Only Daughter. Anna Snoekstra

tired suddenly.”

      Lizzie stopped and looked at her with genuine worry.

      “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

      “Yeah,” Bec said, although she didn’t really feel it.

      Lizzie pulled her into a quick, tight hug. It was too hot for anything longer.

      “Call me if you change your mind about stayin’ at mine, okay?”

      “All right, thanks,” she said.

      Bec sat on the bus, her panic growing. It was taking forever, stopping every few blocks to let someone on. They might as well not have bothered with air conditioning; every time the doors swung open the hot wind blew in. Riding the wind was the faint but sharp smell of something burning; the bushfires. Bec wrinkled her nose. She’d been worried when she first saw an article about it in The Canberra Times. A black-and-white photograph of a raging fire on page four. She usually didn’t read the paper, but she’d read this article. No one seemed to think it was a big deal, or maybe they were just distracted by everything else that was going on. Right next to the article was a full-page advertisement: “If You See Something, Say Something,” run in large bold letters. She knew all about that. If she’d called the number underneath she’d have a one-in-ten chance of talking to her mom. It was the new anti-terrorist campaign that seemed to be everywhere right now. Not just in the paper but on billboards and on television. To make it worse, her mom would come home from work with endless dumb long-winded stories of people spying on their neighbours. Bec had no idea about politics and stuff like that. Still, it seemed strange to her that people were more worried about their neighbour’s new car than a fire so close you could actually smell it.

      Bec didn’t even thank the driver as she got off the bus. She charged up the street to her house. When she was halfway she started to run, not caring about ruining her hair and sweating through her makeup. The scorching-hot air blew hard against her face, stinging her eyes, but she didn’t care. Nothing was more important than knowing if the money was still there. She kept running until she was on her doorstep, pulling out her keys, slamming the door behind her.

      “It was just a joke!” she heard Andrew whine from the kitchen.

      “It’s not funny.” She hesitated on the foot of the stairs. Her dad sounded really angry.

      “Don’t be too hard on them.” Her mother’s voice was quiet. “They’re just kids. They don’t understand.”

      “You’re so weak,” he said quietly.

      She didn’t want to hear this; she ran up the stairs two at a time.

      “Bec?” she heard her mom call from downstairs. She ignored her, flinging open the door to her room and grabbing her talking Cabbage Patch doll from on top of the chest of drawers. Hiking up the dress, she pulled open the Velcro patch at the back, where the battery pack was meant to fit inside. Instead there was the yellow and orange of twenty- and fifty-dollar notes. Thank God. It was her pay for the whole of last year. Almost six thousand dollars pressed tightly inside the belly of her toy. She heard the slow, steady steps of her mom on the stairs. She carefully put the doll back into place and pulled the dress out of her handbag, holding it up in front of herself and looking in the mirror.

      “Are you all right? Why are you running around for?” her mom asked, eyeing the dress.

      “I wanted to try it on again,” she said, smiling. “What’s going on, anyway?”

      Her mother looked at her hands.

      “Paul and Andrew have been sneaking into the neighbours’ house, apparently. Max said that he caught them under his bed whispering.”

      “Whispering?”

      “They were pretending to be the voices in his head.” Her mother sighed. “They’re just too young to understand. They think it’s a joke. They say it’s okay because he’s crazy.”

      “Well, Max is crazy, isn’t he?” Bec asked, still looking at the reflected dress. She wanted to point out that if her mom let the boys out a bit more, then they probably wouldn’t have done it.

      “No, he’s sick. He’s schizophrenic.”

      Bec was pretty sure that schizophrenic meant crazy but she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Her mom’s eyes focused on the dress.

      “Oh, Bec, that looks really expensive.”

      “It’s Scanlan & Theodore and you don’t want to know how much it cost,” Bec said, raising her eyebrows.

      Her mother folded her arms.

      “You work so much and then blow your paychecks as soon as they come in. You could save up for something really nice.”

      “This is really nice!” Bec said, feigning offense, but inside she felt smug. This was getting too easy.

      “Well, I guess it’s your money. But don’t go running around the place. You’ll get heatstroke,” her mom said, walking out of the room and closing the door behind her with a soft click.

      Bec felt guilty for a second as she looked at herself in the mirror, the stolen dress hanging down in front of her, her hair frizzy and her face shiny. But then she caught sight of the reflection of the Cabbage Patch doll and all she could feel was triumph.