…I thought it was bad last year when I pranged my Mum's car. But this! This is the pits. For starters I failed Year Eleven. Mum was being understanding, discussing my options, saying to decide what I want to do and she'll support me in my decision. It spaced me out severely.

So I headed up to Dad's, to NSW. He's at an artists’ retreat thing. Mum gave me the el-cheapo fare. One way. ‘Peregrine,’ she tells me, ‘if your Dad wants to send you back, let him fork out the money.’

…‘Perr! Help me! This wild animal's eating my top.’

‘He's got good taste, Sonya.’ She's rolling on the veranda and Jordan's bouncing across her with a mouthful of T-shirt material. I head for the kitchen to put my mind on food, but she follows me inside.

…A grey Holden ute pulls out from the opposite curb, starting a U-ey, lumbering across the road like an old cow. Ash screams. The Harley tyres scream. Steven swerves to go behind the ute but the guy suddenly stops.

We were running by the time the thump of air knocked us.