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‘Oh, mate,’ I said, wrapping my arm around him. ‘Ami has gone. For good.’

On the ground, the game continued bleeping and Toby pushed at it with his foot. ‘I’ll miss her,’ he mumbled. ‘Miss
hearing about
her, I mean. Mum said I’m
not supposed to say that but it’s true.’

‘I’ll miss her too,’ I said, my throat aching. ‘Heaps. But you know, she was just me, really. And I’m still around.’

Toby looked up at me and I was relieved to see a small but cheeky grin on his face. ‘Ami was
way
funnier than you,’ he said. ‘And smarter.’

I gave him a playful push. ‘Ha!’

Toby’s smile faded. ‘Why did you do that stuff, Olive?’

‘What stuff?’

‘Mum said you were picking on a girl at school, calling her names and spreading nasty stories about her. She said that you only did it because you were taking the wrong vitamins. Is that
true?’

I shoved a piece of orange in my mouth, sucking the juice out until I felt I could trust my voice enough to speak again. ‘I wasn’t picking on Miranda, Tobes. I … I made a
mistake. I got it in my head that she was a shapeshifter. Which is … kind of a thief, I guess, but they don’t just steal people’s stuff, they steal their personalities and looks
too. If you let them. I thought she was trying to kill Katie.’

Toby looked at me, surprised. ‘Why?’

I sighed. ‘I looked up some dumb website. But it wasn’t true.’

Toby frowned. ‘Well, what is she then?’ he asked, his voice serious. ‘If she’s not a shapeshifter, what is she?’

‘She’s just an ordinary person,’ I said.

Maybe if I said it enough times I would start to believe it.

It’s strange how different a place can look, even when you’ve only been away a week. I mean, there are the things that actually
have
changed – like the
grass has grown or someone has replaced the old, curling ‘no junk mail’ sticker on the letterbox with a new one. But then there’s the other stuff. The things that just don’t
match with the picture you’ve carried of them in your mind.

When we pulled up in the driveway of our house that afternoon, I noticed for the first time that there was moss growing on the roof. Heaps of it. Then as we walked inside I saw how worn out the
carpet was in the hallway. The floorboards creaked too – had they always done that? Even Ralphie looked different. Shaggier. Greyer.

I took my stuff to my bedroom, feeling the familiar relief as I got closer to shutting myself inside. But like the rest of the house, my fortune-teller tent bedroom was looking very shabby. The
red velvet curtains were covered in dust and had come unfastened from the wall in places.

I picked up the Magic 8 Ball and gave it a shake. ‘Should I redo my room?’

The words slowly floated up in the green plastic answer window.
Maybe later.
I smiled. Sensible object, that 8 Ball. I put it back and floomped onto my bed, put on some music. Last time I
came back from the clinic, there’d been one song, ‘Celladora’, that I listened to over and over. This time I chose a different track. Number three, ‘Steeple Chaser’. I
lay back on the bed and closed my eyes.

‘Knock knock.’ Mum stuck her head between the curtains. ‘Can I come in?’

I sat up. ‘Sure.’

Mum sat down and pulled one of the cushions into her lap. She seemed kind of nervous or something, fidgeting with the cushion’s zip in this annoying way. Weird how I’d begun noticing
all these funny little habits in the people around me since the clinic.

‘Noah called,’ she said. ‘He’s wondering if you could work on Saturday. If you’re over your, ah, flu.’

I lay back down again. ‘Actually, I thought I might take a few weeks off.’

Mum unzipped the cushion, then zipped it up again. ‘Dr Richter thinks it’s a good idea for you to get back into things as soon as possible.’

Of course Dr Richter would think that. Dr Richter has never experienced date night at the Mercury. Especially when you no longer have your best friend there to help you get through.

‘I’ll see how I’m feeling,’ I said.

Mum nodded. I kind of hoped she’d go then, so I could get on with lying on my bed listening to music. But she stayed there, zipping and unzipping. ‘I called the school too,’
she said after a moment. ‘I spoke with Mrs Deane to let her know you’ll be back next week.’

‘I bet she was thrilled to hear it,’ I said. ‘Did she update you on all the
goss
?’ That was a joke, obviously. Because if there had been any goss it would’ve
all been about me.

‘Actually there was something,’ said Mum. ‘It’s about Katie Clarke.’

‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘Katie is threatening to leave school if I’m allowed back in.’

Zip. Unzip. Zip.

I was on the point of pulling that freakin cushion out of Mum’s hands when she added quietly, ‘Olive, I have some very bad news.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Katie is
dead.’

Katie Clarke had died of heart failure. That was the official story, at any rate. Apparently her rapid weight loss put strain on her heart and it suddenly just gave up. It had
happened in the early evening, during the dinner period. By the time the doctors got to her, it was too late. Only Miranda had been there to witness her passing.

At least she wasn’t alone
– that’s what everyone kept saying.

The memorial service was at school the following Monday. At first I was going, then I wasn’t, then I finally decided that I would. I arrived deliberately late – after everyone else
had already gone into the hall – and hung at the back. The entire school was crammed in there and it was stuffy as hell. A few faces turned around as I walked in but I kept my eyes straight
ahead – just in case one of the faces was Lachlan’s. By now he must have found out, like everyone, about my
temporary conscious psychosis.
I wasn’t ready for the look on
his face when he realised I was back. Now that he knew he’d been chatting up the school nutcase.

Katie’s family were sitting up the front. Katie’s mum was flagpole-straight but her dad was sagging in his seat, like he’d been deflated. Between them was Katie’s little
sister, Hannah. She kept turning in her seat to sneak glances at all of us. She’d grown heaps since I’d last seen her. She looked like Katie did when we’d first become
friends.

Directly behind them was Miranda, her head slightly bowed. What was different about her? Her hair looked a little lank and unwashed.
But that’s not surprising, is it?
I imagined Dr
Richter saying.
For someone who has just lost her best friend?
It wasn’t just her hair – even the way she sat seemed different, as did the small movements she made in her seat.
She seemed … sad.

A thought appeared in my mind. One Dr Richter would not have approved of.
She’s just pretending.
I shoved the thought away. Stuff like that was not going to help me get away from
this place.

Miranda is not dangerous.
This had to be my mantra from now on.
She’s just a normal girl. Bitchy, but normal.

We sang a hymn – awkwardly because no-one knew the words – and sat there in silence while
Goodbye England’s Rose
was played over the PA system, even though Katie was
neither English nor particularly rose-like. Then Mrs Deane stood on the stage and spoke about Katie. She abandoned her usual clipped, precise talking style for once and went on and on about how
Katie had been an
integral part of the school.
How she’d shown an
avid interest
in everything that was going on around her. She talked about how many people had admired Katie.
How we’d all looked up to her. ‘Katie was a role model for so many students,’ she said.

It was like listening to a fairytale – one that began
long, long ago
…

I zoned out, unable to stand it. But the moment Mrs Deane’s voice faded to a background buzz I found my own Katie memories rising. The sleepovers in primary school where we’d spend
the entire night planning for high school and agonising over how terrible it would be if we didn’t end up in the same class. Our first solo trip to the Mercury together – when Katie had
laughed so hard that popcorn had flown from her mouth and landed in the hair of the guy in front of us. All the school events we’d organised together and how I’d teased her about her
obsession with details.

It was strange thinking over those things. Stuff I hadn’t thought about for ages. It reminded me how for a long time, it had felt really good being friends with Katie. And then, when
things started to go bad – when the person I was inside no longer matched the way I looked – I’d hidden it from her for as long as I could.

Despite myself, I believed what she’d said in the hospital, about not telling everyone that I’d tried to kill myself. Katie Courtney Clarke could be shallow and self-centred, but she
wasn’t a liar. The old Olive was the one who was manipulative, deceitful and mean, and I’d projected all of that onto Katie.

When I tuned back in again, Mrs Deane was speaking directly to Katie’s family. Katie’s mother had started making little noises, horribly private sounds that it felt wrong to be
hearing.

‘I’m sure I’m not the only one here who feels that our school will be a much darker place without your daughter’s sunny smile,’ said Mrs Deane. ‘We are glad
we had the chance to be warmed by it.’ Mrs Deane’s eyes moved away from the Clarkes and swept the hall. ‘For those who were close to Katie, the upcoming months will be
particularly hard,’ she said. ‘We will support you as much as we can.’

Miranda’s head stayed bowed, her hair falling down over her face.

There was another hymn and that was it. Katie Clarke was gone. The double doors were opened wide and everyone filed out – clearly relieved to escape from the stifling room. I stood at the
back, watching them all leave, wondering if I should go and say something to Katie’s family. But what would I say exactly? That I was sorry? It sounded so stupid. It would be better just to
slip off with everyone else.

As I stood there dithering, I found myself looking right into Miranda’s eyes. From across the room they looked kind of cloudy. And then, her face began to fold up.
She’s going to
cry,
I thought.
Maybe she really did care about Katie.

But Miranda didn’t cry. Instead, her mouth widened into a yawn – big and luxurious. When she’d finished, she gave me a little smile. I looked away, my heart pounding.

I squashed myself back into my old routine as best I could. In class I perfected my
paying attention
face. I did just enough homework to avoid being hassled by our new
substitute teacher in home room. I stacked cups and scooped popcorn at the Mercury. My meds were ingested at regular intervals. I made it through each day like this, being measured and controlled.
I tried not to think, and the only time I allowed myself to feel anything was when I burrowed into bed at night and put myself to sleep by listening to Luxe. Luxe was the one good thing in my
day.

At school I slunk from class to class with my headphones on, although strangely no-one seemed to be gossiping as much as I’d thought they would. I’d steeled myself for the whispering
and rapid changes of conversation when I entered a room, but for some reason it didn’t happen. It was almost like they didn’t know about Ami, and what I’d said to Miranda –
even though that had to be impossible.