I duck my head into Laney’s room. I look over her piles of clothing, pick up the nearest, bulkiest shoe and peg it at the shapeless lump on the bed. Waiting long enough to hear the expected four-letter-filled response from under the covers, I go to the kitchen.

Finding the teapot half full and lukewarm is my first hint that Mum’s already been up. The dishes in the sink say she’s run a plate of food up to Pop; lately she’s really worried about him getting too skinny. After rinsing out the pot and setting off the kettle, I make my way to the back steps. I sit and stare out over our neat little yard with its wonky clothesline and rusted tank stand. From here I can catch glimpses of the neighbours’ places and the open paddock next door. Everything is a solid crackling brown. Trees flow over the hills on all sides of our town, holding the sun back as long as they can. The occasional car passes with a council worker on their way in, or a big truck filled with cattle. Magpies are warbling and the family of willy-wagtails that live in our shed are out waving their moondees, chirruping happily. The last of the cool air brushes my skin, running from the sun that’s fought its way to the top of the hills. It reminds me of the aching pit in my stomach that I’d woken with and the dream that wouldn’t make itself known. The kettle clicks and like a starting signal I’m up and off to get ready for the day.

Once I’m showered and fed I can’t put it off anymore. I resist the urge to turn on the TV for the millionth time and zone out. The port goes over one shoulder and I’m out the door. I’m not in a rush because I love school, but getting there late means arriving all sweaty and gross. And dawdling for me equals running late. I’m always late, one of the few ways me and my twin are alike. Mum says Laney’s too obsessed with the mirror to notice the time and I’m too much on my own planet to see the real one. She’s right but I’ll never tell her that.

Besides, this is it, my big year of lasts. The last first day of school, the last year of school ever, and hopefully the last I’ll spend in this hole of a town. Most people are freaking out about Y2K and the world ending, but I can’t wait for the year 2000. My morning funk disappears under that exciting thought and I could skip, I’m that happy.