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Back The Year the Maps Changed Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Map
  6. Prologue
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. Acknowledgments
  74. About the Author
  75. About the Publisher

Luca collapsed back in his seat, brought his hands up to his face, and dragged them down, before looking at me again. “This had better not be the beginning of a pattern with you.”

“What?”

He shook his head. “First what you did to Sam on the lift, now this. . . .”

“I didn’t mean to! That was ages ago, and I said I was sorry—”

Luca pushed his chair back roughly and gathered up our plates. When he chucked them in the sink, they crashed so loudly it made me jump.

He gripped the bench with both hands, his head bowed. “We don’t need this right now.”

“I know, and I didn’t—”

He spun around. “I don’t want to hear you say that you didn’t mean it or you’re sorry! You’re going to be a big sister soon, for crying out loud, Winifred! I expect more from you.” Luca took a deep breath. “I just need you to be better.”

Be happier. Be kinder. Be better. Be a big sister.

Be, be, be, be.

“I’m trying,” I whispered.

“Try harder.”

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15

Bringing them here

The first planeload of refugees from Kosovo arrived in Sydney at the beginning of May.

The prime minister was there to meet them at Sydney Airport, and it was all over the news—footage of John Howard shaking hands and high-fiving little kids, hugging these grandmas with kerchiefs on their heads.

There were four hundred people arriving at first, but everyone said there were thousands more still coming. The news said that in the end, Australia would take in four thousand Kosovars from the 840,000 who were refugees.

It looked like we would share a small part of our boundless plains, after all.

That same weekend, Luca got a phone call asking him to come into the station on his night off—they said it was for an emergency town meeting. And maybe it’s because I’m looking back on it now, but I think we could all feel it then—the ripples spreading again.

I’d been feeling the ripples in the weeks before, while I’d been burning up with shame being in detention. It was like every piece of rubbish I picked up was a reminder that I’d let down my favorite teacher, and that I needed to try harder for Luca. Except I didn’t really know what I was supposed to be trying harder at . . . maybe not disappointing him so much anymore?

It was even worse at the end of the second week of detention, when Mr. Khouri had Sam and me clean out the art room.

“Whoever made this was seriously disturbed,” I said, gently poking at a wet clay head whose mouth was carved open in a screaming “O.”

Sam barely looked up from where he was sorting through kids’ old paintings on a drying rack.