‘Zac, do you know what’s going on with Georgia?’
In his mind’s eye he sees a gun moving towards him, the safety uncocked. It brings him to full alert. He tries to arrange his face into a neutral expression while he considers the answer she might accept, the one that will buy him time. Is she referring to the hit-and-run, or has she discovered Georgia’s secret for herself?
‘What do you mean?’ he asks. He’s so tempted to divulge what he knows, but such a stand will mean taking sides. He isn’t ready to give Georgia up, although he’s not sure which of their skins he is trying to save.
He isn’t off the hook. His mother’s eyes have narrowed, scrutinising him, searching for any nervous tic that might betray weakness. Right now she is a bloodhound, sniffing for the scent of a lie. Any sign of it and she’ll attack.
He ignores the temptation to cower and forces himself to relax.
‘I’m asking whether you know if Georgia is in any trouble.’
‘Why don’t you ask her?’
‘Don’t worry, I will. But I’m not sure she’ll talk to me.’
Does she realise he had avoided answering the question?
Before they can say any more to one another, there are lights on the driveway, stealing into the lounge. Anya goes to the window. ‘It’s Dad – and Georgia too.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Don’t mention anything about what just happened here to Georgia until I’ve talked to Dad. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
She marches through to the hallway. Zac follows. There are footsteps, shadowy figures beyond the glass pane at the front door. His mother waits just behind it, as taut as a tiger ready to pounce.
His dad walks through first. ‘Hello,’ he says, seeming bemused at seeing them both standing there. ‘Not often we get a welcome committee, is it, Georgia?’
‘Nope.’ Georgia doesn’t look at any of them, just unloops her scarf from around her neck and hangs it on a hook, then begins to unbutton her coat.
‘How was Bethany’s?’
Georgia stares at her mother. ‘Fine.’
‘So,’ his dad says as he swaps his shoes for slippers. ‘What’s been going on here, then?’
As he asks the question, he looks at Zac, who realises that if he is to say anything it will have to be a lie. He can’t bear it. ‘I’m going to my room,’ he announces, backing away before anyone can object, anger overtaking him on his run up the stairs.
Why is he being drawn into everyone else’s crappy games? He shuts the door and throws himself onto his bed. All their secrets are manipulating him, as surely as Jacinta’s knowing glances had forced him from his own bedroom a few hours ago, when he’d had to leave Maddie and her friend to gossip behind his back, while sitting on his bed, among his belongings. He had tried to wait it out, but every time the conversation took a turn towards something he could join in with, Jacinta seemed to distort it into an in-joke, leaving the girls doubled over with laughter. At first he had tried to smile, but since he had no idea what they were talking about, that made him look just as strange as the poker face he ended up with.
He expected little more from Jacinta, but what a disappointment Maddie had been. The only time she had spoken to him was to ask him if he would go downstairs and get them drinks. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t her butler, but he had a feeling that whatever he said or did would result in eye-rolling and more laughter. He had made them tea in the kitchen, and let a little bit of spittle fall into the cup decorated with barn owls, intending to hand it to Jacinta. He’d imagined the satisfaction he’d get from watching her drink it. But upstairs Maddie took them from him before he could hand them out, and he had left the room as Maddie raised the owl cup to her mouth.
Downstairs he’d had schoolwork to do, but he couldn’t focus. He’d switched on the TV and ended up watching a program about the behaviour of lemmings for a good half-hour before he decided to trawl the internet instead. Only then had he realised with a shock that he had left his phone upstairs.
How could he have been so careless, he’d thought, charging up the stairs two at a time, worry giving him the courage to enter his own room without knocking. The girls had been lying on the bed, transfixed by the phone in Maddie’s hand, and for a second his worst fears had come true. But then he’d spotted his own phone on the table where he’d left it, and he had snatched it up and walked out again. Neither of the girls had bothered to acknowledge his presence.
Once in the lounge room he had turned the phone over in his hands for a while, thinking through his options. Then he brought up Georgia’s secret photo and pressed the delete button as quickly as he could, relieved to see it swallowed by the screen. That thing was dynamite – best kept as far away as possible, or you were asking for trouble.
After a while his dad had come in. ‘Your mum’s just called, she needs a lift,’ he’d said. ‘Will you be all right here?’