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‘Careful!’ I said. ‘You’ll tear it.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Miranda. ‘I’ve changed my mind about wearing it anyway.’ She dumped the bag on the floor.

I fiddled with my spoon. The anaesthetic from the day’s fun was wearing off now and I found myself missing Ami. Maybe it was because I hadn’t thought of her for a few hours but the
ache felt more intense than it had been for some weeks. I longed to be at home, curled up in my tent, listening to music.

Then Miranda sat up, her sulky expression gone. ‘I know,’ she said excitedly. ‘I can borrow something of yours.’

‘You’re not serious, are you?’ I said, surprised. ‘All my stuff comes from the op shop.’

‘You big wonk, that’s called
vintage
now,’ said Miranda. ‘And you’ve got a great eye for it. Your look – well, it’s unique. I like
that.’

I could see Miranda’s face in the handle of my spoon, her expression eager. ‘I mean, I understand if you feel funny about me borrowing anything …’

‘It’s no problem,’ I said. To be honest I felt flattered that Miranda actually wanted to wear my things. Honoured, even. ‘Do you want to come back to my place?’

Miranda did baby-claps. ‘That would be
so
great!’ she said. ‘Now, are you ready to run again? They’ve probably figured out by now that the Kramer-Berkell tab
doesn’t exist …’

Miranda’s
up
mood continued all the way home. She kept me entertained by doing imitations of the people sitting around us – the woman who kept sniffing and
dabbing her nose with a disgusting hankie, the old man muttering to himself, the guy whose head was falling forward as he nodded off to sleep – until I ached from the effort of holding in my
laughter. I was so distracted by her kidding around that it wasn’t until we were on my street that my nerves kicked in. How would Toby react to Miranda? And what would Miranda think of my
kooky mum? It could be a huge disaster.

‘Our place is pretty messy and disorganised,’ I said.

Miranda snorted. ‘Wait till you see Oona’s place.’

‘Also, my little brother gets a bit shy around people he doesn’t know,’ I said. ‘Don’t take it personally. Oh and whatever you do, don’t swear in front of my
mum. She hates it. Even “bitch” sends her over the edge.’

Miranda draped her arm across my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to sneer at your house or tease your brother. And I’m definitely not going
to call anyone a bitch, OK? We’ll get along fine. Just wait and see.’

Mum was doing a yoga stretch at the kitchen bench when we came in. If she was surprised to see Miranda Vaile – the girl I’d been
bullying
– she didn’t show it. She
just straightened up and said hi in this very casual way, like me bringing friends home was a regular occurrence. Then Miranda did an equally impressive job of admiring our ramshackle, disorganised
house and Mum’s collection of
world ornaments
– the sort of things that people buy when holidaying in exotic places, except that Mum hadn’t actually been anywhere. She just
bought things online.

‘I’m sure you lived in some really amazing places when you were in Europe,’ said Mum. ‘Can you speak any other languages?’ This was one of my mum’s biggest
dreams and she had a whole shelf devoted to language CDs, dictionaries and teach-yourself books. Not that she ever found time to use them. I looked at them way more than she did.

‘Yes,’ said Miranda. ‘What would you like to hear?’

‘Oh, just say whatever you like,’ said Mum, flapping her hands. ‘I won’t understand it anyway.’

‘No,’ said Miranda patiently. ‘I meant what
language
would you like to hear?’

Mum pressed her fingers together. ‘Which is your favourite? You choose,’ she said in this hushed voice.

‘It depends,’ said Miranda. ‘I like explaining things in German but I always daydream in French.’

Mum’s eyes went all soft. ‘Who wouldn’t daydream in French,’ she said, ‘if they could?’ The oven timer buzzed and Mum grabbed a wooden spoon. ‘Are you
joining us for dinner, Miranda? It’s pumpkin and fava-bean stew.’

Miranda shook her head politely. ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘but I’m going out tonight.’

‘Oh, what a shame,’ said Mum. ‘I had so many more things to ask you. How do you like the school?’

Miranda glanced at me and smiled. ‘Well, it’s way better now that I’m friends with Olive.’

I saw Mum’s expression shift. It was only a small change – one that most people wouldn’t have even noticed. But I knew what it meant. Miranda couldn’t have said anything
to make Mum happier.

The kitchen door swung back and Toby rushed in with Ralph galloping along behind. ‘Olive!’ said Toby breathlessly. ‘Guess what I’ve taught Ralph to –’ He
stopped short when he spotted Miranda.

‘Toby,’ I said. ‘This is Miranda. From school.’

Without saying a word, Toby turned and dashed back out again, Ralph following.

‘Whoa,’ said Miranda. ‘He
is
shy.’

‘Sorry about that,’ I said. ‘Hang on. I’ll go and sort it out.’

I found Toby in our watermelon-slaughter corner, hunched up, head on his knees. Ralphy was snuffling around, chewing on old rinds.

Toby looked up at me as I came close, his eyes wide with alarm. ‘Why is
she
here?’ he whispered. ‘She’s the shapeshifter!’

I sat down beside him, between the dried remains of watermelons gone by. ‘Tobes, there’s no such thing as a shapeshifter. It was just a dumb thing I believed when my medication
wasn’t right.’

‘Are you
friends
with her now or something?’ said Toby, accusingly. ‘It looks like you are.’

I thought about this. Were we friends? I still wasn’t sure I trusted Miranda, but I’d had a great day with her. The best in a long time. I suddenly felt annoyed with Toby, like he
was trying to take something from me. ‘Miranda’s just come over to borrow some clothes,’ I said, straightening up. ‘It’s no big deal, Tobes.’

‘You’re not supposed to give her your things!’ he said anxiously. ‘That’s how she’ll
get
you. That’s what you said!’

I brushed off some watermelon pips from my jeans, deeply regretting that I’d ever told him anything about shifters. ‘She’s not going to
get
me,’ I said. ‘You
have to forget all that. Now come in and be nice. Or I’ll never play kill-the-watermelon again.’

I held out my hand. For a moment Toby just sat there, not moving, but then he stood up. He refused to hold my hand but he followed me back inside.

When we came back into the kitchen, Mum was showing Miranda her
Cooking with Root Vegetables
cookbook. Somehow Miranda had managed to stay awake and keep smiling.

‘Toby’s got something to say,’ I said.

‘Hello,’ mumbled Toby, trying to drill his shoe into the kitchen tiles. ‘
Verynicetomeetyou
.’

Miranda came over and squatted down next to Ralph. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked, holding her hand out towards our dog, who sniffed at it gingerly, his tail and ears down.

Toby gave me an agonised look.
Go on,
I urged him with my eyes.

‘Ralph,’ muttered Toby.

‘He looks smart,’ said Miranda. It was obviously a lie and I could tell that Toby hadn’t fallen for it, but he nodded tightly. I decided it was time to let him off the
hook.

I turned to Miranda. ‘Ready to look for clothes?’

When we first got to my room, Miranda spent ages just walking around – examining every ornament, every detail.

‘I haven’t seen one of these for ages!’ she said, picking up my Magic 8 Ball and shaking it. ‘Will Olive and I be friends forever?’ she intoned dramatically.

There was that word again.
Friends.
It sounded less weird every time I heard it but there was something about it that niggled at me. Maybe it made me feel guilty – that I was
somehow betraying Ami.

Miranda smiled as she watched the answer appear. ‘All signs point to yes.’

‘How about asking it what you should borrow for your date?’ I said.

Miranda dropped the 8 Ball on my bed and went over to the wardrobe. ‘I don’t need a toy to tell me that,’ she said, flinging the doors open. She went through my stuff
methodically – taking an item out, examining it with an expert eye and then returning it to the wardrobe.

Eventually she held up the skirt that I’d worn on the first night of the Retro Horror Film-Fest. ‘Now
this
is lush,’ she pronounced.

‘Really?’ I said. ‘I thought I was the only person in the world who would like that skirt.’

‘The wonks around here wouldn’t have a clue. Take it from me, this is a classic piece.’ Miranda examined the label. ‘You’d get a heap for it on eBay.’

‘I knew it!’ I said.

‘Uh-oh,’ said Miranda, hand covering her mouth. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. You won’t lend it to me now, will you?’

‘Sure I will. So long as you don’t sell it,’ I said, grinning. ‘But it’s going to be too big for you.’

‘I can pin it,’ said Miranda. ‘It’s perfect.’

She found a couple of other things she liked – a stretchy top to go with the skirt, and a necklace I’d made myself out of a couple of broken bracelets. I put on some music and
stretched out on the cushions on the floor while she rifled, feeling something I hadn’t felt in ages. Happy. I mean, I’d often felt happy when I hung out with Ami, but this was
different. Ami
had
to like me, after all. Miranda didn’t. If anything, she had lots of reasons
not
to like me – after what I accused her of. Yet here we were, getting
along better and better. And it all felt so normal.

‘What’s this?’ asked Miranda, holding up a bundle wrapped in a scarf.

I stared, breath catching in my throat. My Proof. How had she found it? I thought I’d hidden so carefully. ‘Put that down!’

The sharpness of my voice made Miranda jump and the bundle came apart in her hands. The contents tumbled to the floor – things I hadn’t looked at in months. Photos of my family
having a picnic on the beach last summer. The dog-eared card with the picture of the little girl holding a basket of flowers.
You’re Five Today!
A charm bracelet that had fallen free
of the crumpled pink T-shirt I’d wrapped it in.

Miranda bent down and began picking up the things one by one, turning them over in her hands. ‘What
is
this stuff?’

‘Nothing,’ I snapped. I wanted to snatch everything away from her and hold it all to my chest. The old feelings surged upwards, threatening to spill over.

Miranda opened the card and I felt that I could hear the words in my head as she read them silently.
Happy birthday, Pet. I love you more than you’ll ever know.

She picked up the bracelet next. It twinkled as she turned it around in the light. ‘This is so pretty. You should wear it.’

I shook my head. ‘No. I can’t.’ It’s not a good idea to wear things that make you cry.

Miranda’s eyes turned to mine. ‘It’s from your dad, isn’t it?’

‘He
did
love me you know,’ I said fiercely. ‘Once. These things prove it.’

Miranda laid the bracelet down. ‘Of course he did.’ Her voice was soft and soothing. ‘Was he …’ she hesitated. ‘Was it because he left that you – you know
– made that suicide attempt?’

My
attempt.
That was how the doctors always described it. It hadn’t felt to me like I’d been attempting anything. It felt like the opposite. I fiddled with my sleeve.

I’d done a great job of hiding the anger and depression. I worked hard at making it look like my life was the same happy, shiny thing that everyone had always admired. Beautiful, popular,
clever little Olive. But inside, I didn’t feel like that. And the more time that passed, the more I felt like I was a fraud. Playing the part of someone I wasn’t. It was terrifying
– if I wasn’t the person everyone thought I was, then who was I?

At school I managed –
just
– to keep the illusion going that nothing had changed. But at home it was impossible. The black, angry feelings would swell up inside me as I walked
through the front door and some evenings I could barely speak. Mum just kept pushing vitamins into me and pretending it was all fine. But not Dad. I could tell that I was letting him down. By the
time he left, he wouldn’t even look me in the eye.