A luminous debut Breathe it in and pass it onVIKKI WAKEFIELD, author of Friday Brown

Lucy's life was going as smoothly as any teenagers could. She was the state backstroke

champion, and swimming was her world. She lived with her parents and her brother, Cam, in the small

coastal town shed known all her life. She had friends, she had goals she had a life.

Now Cam is dead, her parents might as well be and Lucy cant bear to get back in the pool. All she has to look forward to now is a big pile of going-nowhere.

Drawn to Steffi, the wild ex-best-friend who reminds her of her artist brother, and music-obsessed Evan, the new

boy in town, Lucy starts asking questions. Why did Cam die? Was it an accident or suicide? But as Lucy hunts for

answers she discovers much more than she expects. About Cam. About her family. About herself.

A soaring, uplifting novel about love and loss from an exciting new voice.

Cover design: Sandra Nobes and Trinity Doyle

Cover illustration: Paula Bonet

F I C T I O N

ISBN: 978-1-76011-248-6

9 7 8 1 7 6 0 1 1 2 4 8 6

198

PiecesOfSky_title pp.indd 2 1/04/15 4:12 PM

First published in 2015

Copyright Text, Trinity Doyle 2015Copyright Cover illustration, Paula Bonet 2014

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin83 Alexander StreetCrows Nest NSW 2065AustraliaPhone: (61 2) 8425 0100Email: info@allenandunwin.comWeb: www.allenandunwin.com

A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australiawww.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 76011 248 6

Cover design by Sandra Nobes and Trinity DoyleCover and internal type by Bianca CashCover illustration: Neopreno by Paula BonetSet in 11.5/15 pt Garamond by Midland Typesetters, AustraliaPrinted in Australia by McPhersons Printing Group

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The paper in this book is FSC certified.FSC promotes environmentally responsible, socially beneficial and economically viable management of the worlds forests.

1Mum painted my brothers coffin. It was beautiful, if such a thing can bethe waves of

the ocean, gradients of green to blue mixed with the white of sea foam. Despite the grim irony that the ocean which smothered his lungs should cover him in death, it suited him.

Cam was made with more water than most. That was eight weeks ago and Mum hasnt painted a

thing since. The longer she leaves it, the longer the coffin will remain the last thing she painted.

Eight weeks.Eight.Cam was caught in a rip off the coast of Byron Bay. It

was night, all his mates were drunk, and nobody noticed my brother take his board into the dark oceanand nobody knows why he did. It was a stupid thing to do and sometimes my brother was stupid, even at eighteen.

Eight weeks.I prefer weeks over months. A month is a long time.

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Eight weeks since Ive been in the pool. Ive never tapered more than a few days before. Ive heard its hell getting back in: your body drags like lead and the water turns to mud.

I guess Ill find out this morning.

Big day, Auntie Deb says, flicking the indicator and turning onto Lake Road. I dig my fingers into the edge of the seat. Through my window the sky lightens to a dirty pink. Even without the pool these past weeks I cant shake the sunrise out of my days. Ill probably wake up at 5am for the rest of my life.

Excited to be going back? Deb continues to fight for conversation.

I grunt a response and hope itll satisfy. Theres a sharp-ness in my stomach I cant explain. Its a similar feeling to race days, but this is training, not competing. I let go of the seat and stick my hands under my legs. Must be excitement.

You got your school bag? I give her a hard look. She saw me carrying my mesh swim bag and backpack. God, Year Ten. She drums her fingers on the steering wheel. I cant believe youre almost sixteen. Feels like just yesterday you were calling me Beb and stealing lollies from my bag.

I roll my eyes at her reminiscing.Auntie Deb is my dads sister. Shes a nurse or some-

thing and lives down in Newcastle. Before now I only ever saw her at Christmas. And I guess it was around Christmas when she came up to help my parents with

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paperwork and processes and whatever else they needed help with. And somehow shes still here, helping.

I turn the radio on, but she still hasnt programmed in any local stations and Im met with country music or static. I switch it back off.

I dont want Deb here. Shes a constant reminder things are wrong. I can look after Mum and the housewas doing just fine before.

This is the first morning, since Cam died, I wont be there to get Mum up.

Deb reaches across me, leaving one hand on the wheel, and fishes around for her handbag at my feet. She hoists it onto the centre console, finds a cigarette, sticks it between her teeth and lights itall without taking her attention off the road.

I reckon I might go for a swim later myself, she says as I crank down my window. Need to get in the water more.

I left Mums green smoothie recipe on the fridge, I tell her. She cant just swan off to the beach. Make sure you use the frozen banana or itll taste crap.

Okay.Try to get her to shower early or shell just be in bed

all day.I know.And if youre gonna clean the bathroom again theres a

chart on the wall to follow.Lucy, she huffs, cracking her window and flicking out

ash, I know.I lean into the cool morning air, away from her smoke

cloud. Whatever.

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4

We pass the welcome sign for Port Christie and the sharp feeling in my stomach grows. Deb turns down the empty streets and pulls into the swim centre car park. Without me at home its likely Mum wont eat anything or leave her room. Id just gotten her into a routine of sorts: eat, shower, sit in the sun. Im sure shell be fine again soon. Right?

Oh, almost forgot, Deb unlocks the glove box, pulling out a stack of flyers for the Meredith to South West ocean race, can you leave these at reception for me?

A few weeks ago Deb decided we needed to do some-thing, give back, honour Camsomething to help out the surf lifesaversand she came up the idea of an ocean race. Dad said it was a worthy cause and normally Id agree with him but I cant bring myself to like anything that came from Deb.

Im late, I say, getting out of the car and grabbing my stuff. She holds the yellow flyers out the window at me. I groan and snatch them off her.

Have fun, she calls after me as I push open the centre doors.

I dump the flyers at reception and stalk down the long hallway. The centre is half lit and quiet; the gym wont open for another hour. I breathe in the familiar air but it does nothing to ease the twisting in my stomach.

The day has already started wrong. I shouldve insisted Dad drive me to training, like he always did, but when Auntie Deb offered last night he just shrugged it off like me going back to the pool didnt mean anything.

Lucy! Alix barrels me into a hug as I enter the change room.

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Hi. I hug her back but my arms are weak and shes all bare skin and bony elbows.

Youre back, she squeals, letting me go.I drop my bags on the bench. We better get out there, Megan says, coming round

the corner. She stops short at the sight of me.I havent seen either of them since the funeral, not

wanting anyone to set foot in my broken house, but where Alix texted and called me almost every day Ive barely heard from Megan.

Uh, hi, I say. She closes her mouth and rearranges her features into a

smile. Lucy! Youre here. Its so good to see you. We gotta, um . . . She gestures towards the pool.

Ill see you out there.She nods. Yes. Of course. Alix shoots me a WTF look as they walk out and I shrug. When I decided to have a break, Megan was pissed.

I know she wanted to confront me at the funeral, all straight-backed and edgy, acting like she hardly knew me, but she left it another week before she called.

You cant just leave us like that. What the hell are we supposed to do?

Im not the only backstroker on the squad, Id told her.You mean Alix? Megan scoffed.Shes getting faster. This season was Alixs first since she

lost a year to glandular fever. We may as well pull out of the relay now.I pull off my hoodie and shorts and adjust my

swimsuit. My heart thuds like Ive been double-jumped

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6

on a trampoline. I press my hand to my chest and take deep, slow breaths.

Cam couldnt breathe. I close my eyesdont think about it, dont think

about it.The stench of chlorine mixed with Dencorub envelops

me as I walk onto the pool deck. My squad is squished in two lanes of the twenty-five-metre pool. Megan thinks our pools a joke and wants to get into the program at Coffs. I never minded it; short laps are practice for your turns. And my turns are flawless.

Phil, my coach, comes over to me. Phil swam for Australia at the Commonwealth Games. Mens two- hundred-metre backstrokehe didnt get a medal.

Ready to go, Lucy? he asks, fiddling with something on his stopwatch and half looking at me.

Phil didnt think I should start back. He said I should spend time with the Dolphins squad, a holiday compared to the competitive Sharks. Id missed too many club nights, I wouldnt make up the points, I hadnt been in the water for two months.

But I wouldnt have that.I stretch my goggles over my cap. Yeah, I say, ignoring

the sharpness now in my veins. I cant make any allowances for you. Translation:

keep up or go home.I dont care if it hurts, or if I suck, or if I need to

double my training schedule to get back in form. Before Cam drowned, swimming was my lifeand I want my life back.

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Behind Phil, Megan stands at the blocks pretending not to watch us. She looks away when I meet her eye, pulling her goggles down and diving off. Her stroke is effortless, gliding her to the opposite wall in seconds.

I walk to the blocks, crouching over the edge to splash water on myself. Laughter from my teammates echoes off the pool walls and bounces around my skull.

A tremble runs through my left arm and I stretch out my fingers to still it.

We got the call late, around 3am. The phone rang for ages and I kept hitting my clock thinking it was my alarm. The sound my dad made when he answered, a cry Ive never heard him make before or since, was enough to tear Mum and me from our beds.

Cam had drowned. Cam was dead.I held onto Mum as she sobbed into the floorboards.

Eventually my alarm, signalling an hour until I was due at the pool, blared out from my room. I didnt go to training, of course I didnt go, and the days I wasnt in the pool stretched into weeks. Everyone knew I would come back. They just didnt think it would take this long.

And today should feel righttoday school goes back and my routine of train, study, train can start again.

The sticky air of the indoor pool sends my skin wet. I miss swimming at the baths, on my back under an open sky. I shake my head and step onto the block. I get back in today. I picture myself diving in and my head going under the waterjust like Cam. No. No, dont think about it. Im fine, this is fine.

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8

The water overtook him, choked him. But that was out there, not in hereeverything is fine here.

My breaths go short and my vision tunnels. I pull at the straps of my swimsuit. Dive in, just dive in. My breaths come fast and shallow. I wrench my cap off and my hair pulls loose.

Nooh god, whats happening? Get in the water, just get in.

I cantI cant breathe.Everything bleeds together and I cantI cant do this. I run back to the change room and peel off my

swimmers. Sitting on the cold metal toilet, I drag air into my lungs. I gasp in and out, out and in. Its like my chest is closing up and Im shoving my breath through cracks.

Im going to die. Im going to die naked on a toilet. I need to get out. I sniff back tears and press the heels of my hands into my eyes.

Lucy? Alix knocks on the door. Are you okay? Her voice is soft and cautious, as if Im a wounded animal she doesnt want to scare.

I stick my head between my shaking legs and fight to get my breath back. Im okay, I choke out.

Whats going on?My clothes. Can you . . .Alix slides my bag under the door. I grip the strap, close

my eyes and count backwards from five in my head as I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.

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Want me to call someone?I unzip the bag and pull my hoodie, undies and shorts

on. I cant go back out there. I cant. Just go away, I say, leaning against the wooden door,

trying to keep the tears out of my voice. Im not going anywhere.Please. I hate that please, it twists out of me, so weak

and pathetic. Are you sure? Im gonna get PhilNo! Just . . . just go.What are you gonna do?I close my eyes. Ill see you at school, okay?It takes her a moment to respond and when she does

her voice is small. Okay.I wait until Im sure shes gone, then ditch my swim

stuff in my locker and grab my school bag. I hurry out of the change room. Megan is standing by the door, water beading on her skin. She stares at me and I stop. She goes to say something and moves to touch my arm but I flinch backif I talk Ill cry and I dont cry in front of people, especially Megan. I run out of the centre and into the street.

Gripping the straps of my backpack, I stare up into the sky, willing the world to stop. I wipe my nose on my sleeve and walk until Im out of sight of the centre. My legs wont stop shaking. I sit in the gutter, then stand back up and pace in a circle, raking my hands through my hair.

What happened just then? And how many people saw? Maybe if I try again this afternoon it will be okayor maybe it will happen again.

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10

My hands shake and I tuck them in my armpits. I swallow tears. Its still happening.

I need to swim. I need something to be the same. No home, no Cam, no pool.

No me.

11

Go, go, go, leave, leave, leave. I hammer a path through the streets of Port. Ill have

to go back for my swim bag at some point but not nownow I dont want any of it near me.

The sun is still new in the sky and with it the small town begins to stir. I pass old guys with fishing tackle, a few surfers heading for an early, determined joggers. I dont have a direction but I find myself out the front of the service stationthe only thing open this early. I take deep breaths but they come in laced with petrol fumes and I feel sick.

Okay. I make myself stand still, holding my arms straight at my sides. Maybe if I eat something this will stop. All I packed for lunch is an apple and a cheese sandwich but thats not what I need . . . chocolate! I need chocolate.

I shoulder through the servos plastic-ribboned door into the cramped shop and immediately duck out of sight. Two of my brothers mates are in the next aisle.

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12

I hide near the tampons and catch snatches of their conversation.

Hey you got a dollar? I am this close to a Red Bull. Piss off. Im still waiting for you to pay me back. In

fact, everything you got on you, hand it over.Dont be such a tightwad. Ill get your drinks Friday.Pause.Are you sure you want to do Friday? I mean itll be

weird without . . .Look, Cammo loved the cove, sure, but that doesnt

mean we cant go there. The place needs one last hurrah before everyone pisses off.

They walk up to the counter, pay for their stuff and leave. I lean against the shelvesthe cove. Cam made that place infamous. Few people knew exactly where it was, you had to be in with Cam and he loved being all dramatic about it: giving secret passwords, making it the most exciting place to get wasted.

It will still go on without him. I find enough change in my bag for a Snickers, ignoring

Mums voice in my head rattling on about healthy choices, and dont wait until Im even outside before I bite into it.

Mm. I close my eyes as the sugar hits my brain and takes the edge off my nerves.

Really satisfies, hey?I open my eyes. A boy Ive never seen before, with my

schools crest on the breast pocket of his white buttoned shirt, is half smiling at me near the packets of chips.

What?He nods at my chocolate bar.

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13

Huh? I blink at it. Oh, um, yeah. Im more of a savoury man myself. He shakes the can

of Pringles hes holding. On his wrist is a pink, purple and blue rubber band bracelet and two thin black leather ties.

Once you pop you cant stop. He laughs. So they say. Hes tall and skinny with

thick brown hair, adding more to his height, and heavy, serious eyebrows which contradict the smile on his face.

You go to my school. He glances down at his uniform. Im still dressed in

my hoodie and shorts so its not apparent we belong to the same anything. Uh, I guess, he says.

The tension in my chest regroups and I take another bite of my chocolate bar. I think hes new or, could be, Ive just never noticed him around before. Our high school takes all the kids from the Lakes district, jamming them into a campus that was too small as soon as it was built, so its easy to get lost.

So, um . . . He moves to walk past me, pointing his Pringles at the counter. And I realise Im blocking the way.

Oh, sorry. I step aside and our arms brush in this aisle thats only one and a half persons wide. Are you

There are other things Id prefer, like sitting naked on a nest of bull ants. I turn around as a punk-looking girl walks in. Oi, Evan! she calls past me. Blueys just opened. Were grabbing scallops. You coming?

Yeah, hang on, says the guy behind me.Whats going on, Lucy? She smiles at me, her hands

on her hips.I, uh . . . I blink at her. Steffi?

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14

She grins, all teeth.Her usual long blonde hair has been bleached to almost

white and cut short, one side shaved close to her head and the other skimming her chin at a sharp angle. I know Ive been a hermit these past few months but last time I saw her she didnt look like that.

Nice hair, I say, walking past her and pushing my way outside.

What are you up to? Gonna ditch school today? she says, following me.

I keep walking.God, if I was you Id take the whole year off.I stop. Turn. What the hell is that supposed to mean?She folds her arms and shrugs. No ones gonna care

what you do. Should take advantage.My jaw tightens and I open my mouth to argue, then

I clock Jeremy Haines behind Steffi with a cigarette between his teeth. Are you insane? This is a petrol station, do you want to blow us all up?

He holds it out to me. Its not lit, he says, smirking. Steffi cracks up and heat flushes through me. The guy I was talking to, Evan, comes out to join them and I storm off towards school.

Steffi Greggson used to be my best friend. Back in primary school when her hair was normal and she cared about going to class.

When I reach the school gate Im hot, sweaty and have almost emptied my drink bottle. I check my phonestill got thirty minutes before school starts. My life is entirely screwed up and its not even 8am. The edgy panic claws

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15

back at me and I slug down the rest of my water. Then I head to the toilets to throw up and change into my uniform.

Crowded.The buses pull up and the students stream in. They

fill up the quad, the brick breezeways, the stairwells. A tiny Year Seven girl gets lost in a pack of Islander guys, emerging on the other side neck craned and eyes wide. Fist bumps, squealing hugs, grasping arms, laughter, shouting, cursing. Teachers shaking their heads.

I watch the first day of school unfold from the top of our table in the quad.

A few people look my way, their thoughts all over their faces. Thats his sister. Oh my God, how awful. Should I say something? What would I even say? Shes looking at me! Smile, keep walking.

I take out my phone and grab my ear buds but I dont play any music, my heads too full already.

I couldnt get in the water. I couldnt do it.Why? I know Im not going to drownI know it. But

my face going under, my breath going awayit would come backI cant do it.

Lucy! Alix runs over and chokes me with a hug. Are you okay? Where did you go? What happened?

Im fine, I say, wriggling out of her hold. She sits next to me. We were so worried.Im fine, I say again as Megan comes over.

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Sure, Megan says, folding her arms. I have something for you. Alix grabs a round plastic

container from her bag. For your mum from my mum.Thanks, I say, taking the klepon. Als mum is Indo-

nesian and cooks the most amazing things. Out of all the containers of food given to us by friends and neighbours, hers are the ones Im saving for when I can enjoy eating again.

Oh, and Im to tell you that she used the good sugar.Right. I smile and tuck the container into my back-

pack. My mums been standing between our family and refined sugar for as long as I can remember.

The bell rings and people head to the auditorium for assembly. I spot Steffi, Jeremy and Evan.

Did you have a panic attack? Megan says as I stand to go.

Megan! I say as my heart rate picks back up.Maybe it was too much pressure, Alix says.But youve always been good with pressure, Megan says.Maybe its different now, Alix suggests.My mind races through the possibilities and Im dimly

aware Alix is mentioning Cam.But why would that make a difference? Megan says,

hoisting her bag higher on her shoulder. Megan, Alix scolds, placing her hand on my arm.

What if we tried again, just us?I meet her earnest brown eyes. Shed do anything she

could to help me. Yeah, maybe, I say as we get swallowed up in the

crowd of students.

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17

Mums door is closed when I get home. I touch a crack in the white paint. No one else is home but her door is a thick barrier between us.

Did she miss me this morning?I escape to my room, close my door and lean against it.

I love my room. Its on the side of the house shaded by a massive jacaranda tree so its cooler in here than anywhere else. Its smaller than Cams but I have a sliding door that leads out to the deck and his doesnt. Everything is white except for the right side wall, which is painted a cool blue. My low double bed takes up one corner, fairy lights I strung up last Christmas then decided not to take down and photos from my trip to New ZealandTeam Australia Under 15smake a collaged bed head. My desk is up the other end near the sliding door to the back deck, and next to it a white wooden ladder holds my medals, trophies, ribbons and plaques.

I sit at my deskswimming achievements burning a hole in the side of my head, I should be at the pool right nowand stick my new timetable inside my folder. I take my time, making sure its straight and the sticky tape is exact, then I unzip my pencil case and use highlighters to colour code each subject.

Theres washing up in the sink. I should go do that.I make maths pink, making it look friendly, and my

impulse is to make English blue but I go against it and make it yellowa feeble victory over my instincts.

When Im done, my subjects are an ordered rainbow.

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18

I spin in my chair, trophy shelf flicking in and out of my eye line. Auntie Deb shouldve washed upthats why shes here. I reach over and grab a medal. Gold: State, fifty-metre backstroke. I rub my thumb over the edges of the swimmer, arm raised, mouth open. Running the blue and white ribbon through my fingers, I wind it around my thumb until the tip turns white, then unravel it and let it hang limp.

Everything worked that day. I hung onto the wall and swam the length in my mind, flawless. I felt connected to the water, to the pool, to the starting buzzer. I felt the edge of the win but didnt let myself think itonce you think it then youve lost. I pushed off from the wall and everything else faded.

I miss winning, competing. Its a metallic taste in my mouth, muscles tense for something thats not coming. I close my hand over the medal, grab a box of old school books from my cupboard and place it inside. I grab the rest and shove them in there too.

Grabbing my laptop, I sit on my bed. It opens to the last thing I was looking at: Ryans blog. I hit refresh as if it mightve changed in the last twelve hours when it hasnt changed in the last twelve days. The same photo reloads: a ribbon of dark blue ocean against a lighter sky. I scroll through the others and stop before I hit old ones of Cam. From here Ive worked out Ryans somewhere off the coast of Queensland. I get my phone out and type a text asking him when hes coming home. Then I delete it. Just like all the other texts I havent sent to Ryan. Because my brothers best friend, who spent more time living here

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in the past few years than at his mums, whos more like family than the auntie currently sleeping in his old room, didnt tell me he was going anywhere. After the funeral he hugged me so tight I couldnt breathe, and then he just left.

I pull up iTunes and scroll through Cams playlists. Funny how some things can change: a couple of months ago all I wanted to listen to was dance tracks and stuff to pump me up while I worked out or before a racedespite Cams best efforts to educate meand now Ive taken all my brothers playlists and I blare out the loud, sad songs he loved. Ive found a connection in his music Ive never felt before, and it keeps stabbing me in the heart.

I press play on PJ Harvey and stretch out on my bed. At first the music washes over me and Im not paying attention, but then Im looping This Mess Were In and the notes are running through my veins, making me all at once heavy and light.

And in that state I let myself miss my brother. Just a bit, just a small amount that I can take out of myself and inspect. To say, ah, yes theres that shard of glass constantly in my side, thats the one.

Nice music. I scramble up and close my laptop. Mums leaning in

my doorway, the makings of a smile on her tired face. Hi. I breathe out. Did I wake you? Sorry, Mum. She

gives a slight shrug like it was nothing and walks down the hall. I follow. The heat in the front of the house is stifling. I open the windows and turn on the ceiling fan.

Mum slumps at the breakfast bar and flicks through

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20

the junk mail, piled up on top of the Bluetooth speaker she used while she was cooking.

Crank it, Mum, Cam would say, turning the volume up. Hed pick Mum up from behind, and shed laugh and bat at him with her wooden spoon. Hed take her hand and spin her round the kitchen to Fleetwood Mac.

You want a cuppa? I ask now. She doesnt respond but I pull out her mug anyway.

She stares at the IGA catalogue and runs her fingers over her short dark hair. She cut it the day after the funeral. I came to the door of the bathroom to find her standing there with these huge scissors, the evidence of her once-long hair in the sink.

She looked almost satisfied. Auntie Deb didnt say anything. She took the scissors

from Mum and led her out of the bathroom. I stood there examining my own long brown hair, thinking maybe I should do the same.

She looks up at me and I wonder if shell look at me like that for the rest of her life: all hollow like shes been dug out by a spoon.

I fill the jug and switch it on. Then, because Im here now, I fill the sink and start doing the dishes.

Mum didnt grow up here. Her family lived on Sydneys North Shore and she met my dad when they came up for holidays. It gives her this different look, as if shes a bit exotic. Or maybe thats just me.

Everyone says I look like my mum, but they only say that because I look nothing like my dad. Cam lookslookedlike Dad: blond hair, blue eyes, skin that goes

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brown in the sun. I wish I looked like Mum. Where her skin is fair and bright, mine is washed out and pale. Her hair is thick and rich, dark brown mixed with copper. Mine is thin and limp. Her eyes are clear and green, mine sit on the yellow side of brown. Although now shes faded. Now shes starting to look like me.

The jug flicks off and I make us both peppermint tea. Mum likes to give us a running commentary on the benefits of different herbal teas: lowers cholesterol, detox-ifies your liver, cures memory loss. She made me drink green tea when I went to Zone last year; not sure it made me swim any faster.

On the far wall behind her hangs the last piece she made before Cam diedbefore the coffin. An oil painting of the stormy sea. The waves are drawn in a Japanese style and all the boats are upside down. If I squint at her it looks like the white tufts of waves are exploding from her head.

Ive always been jealous of her art. Im lucky if I can make stick figures work. Cam got Mums genes; his sketchbooks were filled with monsters, distorted portraits of his mates and made-up characters.

I place the mug next to Mums hands and she looks up at me. So. I drum my fingers against my cup and have nothing else to say.

Did you train this morning? She wraps her hands around her mug and looks into her tea.

Yep.How was it? It was okay. I shrug. A small smile tugs at the corners

of her mouth.

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22

The front door opens and Dad walks in. Mum stiffens.

Im home, he says, like we cant already see that, and grabs a beer from the fridge.

Hows the shop? Mum asks but without any interest. Still cant find anyone who knows the difference

between a Phillips and a flathead, Dad says. Itd help if Ryand come back from wherever hes run off to. Whats for dinner, Norah?

Whatevers in the freezer, Mum says, hugging her elbows.

Deb walks in and plonks two bags of groceries on the bench. She levels a glare at me. Where were you?

I frown at her.I went by the pool to get you. You werent there. Ive

been ringing your phone the whole way home.I look between Mum and Dad, my skin feeling like its

a size too small. I got a ride home with Megan.You couldnt have let me know?You know better than that, Lucy, Dad says.Im sorry, I lift my hands, I forgot you were picking

me up. Okay, she says, tapping out a cigarette from her pack.

Tell me next time. I nod and she heads to the front door for her smoke. Making rissoles for tea, she calls.

I grimaceyuk. Oh, I say to Mum, remembering the klepon from

Alix, Ive got something for you. Hang on.I head back to my room and grab the container from

my bag. I run into Mum in the hallway. Sorry, she says, Im not feeling great.

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23

Okay. I hand her the container. Here.She takes it and goes back to her room, closing the

door. If she eats even one Ill take it as a win.

Later that night I lie awake in bed.For two weeks in June my brother didnt sleep. Most

nights, when my parents thought he was in bed, he was out. Id catch him sneaking back in at five in the morning when I was getting up for training. The other nights hed be painting in his room. Bent over a canvas on his ink-stained carpet, noise-cancelling headphones blocking out the world. His room stank of oil and metho.

That was when he threw his major work out and started again, when he told me he was channelling the spirit of Salvador Dali and everything had to be melting.

One night I woke up to a loud bark of, Fuck you, Dali, and he started again.

I tried not to pay attention to himwinter training was already kicking my arse and I was about to leave for a week-long swim camp in Sydney. When I got back, Cam had been asleep for two days.

Tonight the house is dark and quiet. Empty.In the hallway a crack of light comes from under my

parents door. I stand next to it and listen for sounds, for anything to assure me theyre still there.

When I was little, I stood here once because Id had a nightmare. I wanted to call out for Mum but I panicked, thinking maybe theyd yell at me. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I gasped Mums name until my

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voice returned. Thats how I feel now. My stomach in my throat, blocking all my words.

I imagine Mum huddled under the blankets: shut down, turned off, collapsed. I need her. I need her to stroke my hair and tell me everythings going to be okay, its just a nightmare, go back to sleep.

I stay for one more minute, but behind my parents door theres nothing but silence.

Taking a deep breath, I continue down the hall to Cams room. I need to talk to him about Mum; I need to ask him if shes going to be okay.

I open his door, wincing at the creak of the hinges, and slip inside. This is where Cam exists to me. Here on the walls of his stupid, dumb room. Where he would smoke cigarettes out of the window and blast punk music until Dad hammered on his door. His walls lined with surfing and skating posters, his wardrobe covered in band stickers. Now its all unused and smells damp.

I sit on the carpet and lean against the wall. The moon lights up his room at odd angles, making menacing shapes out of the shadows. I picture his face: he sucks on a cigar-ette and tells me with certainty none of us are okay. Then he starts speaking in some made-up French-sounding language about the moon.

My mind always dresses him the same: grey jeans and white Dinosaur Jr T-shirthe lived in that shirt. I used to find myself staring at the young girl printed on the front with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. She couldnt have been more than ten but seemed so much older; shed already seen it all, done it all and knew exactly who she was.

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I crawl over to his wardrobe and make myself a nest among his shoes. His clothes tickle the top of my head. I tug his shirts from their hangers and let them cover me. Cam, in my head, calls me a weirdo. I move his shoes around, trying to get comfortable, and lose my balance. My head whacks the back of the wardrobe, something hard lands on my foot. Ow. Crap. I keep still, trying to be quiet, listening hard for any signs of movement, but the house is silent. I move my foot, stretching out my toes one by oneGod it hurts.

Getting out of the wardrobe, I feel along the wall for the light switch. The brightness stings my eyes and I blink until my vision adjusts.

An unmarked black box sits on the floor. I narrow my eyes and suck in my bottom lip. I bet its full of Playboy. Please dont tell me I was struck by porn. I open it. Not dirty magswell, one copy of FHM buried at the bottom. Its filled with drawings, heaps of them.

Monsters: crows with distorted human heads, people with crow heads, dogs with too many eyes, their tongues jutting from their open mouths. Its no secret that my brothers art creeps me out; it creeps Dad out too. Then there are others I havent seen before. Charcoal drawings of hands, Ryan looking pensive with his skateboard on his shoulders. My insides buzz with each discovery. I lay them out, being careful not to smudge them.

When Im done, my hands are black and theres not much floor left to stand on. Landscapes, trees, breasts, skateboards, scary monsters. The new stuff is so different from his other work, so much more real. A few of them join

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together, making bigger pictures. There are two I cant stop looking at. Cam wearing his hoodie, one hand covering his eyes and the other covering his mouth. And a bigger one of a girl. Shes leaning forward, her hair hanging over her shouldersbut her face is missing. All thats left is an ear and a chin. It doesnt look deliberate but I cant find any more pieces of the drawing. Where is the rest of her face?

Why did he hide these away? Under his bed is the bag he took with him on the trip.

My stomach tightens. The things he had with him before he died.

I pull it out and run my hands over the stitching. I know whats in here. The bag was unpacked and packed countless times, by us, by the police. Theres a typed list of the contents of this bag but I still want to look in it. I edge the zipper across, flinching at the sound.

T-shirts, boxers, pairs of boardies, a bent copy of Monster Children, Zippo lighter, pencils, deodorantI take the cap off and breathe it intoothbrush, socks, hoodie, jeans, zincwe used to paint ourselves in that stuff, pretend we were warriors and run about in our undies. I run my hand along the bottom of the bag and my fingers brush over something cold and hard. His phone.

I take it out and stare at it. I know whats in here as well. I press the home button but its dead.

A door creaks in the hallway and I bolt for the light switch. My heart pounds as I wait for more sounds but theres nothing. In the dark I pocket the phone, stack the drawings, trying not to smudge or crease them, and put them back in the shoebox. Tucking it under my arm, I sneak back to my room.

27

By Friday, Auntie Deb has caught onto the fact Im not going to training.

Were you just going to let everyone think you were still going?

I dont care what you think, I say, filling the jug. Did something happen?I grab the English breakfast tea from the cupboard

and smack the door closed. No.She sighs. Its fine to have some more time off, Lucy.

We all handle these things differently.I hate how she says it, as if Cams death is one thing on

a long list of stuff to deal with. Jim and I have started training for the race. Why dont

you come to the beach with us? Could be an easier way to get back in.

I want to tell her to stop. Just stop trying. We are not friends and I dont need her sympathy or good intentions. I dont need anybodys.

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The jug boils and flicks off. I pour two cups of tea. I pick up the cups, heat burning my knuckles, and move to walk past her.

What are you doing?Bringing Mum her tea.I already made her one, Lucy. I stare at Auntie Deb, jaw clenched and heat boiling

up my back, then I dump the tea in the sink and push past her.

I crack open Mums door: tea and toast are sitting on the bedside table untouched. Debs used the wrong mug. Mums is the blue and yellow swirly one, this one is just brown. When will she go home? Were that well stocked with frozen lasagnes she can leave without fearing well end up drowned in our cereal.

I inch the door closed. A family photo hangs on the wall outside their room. I touch the glass over Cams face. Eleven-year-old Lucy stares out at me, grinning with her crooked teeth and hair in braids. You ll lose him, I try to tell her but she just keeps grinning.

I grab my backpack from my room and head out the front door.

The bus always takes longer than it should. Twisting and back tracking its way through the streets. I tuck myself into the corner of my seat, shoulder pressed to the window, and hug my knees.

I used to wish I could catch the bus. Id imagine Cam running things up the back and the tingly feeling Id

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get whenever I was in the same place as Ryan. This bus was always the one in trouble, having to stay back after assembly, and I had no doubt that was due to my brother and his friends.

Now a bunch of Year Eight kids have claimed the back seat and whatever mischief my brother left has been replaced by loud opinions on hairstyles and reality TV.

I stick my earbuds in and flood my head with The Jezabels.

Tonight my brothers mates will light a bonfire and get drunk at the cove. And I want to go because Cam always let mehe wanted me toso I always did.

The day spreads out long and hot. I spend my breaks hiding in the air-conditioned library. Most of my classes are in the newer buildings but my last class, English, is in an old demountablenothing but a useless ceiling fan to stir the humid air. A layer of sweat sticks the backs of my thighs to the hard plastic seat. Megan keeps trying to catch my eye but I cant look at her. Shell be training after class, sixty minutes of laps in the cool water.

Ive been avoiding her most of the weeknot wanting to relive my episode at the pool. Normally, Id ask her to come with me tonight, and a part of me still wants to. I dont know what itll be like without Cam but it wont be the same. Nothings the same.

I want to disappear, to sink into the edges of this room. I push back the layers and reduce myself to actions. Sit, stand, breathe.

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After it happened I felt Cam haunting me. Id catch him out of the corner of my eye as I closed the fridge door or walked out of the bathroom. His ghost burned into my memory. But now he has started to fade and the hole his absence created is swallowing me up all over again.

I rest my head on the desk, the cool surface offering a tinge of relief to my cheek. The noise of the classroom blends together until its just a whirr in the background. Someone taps my desk and I jerk my head up.

Its the new guy, EvanEnglish seems to be our only class together.

Have you got a pen? he asks. Mine just died. This is our first conversation since we swapped junk food slogans at the servo.

Ah, yeah. I hand him a spare from my pencil case.Cheers, he says and goes back to his seaton the

other side of the room. He gives me a quick look as he sits down, then concentrates on his notes, my pen resting absently on his bottom lip.

Mr Matthews clears his throat and I blink at him. He holds up the book were studying. I shake myself and try to focus.

Chapter one, Lucy. Any thoughts?I give him a blank look and he lets out a long breath.

I havent read itI tried but I couldnt make my brain connect with the words. He moves on to the next person.

The door opens and Steffi sneaks in. She takes the empty desk a couple of rows in front then turns around

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and stares at meher eyes are unfocused and edged with red. I raise my eyebrows in response and she smirks and turns back.

At the end of Year Six, after the graduation dinner, Steffi and I snuck out to the bluff. We giggled at the cars parked there, the couples making out, grossing ourselves out with what they might be doing. We kicked off our shoes and lay in the grass. We talked about high school and all the grown-up stuff wed do together. Steffi gave me our letter bookwe swapped it between us every few weeks and it was my turn. Steffi always wrote way more than I did and most of it wasnt addressed to me. Shed write to the neighbours cat, to the best climbing tree and to the dad she never met.

I had big plans for the book this time. My family was camping at Treachery for Christmas and I was going to write all my letters from the point of view of a sea snail, or a bluebottle, or seaweed . . . I hadnt completely worked it out yet.

And I swear I packed it but when we got there I couldnt find it. It wasnt at home eitherId lost it. It drove me nuts because I never lost anything. Steffi said it was no big deal but there was stuff out there somewhere that shed only trusted me with.

We tried to start a new book in Year Seven but it wasnt the samewe werent the same. Id been moved into the top squad for swimming and I was training twice a day. Steffi hated sport, all of it. She always picked beach running for her elective and would lie on the sand and read a book.

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When I made it to Zone for backstroke, Megan started talking to me.

I kept asking Steffi to sit with us but she refused. And I was a bit relieved. Steffi didnt get it: the constant training and swimming obsession. But Megan did. We were wrapped in each others lives and there wasnt much room for anyone else.

I glance at Megan. Shes absorbed in the lesson, forehead creased as she writes, her other hand on her head smoothing back nonexistent stray hairs. She turns towards me and I refocus on my own work. All Ive written is the lesson topic and Ive no idea what were supposed to be doing. I tap the page with my pen, underline the heading and draw a flower.

The bell rings and I escape the classroom before Megan can catch up to me. Everyone spills out into the quad and I join the swarm of students heading for the bus stops.

Hey Lucy, hey. Alix spots me in the crowd, bouncing over and linking arms with me. She slugs water from her sports bottle and offers me some. I squirt the lukewarm water in my mouth and hand it back.

You heading home? she asks, shaking her bottle over her head and sending drops of water down her face. How hot does it wanna be? I need to get in the pool before I melt. Oh sorry, she lets go of my arm, I didnt mean to

Its fine. You can mention the pool. I give her a reas-suring smile. Im not gonna freak out.

Youre sure?Yes. I steal her bottle and squirt her with it. She yelps

and jumps back.

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Oh, wait, wait, she laughs, tying her hair back and leaning forward. See if you can get it in my mouth.

We reach my bus stop giggling and half soaked. A bunch of boys near us cut off their conversation to check out Alix.

What are you doing tonight? I ask her.Ooh nothing, why? Well, theres this party andThere you are! Megan barges over to us. Ive been

looking all over for you, she says to Alix. Mums waiting in the car park.

Oh, sorry. I was just talking to Lucy.Megan directs her glare at me. Hi, I say.So, youre talking to me again now?Im sorry, all right? Its been a weird week. I dont

know why Im apologising when shes the one who barely spoke to me for two months.

Anyway, we should get going. Her voice takes on an odd, breathy note as if shes forcing herself to be nice to me.

Ill text you about tonight, I say to Alix.Megans eyes narrow. Whats happening tonight?Were going to a party, Alix says, her face lighting up.At the cove? Her eyes slide to me. You have work

to do. With Lucy out of commission you need all the training you can get.

Ill go after. Alix shrugs but her high voice betrays her.

What was your best time this week?

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Alix blows out a breath and focuses on the road beyond Megan. 1.16.

Still so far from what she needs to qualify for Nationals.You need to focus, Megan says, gently. Youre not

getting any faster, Al. Megan turns back to me. Enjoy the party, she says and stalks off.

Shes right, Alix says, staring after Megan.I squeeze her hand. Youll get there.She turns back to me with her big doe eyes. Id rather

get drunk and kiss boys.

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PiecesOfSky_TXT_WR.pdfPart TitleTitle PageDedication12345678910111213141516171819202122232425262728293031Gratitude

PiecesOfSky_TXT_WR.pdfPart TitleTitle PageDedication12345678910111213141516171819202122232425262728293031Gratitude