4
IT MUST BE 30 degrees by the time I’m boarding the bus with my precious cargo. Sun glare stings my eyes, but it feels good to have a purpose. What are you doing today, Lucy? Lying in bed and keeping an eye on the crack in the ceiling? No, actually, I decided to interpret a random act of nature as a sign from some mysterious force and I’m trying to save myself by saving this endangered bird.
I swipe my Myki and sit down the back of the bus, unwrapping a stick of the passionfruit gum that Charlie bought me last summer. I savour the faux-fruit flavour as the suburbs roll by. After twenty minutes of people getting on and off, we drive past the Frank and then into Franklin town centre. It’s nothing special. Clothes shops, cafes, bottle shops, a bank, a phone shop, a dry cleaner, the good bánh mi bakery, that one alleyway with the graffiti that’s always got broken glass on the ground. I peer into the box to check on the plains-wanderer, hoping my face is familiar enough by now that she’s not scared. She’s tucked down into a little puff ball, like cats when they do that loaf-of-bread thing.
‘Almost there,’ I tell her.
Finally we cross the freeway, drive another five minutes, then stop at the arched iron gates of Franklin Animal Sanctuary. Cool nostalgia washes over me.
I walk down the sweeping driveway lined with towering native gums, the box cradled in my arms, and breathe in the lemony-fresh scent of eucalyptus, remembering why I love it here so much. It’s an oasis, this place. An escape, as if it somehow exists outside of my normal life. I feel like I’ve left my ordinary self behind.
I know it’s somewhat uncool to admit, but I’ve always been obsessed with animals. Their uncomplicated presence, their inability to judge you, their general adorableness. As a kid I knew the names of almost every species of whale, obnoxiously reciting them at family gatherings. When I was ten, I cut off most of my hair to raise money for endangered mountain pygmy-possums. Then there were the dead skinks I collected until Mum discovered the shoe box of rotting corpses under my bed. And in year eight, before I realised it was seriously damaging my already average social standing, I volunteered in a program at school called Stream Watch, spending Wednesday lunchtimes with our geography teacher knee-deep in the mucus-green creek on the other side of our oval recording frog calls and collecting water samples. It’s borderline child abuse that Mum and Dad only ever let us have goldfish, despite my continued begging for a dog, blaming Dad’s allergies, which I’m semi-suspicious he made up. Having said that, I did harbour a secret fear that any dog would automatically prefer Charlie to me, sleeping at the foot of his bed and following him on runs, so maybe it was for the best.
I line up behind a young family. The admissions booth is housed under a huge wooden arch carved with cutesy impressions of emblematic Australian animals. This place used to be named Franklin Zoo, but they changed it for the sake of branding. Some people don’t like animals in captivity, but the sanctuary is helping save a bunch of species from extinction with the revenue they make from visitors. Besides, it’s proven that people care more about animals after they’ve seen them in real life. I mean, who could look a koala joey in the eyes then be okay with the logging of native forests?
While I wait for the family to sort out their tickets, I watch a giant TV screen displaying sanctuary updates, fundraising information, and the fact that it’s one of the kangaroo’s birthdays (um, cute!). Then a message pops up on the screen: Franklin Sanctuary is hiring. Admissions staff wanted for summer. Enquire at the entrance. My stomach does a little flip. Was that the tiniest, most minuscule flicker of excitement? Despite what Leonie kept telling me, I genuinely didn’t know I could feel something like that ever again—or if I should.
I put down my box, pull out my phone and snap a photo of the screen. I send it to Mum and Dad, telling them I’m applying, because even though I pretend to be cool I’m secretly a suck-up.
‘Just one?’
I turn towards the khaki-uniformed woman at the admissions booth. ‘Oh, no.’ I pick up my box, holding it high so she can see over the counter. ‘I have a plains-wanderer.’
Her eyes become as round as the many animal-themed badges on her shirt. ‘I’m sorry… what ? Did you say you have a plains-wanderer ? In there ?’
I lower the box slightly and swallow my passionfruit gum. ‘Um…yeah. It…it flew into my bedroom window. Last night.’
‘ Last night? ’ The woman looks more appalled than grateful and it’s only now I think I maybe-probably should have called ahead. That they maybe-definitely would have sent a qualified wildlife carer to pick up a critically endangered animal instead of letting me take it on the bus. That I probably-absolutely should have found her help right away rather than having her for a sleepover . Where the hell were Mum and Dad with that bit of parental advice?
‘It doesn’t even have any air holes!’ the woman says, leaning over to inspect my box.
She’s right. It doesn’t. I notice she has a fan blowing on her neck. It’s so hot. And I took the plains-wanderer’s water out before we left home. I really hope this woman doesn’t do the job interviews.
‘I didn’t, like, tape it up or anything,’ I say, meekly.
‘Right.’
I wither under her glaring judgment as she picks up a radio.
‘Just… don’t move ,’ she says to me, then she speaks urgently into the crackling radio. I stand there, frozen with shame, letting my thoughts spiral until my eyes prickle, and I wish I’d never got out of bed. I hate how easily I cry these days. I’m about to put the box down and run when a wire gate in a fence to my left swings open. I swiftly brush my cheek with the back of one hand and get a hold of myself.
The guy who appears looks a year or two older than me. Sandy hair, long eyelashes, blond almost-stubble. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a dorky wide-brimmed hat that he’s managing to make look cute, and a tan-coloured, Franklin Animal Sanctuary-branded shirt with the collar pulled up. Pink zinc is streaked across his cheeks.
‘So,’ he says, walking towards me. ‘Debbie says you’re trying to kill off a highly endangered native bird. What’s up with that?’
Debbie has her hands on her hips.
‘I didn’t—I wasn’t—’ I try to explain.
A smirk forms on his lips. ‘I’m sure it’s okay. Can I’ve a look?’
I hold out the box and the guy comes closer. He smells like fresh straw and oranges. As he lifts the corner of the lid and peers inside, a sanctuary visitor waiting in the admissions line cranes her head towards us curiously.
‘I think it drank some water before I left the house,’ I say, holding my breath.
‘Hey there, champ.’ He reaches in and caresses her tenderly with a finger and I swear the bird leans into his touch. Then he lifts his head and shoots a double thumbs up at Debbie. She rolls her eyes before plastering on a grin for the next visitor.
The guy turns back to me. ‘Hey, you can breathe out now. It’s all good.’
The relief is like an icy drink sliding down my throat. ‘Yeah. Okay. Cool,’ I say, but I feel a bit nauseous. Then I remember how this whole thing happened. ‘So, wait. Did Debbie tell you she flew into my window? I thought they were ground birds.’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘They are.’ Then he sees my confusion and elaborates. ‘Well, they can technically fly. They just generally choose not to. They’re way more into running and hiding.’ He looks back at the plains-wanderer. ‘She might have been spooked by something. Or maybe she was on some kind of mission.’
‘Right,’ I say, skin on the back of my neck tingling. A mission. A sign.
‘Anyway,’ the guy says, shifting his weight to the other foot. I notice how tall he is, how broad his shoulders are. ‘It’s awesome you brought her in. Thanks heaps. Each of these bird’s genetics is really valuable. If one dies, we lose those particular genes forever.’
‘Yeah,’ I mumble, half to myself. ‘I know how death works.’
His eyebrows knit together, but I can’t read the expression. ‘Right. Anyway,’ he nods at the box, ‘I’ll take her to the vet. Don’t worry, they’ll look after her.’
The guy puts his arms out and I hand over the plains-wanderer, slowly, not really wanting to let her go. I feel connected to her now. I saved her. And I kind of want to keep talking to this guy for some reason. Maybe he could help me apply for the admissions job, since I obviously won’t be doing that through Debbie .
He seems to hesitate too, but then he catches Debbie watching us and turns to go. I decide to take a chance.
‘Are you a keeper?’ I ask. He doesn’t look old enough, but he looks the type.
He turns back to me and tilts his head sideways, as if it’s a hard question to answer. ‘Um, not technically .’
A pink-zinc enigma. Interesting.
He makes to leave once more and before I can think, I’m speaking again. ‘Wait!’
He turns, looking a little amused. ‘Uh huh?’
‘Can I come with you?’ I blurt it out before I can stop myself.
He looks apologetic. ‘Ah, sorry. I’m not meant to—’
I point to the box. ‘I just…I really want to make sure she’s okay. I’m kind of attached to her.’ It’s part of the truth, at least.
He smiles like he thinks that’s sweet and seems to consider it for a moment, but then he shakes his head. ‘I really can’t. The vet’s not open to the public. Sorry.’
‘Right.’ I rack my brains, coming up with, unfortunately, the stupidest possible excuse. ‘It’s just, the box. I…I need it back.’
The guy holds it away from himself slightly, takes in the print on the cardboard, then smirks. ‘ This box? You…you need the Kitchen Ninja 5000 box back?’
I shrug, trying to appear like that’s completely normal. ‘My mum’s obsessed with keeping appliances in mint condition. She’s a real estate agent. They’re always thinking about resale value.’
The guy looks as if he might be kind of enjoying this now. He peers inside the box then back at me. ‘Hmm. I think the bird crap might have devalued it.’
I shake my head. ‘No way. Critically endangered shit? It’ll probably go for double on Weird Animal People Who Also Need Overpriced Blenders eBay.’
He laughs, a deep-light sound, then looks into my eyes for a second, weighing something up. I give him my best zero-trouble smile. He glances at Debbie, who’s now busy selling tickets, then, finally, he gives in. ‘All right. But we’ve gotta be quick.’
I bite my lip so I don’t grin too hard. ‘Sure. Of course.’
He opens the wire gate he came through. ‘I’m Ben, by the way,’ he says.
‘I’m Lucy,’ I reply.