Dad chose that moment to walk into the room and bear hug Caitlin. She continued, ‘I’d like to come with you tomorrow, to see that everything goes well.’

Oh no, I thought. Then I remembered that she worked some do-gooder breakfast program for poor kids on Monday mornings, so I said, ‘No thanks. I think the poor kids need you more than me, especially since my mum can feed me. In fact, I’m going to order pizza with salami and gelato when we go out for dinner.’

Dad looked like he was going to pounce, but Caitlin gripped his arm and stopped him. ‘Phoebe, it’s your first day of school and you’re my priority. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

‘We’ll walk with you,’ Dad said in that tone of his that meant this is final.

Another thing that’s ironic about Dad being a lecturer in communication is that he doesn’t let me communicate, at least not when it comes to things involving Mum. He shuts down. Mum always said that Dad had it made, teaching at the uni. She was jealous that he could spend so much time working from home. Being at home a lot was one of the reasons they decided that I should live with Dad most of the time. I had no say in it at all. And Mum didn’t even fight Dad’s decision, she just accepted it.

I hated Mum leaving me stranded at the basketball game, and I hated the idea of Dad and Caitlin walking me to school – a new school on the first day! – even more. I wanted to die of embarrassment. I hadn’t walked to school with Dad since as far back as I could remember. I’d been walking to school by myself since I was seven, from the time I could dribble a basketball the whole way from our house to the playground. I tried telling Dad, ‘I’m seventeen for God’s sake,’ but he didn’t want to listen. There was no getting out of it.

I wore the LeBrons to school. Now that I’d worn them to the game, I couldn’t really annoy Caitlin by not wearing them. And I didn’t want to dress up or dress down too much and be completely out of place on my first day, so I took the middle ground and wore jeans and my new 36ers T-shirt.

Dad seemed to be in a dream as he walked beside me. Since he and Mum broke up, he would often have a blank face, his brow furrowed, like he was deep in thought. When he wasn’t thinking about Mum and just hanging out with Caitlin, he seemed happier and more peaceful. I hated that look the most; the one that was like Caitlin had cast a spell on him.

Sure, Caitlin was kind of pretty – she had nice big, brown eyes and was thin with a six-pack – but she was kind of lazy. She hardly worked. She definitely didn’t have ambition like Mum. She worked in community centres and did relief teaching … sometimes. When she wasn’t working, she dragged Dad off to yoga sessions and bands and political rallies, and not the usual Aboriginal rallies we’re used to. I’m sure Dad didn’t even know what yoga was before he met her. There was no way they were brainwashing me into any of that stuff.