“You’re probably really stoked to meet the others,” he says, and I wonder where he gets his words from.

“I guess,” I say, even though I’m shitting myself, because this is not exactly my comfort zone. But then neither is having my life streamed online, so I suppose I should get used to feeling permanently anxious on top of everything else.

“I think it’s great what you’re doing,” he says. “Trying to find him when no one else could.”

“Do you think I will?” I ask, and he smiles.

“Well, let’s hope so.”

Adrian stays quiet after that, and I know he isn’t taking me seriously. He’s making a mistake underestimating me. But this isn’t a fight worth picking.

Eventually, the others arrive: two girls and two boys.

“Welcome,” Adrian says, ushering everyone into their seats.

I sneak quick glances at each of them, catching one girl’s eye and blushing.

The silence is already awkward when Adrian says, “Let’s introduce ourselves.”

“Okay,” says a boy with hair that covers his ears and what looks like a scar creeping out from between the curls. “My name’s Lucas Newman. I’m sixteen, and I used to be on TV.”

“You’re the little kid, from that comedy,” one of the girls says, and Lucas nods.

Everyone recognizes him except me, because ten years ago, Dad and I didn’t do what normal people did.

When no one goes next, Adrian says, “Ella, how about you?”

The girl who caught my eye says, “Well, I’m Ella and I’m seventeen. I’m pregnant…except…I’ve never had sex. My dad thinks it’s an immaculate conception. It was his idea for me to do this.”

I stare at her, waiting for the punchline. But she looks deadly serious, and I wonder if she has an angle like I do or if she actually believes what she’s saying.

Ella sees me staring and smiles, but she doesn’t look happy. She looks like my nan when no one’s watching.

When Adrian asks the other boy to speak, he sighs and says, “My name’s Ryan. I’m nineteen, and my brother did something terrible.”

We all look at each other, now connected by our curiosity, until Ryan says, “He was one of the men who went into the museum. He shot everyone, then blew himself up.”

I remember that day, the breaking news, the hashtags, but it surprises me when Ryan says it was three years ago.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Ella reaches out to touch his hand, but he pulls it away.

“I’m Jess,” I say. “My mother was killed by the Magpie Man.”

Ryan looks up at me and nods, and I feel it: a moment of shared tragedy.

He reminds me of my dad: the way sorrow clings to his face, pulling on his lips and hanging heaviest in his eyes.