Unbelievable.

I put on the jacket; it’s lined and slips on easily. I do up the zippers and dig my hands into the pockets. Nothing I’d usually wear, or that I could find anywhere in West Creek. I could return to town looking like a hipster or an MTV star; how awesome would that be? But seriously, I do need a slight wardrobe update; I’ve been wearing the same cut-off jeans in summer, long jeans in winter and various T-shirts my entire life. I’ve never been interested in fashion—luckily, since Mum never had the extra money. And then, after she died and I moved in with Paula and Dave, I found out that they were broke and struggling to support me. But now, all the kids in my year are upping their fashion game and it feels like all the girls, minus Lucy, are obsessed. They even take the bus to Sydney, which is hours away, just to go to the mall.

I play with the collar, putting it up and down. Looks good both ways. It’s summer in Australia now, but still.

I swivel around, checking myself out from all angles. This may be the coolest thing I’ve ever worn.

‘Do you like it?’ my father says.

‘It’s okay.’

‘Sky!’ He takes off his beanie and runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

‘What?’ I fiddle with the zip.

‘You haven’t looked at me the whole day.’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘No. You haven’t. I thought you were okay with the trip tomorrow?’

‘I am. I said I am, didn’t I?’

‘Well, the facts on the ground seem to be pointing in a different direction.’

‘That doesn’t even make sense. Facts can’t point.’

‘Sky.’

‘What?’

‘You’ve completely closed up. Tell me what’s going on.’

‘Nothing.’

I take off the jacket, take a look at the tag and return it to its hanger. Where do they get off, asking for hundreds of bucks for some stupid jacket? I put the hanger back on the rack, but the jacket slips off.

Before I can pick it up, my father does. ‘You like it, right?’ he says, holding it up.

‘It’s stupid expensive. This is friggin’ Alaska not Manhattan.’

‘Do you like it or not?’

‘What do you think?’ I open my eyes wide and stare at him. I know I’m being rude. But, whatever.

Next thing, he’s passing his credit card to the checkout girl and I have a recycled tote bag in my hand.

‘Thanks,’ I say grudgingly, but I’m secretly pleased.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘When you’re ready to talk, I’m waiting.’

We meet up with the others at the cafe and then all head home.

My father makes one last attempt to wrangle information out of me before he goes to pack for his hunting trip. Tomorrow he’s leaving pre-dawn.