Free Surface Tension by Meg McKinlay

about me was from the day I was born, the day I threw the marking and the sculptures and everything else you could possibly imagine into disarray by arriving not only accidentally but also way too early.
    It was a good story and Dad told it well.
    About how he piled everyone into the Valiant, spinning the tyres as they took off and taking a big wounded chunk out of the instant lawn.
    How when he saw the petrol light flashing he pulled in to the shiny new service station. And when he realised it had lots of two-for-the-price-of-one Mars Bars, super-sized hot dog deals and ice-cold slushies but no actual petrol yet, he put his head down on the steering wheel, making the horn blare.
    How for a brief, crazy moment, he contemplated driving six kilometres west, back to Old Lower Grange, because – who knows? – there might still be petrol there and if he really floored it, we might be able to make it out before the mayor flipped the lever and drowned us all.
    “It was quite the drama,” he always said. “Eh, Cass?”
    And what was I supposed to say to that?
    Because even though it was a good story, even though it was a story about me, it was also a story I had no way of remembering and really, technically, wasn’t even there for.
    So I didn’t say anything. I sat at the table and let the stories wash over me – all the
remember when?
and
oh, that was so …!
and I couldn’t believe it when you …!
    And when Hannah burst out with
ohmygod remember when you threw that potato at me, Elijah, you were such a little brat
, and everyone turned to stare at the wall behind my head, I lowered my face over my hot chocolate and blew down onto the surface, hiding myself in the billowing clouds of steam.

thirteen
    The next morning everyone went to work – Hannah at the council, Elijah and Dad in the studio, and Mum back to school to clean up for the year.
    And I went for a swim. With Liam.
    When I got to the lake, he was already there. He had hauled the raft out from behind the tree and was leaning over it, pulling the broken bits off and tying fresh branches on with new string.
    “I thought I could take it out,” he said. “Stop you from drowning and all that. We could go out to the tree.” He motioned to a paddle lying on the ground nearby. “See, I came prepared.”
    I knelt down next to him. “Do you reckon this’ll hold both of us?”
    He shrugged. “Only one way to find out. Remember, if we start sinking, just float and wave.”
    I couldn’t bring myself to return his smile. Kneeling down like this, I could feel a knot in my leg – not pain, exactly, but a lingering tightness – and when I looked out at the water, my throat felt suddenly dry.
    I wasn’t quite ready to laugh about it yet.
    Liam tied off a length of string in a complicated knot. “So what do you reckon?”
    “Yeah, okay.”
    “Right. You take that end.”
    Together, we pushed and pulled the raft down the bank into the water. Liam climbed on then shook his head when I tried to do the same.
    “Swim first.”
    “What?”
    “Your six, right?”
    “Yeah, but that’s much further than–”
    “You made it yesterday. And I’ll stay close. If you want to stop, you can climb on.” He dug the paddle in and pushed off the bottom, then with a few quick strokes was out and away.
    There was nothing I could do but kick off and follow.
    Liam did stay close, so close he whacked me with the paddle twice and almost ran me over once. Which may have been deliberate, although he denied it. But even with the bruises, it was better with someone there. In a strange way, knowing I could stop and get a lift made me feel less like I needed one.
    When we got there, Liam climbed off onto the platform and tethered the raft to the tree with some extra string.
    He was grinning. “Wow! It
is
the fire tree.”
    “Didn’t I say that?”
    “Yeah, I know. It’s just … it really is.” He knelt down and peered through the gap in the platform. “You can see the pegs! Five,