The Innocents by Nette Hilton

standing by the side of the road now and the river shone brown and deep beyond the reeds on the other side. Nothing about it was making her feel like she wanted to be here. Rivers plus reeds equalled snakes and even if they didn’t get you, the water was deep and fast-flowing and probably would.
    â€˜Where are we going? I have to go back soon.’
    â€˜It’ll be all right. Just want to show you something.’ Zilla plunged into the taller grasses. ‘Come on.’
    The choice between staying with Zill and staying up on the side of the road where anyone might see her and dob wasn’t a happy one. However, as she clambered along through the reeds to the water’s edge, the thought that nothing ever seemed to happen to Zill offered some comfort.
    Here there were flatter places smoothed out by fishermen. Logs lay jumbled like giant pick-up-sticks along with scrambles of fallen branches. Several jutted out into the river.
    â€˜Wanna walk out on one?’
    Nasty little waves fell over themselves. They didn’t make a sound. They just crept closer and then slid back to hide under the next. Further out, beneath that flat brown surface there were stronger currents that twisted themselves into knots racing along to get to the lake and then the sea. Her mother had shown her. Pointed them out. Made her afraid.
    Zilla was already on the log. One foot sliding along, arms outstretched, body tensed against any sideways wobble.
    â€˜You might fall in.’
    â€˜Nah. Done it heaps of times.’
    If Zill did it, Missie knew, she’d have to do it too and she deadset didn’t want to. No way.
    â€˜I have to go,’ she said.
    â€˜No you don’t. You’re frightened, Missie Missinger. You’re a bloody old scaredy-cat!’
    It was something the other girls would say. Joannie or one of them. You expected it from them. Even now when they all managed to play netball together and that was only because they needed more players, even now they’d say something like that. It didn’t matter much, because that was the way they were. But it was horrible when Zill said it. True friends shouldn’t say stuff like that. True friends know what their friends want.
    It was a quick little thought. But she heard it and knew exactly how to get Zilla moving.
    â€˜I know Lawrence,’ she lied. ‘He comes to my house all the time.’
    Zilla paused and wobbled a bit.
    â€˜Who?’ There was a lift in her voice and her eyes were looking up from under her lashes. She knew exactly who they were talking about.
    â€˜You know.’ Missie dragged at a bit of grass. ‘Max’s friend.’
    â€˜Why should I care?’
    â€˜Course I reckon you like Lawrence.’
    â€˜So what. You like Jimmy Johnson.’
    Missie’s face was turning beetroot red. She knew it. It was as hot as hell. Nobody was supposed to like Jimmy Johnson. Especially not the way she liked him. He was a ratbag. Everyone said so. He couldn’t even read properly and Miss Martin was always ticking him off.
    But he’d rescued her and sometimes when no-one was around, he’d walk a little way with her after school.
    â€˜You should see your face,’ Zill called.
    It was a nasty little tease but at least she was heading back along the log. So long as Missie kept moving, Zill’d follow. A bit like Mary and her lamb.
    â€˜You don’t even know Lawrence,’ she said. Already her face was feeling more like its usual colour. ‘Not much point liking him if you don’t even know him.’
    â€˜Well, do you know him then?’
    Missie kept going until she stood beside the road. Every car that went past was a good reason not to be here. Her mother’d know about it quick smart if she was seen. Better then to head off the other way. Down to the old wharf. There’d be a way across from there.
    Well, do you?’ Zilla clattered up behind her. She stooped to straighten her