“Would you do it, Moon? That’s the issue. We’re not debating plausibility.”

I imagine myself in the room. I see the baby in his cot, laughing, kicking his pudgy legs. I think about Zig. And I can’t. I can’t. But then I give the baby a perfect little Hitler moustache and my resolve hardens. Darkness stirs in me.

“Yeah. I would. I’d kill him.”

Bea smiles and nods. She says nothing.

“Is that the right answer?”

“There are no right or wrong answers,” she says, kicking at the nettles.

We walk in silence, considering this. Then we stop dead. The sky is clear. The heat, thick on my skin. Someone is on the path ahead. And, in my bones, I know…

This. Will. Hurt.

2

Erika Jürgen. A year above us, two years older. Flame-red hair and a wicked temper. She blocks the path in front of three shoulder-to-shoulder girls who look skittish. Louella Caden, Zoe Pierce, Evin O’Keefe. Two have their phones out already filming. Meaning it’s no accident they’re here. They planned this. A bird, I don’t know what kind, cries and a shadow flits over the path. I feel Bea bristle next to me and the urge to turn and run is fierce—it’s primal. But we don’t.

“Well, well, well,” Erika says, grinning, sauntering towards us. “Look what the universe has gone and coughed up.”

It’s been building, this fight. Last week, they cornered Bea in the changing room. Someone spat a derogatory comment at her, which wasn’t smart. Bea doesn’t back down. It escalated quickly, ended only with a teacher intervening.

“Hurrying home to Mummy and Daddy?” Erika says, in a singsong voice.

The other girls snicker in solidarity.

We say nothing.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.” She’s warming up, enjoying this. “Gold doesn’t have a daddy, does she? My bad.” Hysterical laughter. Slaps on the back.

“Shut up, Erika!” I can’t stop myself. The words blaze out.

I sound panicky.

“Oh, don’t get me started on you, freakshow.” She pouts and runs a hand suggestively over Zoe Pierce’s cheek. “Daddy still a fruit?”

Her minions double over, like it’s the funniest joke ever told.

Bea lets go a sigh. “Jürgen,” she says, her voice gone quiet. “D’you have any idea what they’ll say about you when—if—you graduate from school?”

The laughter dies. Erika’s face blooms red. “You better watch it, Gold. Whatever you’re gonna say, be very, very careful.”

Bea smiles. “You understand the question though, right?”

Erika looks momentarily off balance, a boxer recouping from an unanticipated, lightning-fast jab.

“It’s binary,” Bea says. “Yes or no. Either you understand, or you don’t.” She looks unafraid and I can’t tell if she’s acting relaxed, or if it’s real.

Erika takes a step towards us. I feel a spurt of anxiety.