One weekend, my mate Nathan came out from town with this drone that he and his father had put together. We took it down by the river, and got it flying. ‘We should look for pot plantations,’ Nathan said.

‘Yeah, and what would you do if you found one?’

Nathan shrugged. ‘Keep my mouth shut, probably.’

I’d tell Dad. We’ve talked about it. He said if anyone offers me dope, I can always tell them I’ve got this medical condition, and I’ll get really sick if I smoke it. Nobody’s given me any, luckily.

The drone was cool. We went over to the rocks, where you get a good view up the river, to see how far we could send it. It went buzzing away towards the swamp.

A hawk hovered in the sky above the flax and reeds. There’s always a hawk there: never more than one. It came swooping down towards the drone, and Nathan yelled ‘Aw, no! It’ll smash it!’ But the big bird just circled once, then glided back over the swamp. We turned the drone away.

Then on Monday, I just happened to sit down across the aisle of the school bus from Melody, and she went ‘Hi, Callum. Someone was flying one of those drone things up the river on Saturday.’

I opened my mouth to say that I was the expert pilot, and she should come and watch us. But she was still talking. ‘Nana says some of the elders at the marae were upset. The swamp is special. They don’t like the idea of anyone invading it.’

She didn’t say any more; just gave me the smile that makes my stomach flip. I decided then and there I’d never fly any drones again. ‘Girls can do anything,’ Nana Ailsa keeps saying, and I reckon Melody can … well, she can make me do anything!

I’ve known her all our lives. Her mother, Sheree, used to park her with her Nana Marama and go off with boyfriends. Our families go to heaps of things together — weddings, anniversaries, that sort of stuff. She’s got a little brother called Kahu, which means ‘hawk’, and Meg tries to boss him around. Kahu wants to be a carver, too. Maybe when I’m a hundred, I’ll have made my mind up what I want to do. Actually, I’ve got a couple of ideas.

I began to drop down on the other side of the railings, then stopped as I saw the rural post van come around the corner where the black car had vanished. Melody’s Nana Marama drives it; that’s her way of earning a bit extra. She slowed and wound down her window. ‘Hello, Callum. Nice day, eh? I’m just going to deliver six parcels and pick up one grand-daughter.’ What time are you coming back? I almost asked, but she’d gone.