believe Mags just blapped our ma across the face like some nasty Urb boss.

Ma steps back onto the bus step. ‘I wash my hands of you,’ she says. ‘You’re dead to me now.’

The bus door shuts and the bus lurches off with Ma staring dagger eyes back at us.

Mags drops to her knees, sits in the dirt, tears dripping down her face even though she’s not sobbing.

I stroke her shoulder. ‘Mags,’ I whisper.

She sniffs. ‘She don’t want me at all,’ Mags says to crumbly edge of the bitumen road. ‘She just wants you.’

‘Soz, Mags,’ I say, like it’s my fault. I squat down on my heels in front of her. Try to look in her downward eyes. ‘She don’t know how strong you are,’ I whisper and slide my hand into Mag’s hand, limp in her lap. I pick it up and squeeze it tight.

‘She ain’t coming back,’ Mags says to the road. ‘And it’s my fault.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘She don’t mean it. She’s jus’ angry. She jus’ talks bad when she’s angry.’ I pull Mag’s hand and help her to her feet. I brush the dirt and stones off her bare knees, and from a graze on her elbow where she fell back. Then I lead her back across the bitumen and up our dirt road to where Gramps waits with his arms out wide and red-ringed eyes.