Dad’s counting the till when I storm in. It takes me about a second to lose my steam. “Charlotte, you’re back.” Looking on the bright side, I guess he noticed I was gone. “How was the camping trip?”

I want to tell him how awful it was, how I heard them all making fun of me. You raised a Dorkin. But then I’d have to explain to him what a Dorkin was and I’d feel worse after I finished than when I started. So instead I say, “There are animals in the bush, Dad. Dangerous animals.”

“Lucky you came back in one piece, then, Charlotte,” he says in his funny voice.

Look a little closer, Dad, I think, and ring the bell. “I’ll be outside having a Coke.”

After a while, one of the kids from the town sits beside me. I’ve seen him around but he hardly ever comes into the shop. “You don’t look so good,” he says. “I’m Antony Barellan, a friend of Rose and Luke’s.”

“I’m Charlie.”

“I know. That’s your dad in there, isn’t it?” He nods toward the shop.

“Uh-huh.”

“It was crappy that your gran died. My parents knew her. They said she was really nice.”

“She was nice,” I say, looking at the scratches on my hands from the camping trip. “Really nice.”

“So you’re only here for the summer, right?” He kicks at the chair and stares across the street. “You’re lucky. What do you do for fun in the city?”

I sit on my own and play guitar to ghosts, I think as Rose walks up. She scowls at Antony. “What are you guys up to?”

“I was just telling Charlie how boring it is around here.”

“Then maybe you should leave, Antony.”

He rubs his middle finger down his nose. “Luke,” he calls past her.

Luke arrives and ignores Rose. He sits in the middle of Antony and me and puts his arms around the two of us. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Haven’t even got money for cigarettes.” Antony grins in my direction. “Think you could get some from your dad, Charlie?”

“No, she can’t,” Rose says.

“I didn’t ask you, did I?”

She turns her back to him. “Come on, Charlie.” She moves without checking to see if I’m getting up, like a dog she’s owned for years. “I can get cigarettes,” I say. Shove that song up your arse, Rose Butler. Not everyone does what you tell them to do.

“Well, all right.” Antony grins.

“I’ll meet you by the river after I get them.” And it’d be good if you could have an ambulance waiting because I think I’m about to have a heart attack. They’re right. Smoking does kill.

Gran always said the shop would be mine when she and Grandpa died. Technically this isn’t stealing. It’s gift giving and this is the holiday season so I shouldn’t feel guilty. I should feel like Santa. “Santa doesn’t steal,” Mum says. It’s times like these I could really do without a dead mum looking over my shoulder.

Dad’s standing behind the cash register, right in front of the cigarettes. I need a diversion, that’s all. A simple, nothing-can-go-wrong diversion. The problem with kids like me is I’ve got no imagination for bad. The baddest thing I’ve done is stick gum under the table in class, not exactly a call-the-police offense. I back out of the shop planning to abandon my life of almost crime but Antony’s waiting there. His hand covers my mouth.

“Charlie …” His breath is warm and wrapped in chips. “Thought you’d need a bit of help.” He’s pressed so hard against my back my insides are sprinting. Now I’m sure I need that ambulance. “Listen. You go and distract him, and I’ll take the stuff.” He pushes me forward.

I walk inside. “Charlotte?” Dad says. “Charlotte, what’s the matter?” He steps out from behind the counter and moves toward me. I walk through to the kitchen and that’s when I break a lifetime habit and really cry in front of him. I start and I can’t stop. I want him to fix this mess, for him to hear Antony in the shop and kick him out. But he just stands there with his hands hanging and his head tilting to the side.

“It’ll be all right,” he keeps saying, and I want to shout, Get some new freaking glasses, Dad. I’m stealing from you. There’s no way it’s going to be all right.

I rain out tears. Over Dad’s shoulder I see Antony sneaking behind the counter pouring packets of cigarettes into his bag. If Dad turns the smallest bit, he’ll see him, too, but he doesn’t. He stares at his hands like he’s forgotten what they’re for. Antony does his best to hide the gap on the shelf while I wish with every part of my body that I could hide in Dad’s arms. I watch Antony give me the thumbs-up in the background and I stand there and cry even harder.