each other. Let the battles begin.

I slam into Jace repeatedly, and his car jerks back and slides. He doesn’t laugh, but his eyes spark

every time we hit.

I bump him into the wall he started from, and then I ram him into his corner right before the cars

stop for the round.

We climb out of our cars laughing uncontrollably. “Told you I’d totally bump—”

“Never again!” Jace shakes his head but he’s grinning. We exit the canopied ride and blink in the

sun. Jace slips on his sunglasses like a Calvin Klein model.

We stop in the middle of the path. I feel awkward shifting from foot to foot in silence. What now?

Do we part ways with a shrug?

Maybe I should leave before he does. That way, I’m in control. “Right. See you around.”

Jace grabs me by the arm. “You’re not going anywhere until I find a way to punish you for stealing

my sleep!”

“So that’s what this was?”

“What else would it be?”

He smirks and jerks a thumb toward the giant swinging ship. “How do you feel about rocky seas?”

“Not great.”

“Perfect. We’re going up there.”

peridotite

I went to Mum’s this morning for my fourteenth birthday but I’m at Dad’s for the evening. We

order fish and chips at the wharf, then stuff our individually-wrapped scoops of chips under our

pullovers to warm us. We pull out chips from under our collars and pop them into our mouths. They’re

warm and deliciously salty-hot.

We head for the beach, where I crumple into the soft sand. Even Annie is with us, though she

avoids Lila to sit at my side. Jace is perched on the stone wall behind us with Dad.

“We have gifts,” Lila says. She rests a basket in front of my feet.

I unwrap two game-store vouchers, plus a new top-of-the-line magnifying glass from Dad. I thank

them and pull out the last gift, wrapped as if someone fought with the wrapping paper and tape. “Yours,

Jace?”

He groans. Sand squeaks under his feet as he crouches behind me. “I had no idea what to get you. It

sucks.”

It’s a mug engraved with I’m a Rock Whisperer.

“I thought . . . you drink a lot of tea . . .”

I grin at him over my shoulder. “Cheers, Jace.” He shrugs, and I say it again, quietly. “Thanks.”

* * *

Nine months later, middle of summer, I’m scowling at my plate.

Capsicum. I hate it. Something about the tangy-burnt taste makes me want to retch. Unfortunately,

the last time I didn’t eat my capsicum, Dad served it to me for breakfast and every meal thereafter until

I ate it.

I poke at my stir-fry, shoving the long strips of capsicum to the side of the plate. At times like these

I wish I had a dog.

Dad and Lila are lost in a boring discussion, and Annie has inhaled her food so she can excuse

herself. I scowl at her as she leaves the table, racing toward the capsicum-free zone of her bedroom to

talk on the phone all night.

Jace has almost finished his dinner. Judging by his expression, he doesn’t hate the dinner but he

doesn’t love it either. He shovels a few more vegetable bits onto his fork and glances over at me.

Specifically, at the mountain of capsicum collecting on the side of my plate.

He shakes his head and mouths “breakfast,” to which I groan and reluctantly stab one of the strips

of disgustingness. Jace chuckles, glances at his mum and my dad still talking, and quickly pinches my

plate from under my nose. In one swift scoop, he piles my capsicum onto his plate and slides my dinner

back to me.

He shrugs, but it feels more like a wink. My smile is forged from somewhere deep as I tackle the

rest of my food—

“Where’s Annie?” Dad asks me. I jump, afraid we’ve been caught.

“Oh, Annie? She excused herself. You half nodded at her.”

His mouth sets in a thin line as he takes in her empty place. Lila rests her hand next to his, their

pinkies touching.

“No matter,” she says. “We’ll tell the boys first—”

“Annie!” Dad yells, pushing back from the chair. “Come back down here.” He moves toward the

stairs.

A few moments later Annie stomps back into the kitchen, sighing loudly. She hovers in the arched

doorway, staring toward the patio instead of us. “What?”

Lila smiles brightly. “For our second family trip, we’ve decided to trek across part of Abel Tasman

National Park.”

* * *

Another year rolls by. Annie and I combine our money to buy Jace a ticket to the Symphony

Orchestra to see a famous pianist. A Christmas gift; the first Christmas we’ve spent at Dad’s.

He accepts the ticket with a frown. “Thanks,” he says. It’s a soft thanks that follows me all day.

I get every gift I hoped for, including a new phone, a To the Center of the Earth board game, and a

documentary on fossils. “Let’s check it out!”

But Dad and Lila bow out, making up a quick excuse about getting up early.

Annie and Jace look at each other, excuses dancing unspoken between them.

“You don’t have to,” I say, shrugging and heading up the stairs. “I’ll watch it on my own.”

Annie races up the stairs and flings her arm around my neck. Her tightly-curled hair bumps on my

chin. “Okay. I’ll watch it.”

I roll my eyes. She’s playing nice, and I don’t want that. “Nah, I’m good. Actually, now I think

about it, I’m kinda tired. I’m going to bed.”

“You sure?”

I drop her off at her room. “Of course. We can watch it this weekend.” By then she’ll forget about it

anyway.

“Okay,” she says and ruffles my hair. “Promise.”

Her door shuts with a puff of wind, and I slink toward my room.

At my bedroom door, my foot brushes against something hard. Six stones are placed in the doorway

at equal distances. I slip the documentary DVD under my arm to crouch down and pick up the stones.

Limestone. Quartz. Granite. Amethyst. Aquamarine. And—I laugh out loud as Jace’s padded steps

clunk down the hall—a moonstone.

“Did you put these here?”

Jace stops a few feet away and leans against the wall. “Nope.” Out of the corner of my eye, though,

I detect a grin.

“They’re beautiful.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Are they?”

“I love how they’re squared. But if you didn’t put them here, who did?”

“Someone who wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.” Jace meanders closer, then pulls the

documentary out from under my arm. “I mean, I’m not tired. I was gonna watch TV anyway. Why not

this?”

He ducks into the gaming room.

I pocket the stones and follow him.

part two: sedimentary

sedimentary: matter that settles

sandstone

With pursed lips, Lila throws a wet, moldy-smelling load back into the washing machine. She’s

pissed, but I can tell she’s trying to hold it in. Like me, she hasn’t figured out her boundaries or how far

she can push into the parental role. The clothes make a loud slapping sound as she throws them into the

barrel.

I stand with my thumbs in my pockets trying to cough up an apology, but it won’t come. It really

was a mistake. Completely unintentional. Besides, Lila always asks me to do work, never Annie. My

sister hates her but I don’t, so I get all the menial tasks? That sucks.

“I need you to be more proactive around the house,” she says. “Use your initiative for once. Look

around, see what needs doing and do it. Don’t wait to be asked all the time.”

She has a point, which makes it worse. I want her to be wrong so I don’t have to swallow the urge

to tell her to shut up. She can’t tell me what to do. She’s not my mother!

I’m shaking and my teeth are clenched. I’m about to yank the clothes from her grasp and tell her to

have a break, have a fucking Kit Kat, when Jace strolls in.