Beyond that rose the Great Western Tiers, steep inclines of blue-grey streaked with columns of rock. Away to the west was Devils Gullet: a rugged prehistoric gorge, with a lookout on the cliffs that offered views of the misty mountains of Tasmania. That lookout was to be one of the locations on Jasmine’s school hike, even though she had been there countless times before. Murphy had even taken her camping to the same spot on Western Bluff where they’d be sleeping tonight: it was only a twenty-minute trip if you had a dirtbike and knew the forestry roads. That was back when Jasmine’s mum, Sara, was alive.

Murphy stomped in through the back door and into the kitchen.

Butch wolf-whistled at the sight of him, arms folded across his singlet, joint between his fingers. ‘Why the hell are you single?’

‘Dickhead. I’ll get you back for that.’ Murphy shot his hand out to try and whack Butch in the groin, who dodged just in time. ‘The Hilux keys.’ Murphy patted the wall where they usually hung. ‘Where’d you put them?’

‘It’s fine, Murph, she’s a smart kid, she won’t get caught.’

‘Where are the bloody keys?’

Butch laughed. ‘Mate. Calm down. You think you’re gonna keep Jasmine away from the bud forever when it’s her old man’s job to grow it? She’s sixteen, it’s school camp, she’s had a tough year: let her loosen up a bit.’

‘Where are the fucking keys, Butch?’

Butch sighed as he went back to cooking the eggs and bacon. ‘Don’t worry about it, lad. I was only joking.’

‘What?’

‘She didn’t take anything . . . should’ve seen your face though.’ He cackled. ‘I should’ve filmed you out there.’

‘You’re a fucking goose, mate.’ He punched Butch in the shoulder, hard. Their other cat, Gus the Muss, skittered away, knocking over a large potted sword fern, scattering potting mix.

Butch winced, nearly dropping his plate, but the grin crept back onto his face. ‘Skinner is comin’ round tonight and we’ve got a bloody truckload of bud to bag.’ He shoved the joint into his mouth and then pressed the other plate into Murphy’s hands. ‘Get your strength up, lad.’

CHAPTER 2

JASMINE

Jasmine hurried down the aisle of the bus, her heart pounding. Sure enough, Dad had come after her – Butch must’ve seen her take that second bag, the snitch, but she was sure neither of them had seen her swipe the first one.

As long as Dad didn’t drive up to the school . . .

She groaned. That’s probably exactly what he’d do.

A sudden flutter of relief: maybe she’d get suspended and kicked off the camp. The others wouldn’t think any less of her . . .

No.

She had to do it. It was up to her to make this happen. She just had to make it through the day without backing out.