Shift
Authors: Em Bailey
First published in Australia 2011
by Hardie Grant Egmont
Published in Great Britain 2012
by Electric Monkey – an imprint of Egmont UK Limited
239 Kensington High Street, London W8 6SA
Text copyright © Em Bailey 2012
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
ISBN 978 1 4052 6116 6
eISBN 978 1 7803 1083 1
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system,
without the prior written permission of the publisher.
For Jim and Julie
Contents
There were two things everyone knew about Miranda Vaile before she’d even started at our school. The first was that she had no parents – they were dead. And the
second was that they were dead because Miranda had killed them.
When these rumours started spreading, people got all steamed up about it, saying it was disgusting that she was allowed to come here and, you know, mix with us nice, non-murderous types.
Not everyone felt like that, though. Personally, I couldn’t wait to meet her. As I said to Ami, what kind of wonk
wouldn’t
want to meet someone who sounded halfway
interesting? Of course, maybe that just showed I didn’t belong at our school either.
One night, my little brother Toby woke up screaming in the darkness. He hadn’t done that for weeks, and somehow that made it worse. I’d been stupid enough to think
that maybe Toby was finally accepting that Dad had gone. I thought maybe the nightmares had finished for good. After the screaming, Toby cried. Cried like a baby. I sat beside him feeling like I
might sink into the sadness of it and never escape.
Mum appeared in Toby’s room moments after I did, the hallway light shining behind her. Standing there in her baggy T-shirt, she looked even more like Toby than usual. Small and delicate,
with these big, grey-blue eyes and that fine, fair sort of hair that always sits smoothly, even when you’ve been woken in the middle of the night.
It used to bother me that I didn’t look like anyone else in my family and I’d examine photos, searching for similarities. A nose, ears, the curve of a jaw. Anything that resembled
me. But there was never anything. In the end I quit looking.
‘It’s OK,’ I said to Mum. ‘You go back to bed. I’m good at calming him.’ That was true. But there was another reason I wanted to stay. It was my duty. Because
it was my fault Tobes was in this state in the first place.
I snuggled up next to him, our heads side by side on his pillow like two pupils in the one eye socket. He finally drifted off. But there was no chance of me doing the same – I was way too
keyed up. So I just lay there, looking at the model solar system he’d made in grade two. Waiting out the night, and thinking about all the things that had happened.
I don’t remember much about the next morning. Not Showering or Having Breakfast or Taking My Meds or any of that stuff which must have happened because that’s what
mornings were about. You Did Something, then you Did Something Else. I was supposed to congratulate myself for every little accomplishment.
Good job getting out of your PJs! Eaten all your
toast? Nice work, you!
Baby steps, Dr Richter called them. But people seemed to forget that babies fall over all the freakin time.
But I do remember the rush of relief when I got to school and found Ami waiting for me. Ami, who I
did
look like – even though we weren’t related. We had the same black eyes
and freakishly long lashes. The same short, mussy dark hair, although hers looked like it was meant to be mussy and mine looked like I’d slept on it funny. We had our differences too, of
course. Her skin was blemish-free and her uniform didn’t strain and bulge the way mine did. But the biggest differences were things you couldn’t see. I mean, if I’d been alone
like that in front of the lockers, I would’ve looked like a complete loser. Not Ami. She was standing there, calmly watching everyone swarm around her with this big grin – like the
whole thing was some special event put on for her amusement. The group of non-stop chatterers. The panicked last-minute homework-finishers. The tracksuit-wearing cretins who’d nicked some
poor kid’s bag and were chucking it around. The smoochy year nine couple weaving their way down the hall, stopping every few seconds to exchange saliva.
As I came up, Ami inhaled deeply. ‘Smell that?’ she said. ‘The
shtink
of Monday morning. What’s in it? Sweat, of course. Smoke. Hair products. But there’s
something else …’
The smoochy couple from the year below walked right into me. It’s hard to walk straight when your lips are fused to someone else’s. The guy’s elbow dug into my arm.
‘Sorry,’ he said, laughing. ‘We weren’t –’
When he realised who he’d jabbed, he edged away like he might catch something. ‘Oh,’ he muttered. ‘I’m –’
His girlfriend tugged his arm. ‘Come
on
.’
Ami turned to me as they hurried off. ‘
Pheromones
,’ she said. ‘That’s the other smell.’
I let my bag slide off my shoulder and fall to the ground. I rested my head against the wall. ‘I can’t smell anything,’ I said. My nose was blocked. My lungs too. I was
drowning in myself. I felt Ami examine my washed-out face. My hair sticking out in dark, wilted quills. The smears of black beneath my eyes.
‘Bad night, huh?’
‘You could say that.’ I bent down and unzipped my bag.
Ami sat down beside me. ‘Toby?’
I put my hands up to my face, palms together like I was praying. Or sneezing.
Keep it together.
‘Shouldn’t it be easier by now?’ I said. ‘It’s been six
months. Almost seven.’
‘Olive,’ said Ami, steady and firm as a heartbeat. ‘It’ll get better. Easier. I can promise you that. I’ve been through it too, remember.’
I wanted to believe her.
Ami took my hand, her fingers folding around mine. The smooth, perfect nails at the end of each long, elegant finger made my hands look even more stumpy and chewed-on. ‘Hey,’ she
said. ‘If I can make it, why wouldn’t you?’
There were about a thousand reasons why. Ami was a coper for one thing. She adapted and evolved. She could shift her mind so she didn’t just focus on the bad stuff. Not exactly my
strengths. Then there was the other thing. Yes, Ami’s dad had left, just like mine had. But it hadn’t been Ami’s fault.
