all over The Van. The faded—but still beautiful—sunset and bird could barely be seen under the ugly black marks.
‘Oh, my God!’ said Clem when she arrived. ‘We’ve been done over.’
‘Ferals!’
‘Scum.’
‘ Cá uon !’
‘What’s that mean?’ asked Clem.
Tong wore a slight grin as he translated, ‘Bad fish.’
Clem grimaced. ‘Bad fish’ll do.’
Peace signs, once faded, had been traced over with thick whorls of paint, so that now, instead of peace they had a jarring, violent look. The Private Property Keep Out sign had been whited out and in its place were the words, Shooting star.
‘Wonder what it means,’ said Clem, furious that her beloved van had been violated. She turned to Bryce. ‘Any ideas?’
Bryce studied the words, thoughts firing off in his head. Shooting stars…shooting stars were pretty; you saw them at night; they lasted only a second or two; and didn’t the science teacher say they were meteoroids hitting the Earth’s atmosphere?
‘Bryce, you said that “toy” meant something in graffiti, does “shooting star” mean something, too?’
Bryce was about to shake his head and say ‘No’ when he remembered something. Something from last year. He’d been sitting with some friends, it was a cold night, late, and they huddled to keep warm. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember who was there. There was Brick, and Tude, and some kid he didn’t know, and Adz, of course. Earlier that night he and Adz had scrounged two whole barbecued chickens and gorged themselves stupid. They were so stuffed that when they lay back their stomachs rose to the heavens like massive mounds of compost. Suddenly, this light had exploded and trickled down the vast sky like a raindrop, only to fizzle before their eyes. What was it Adz had said? Shooting stars are nature’s graf. It was a weird thing to say, but poetic, and it stayed with Bryce long after the star had gone. He thought about it some more—nature’s graffiti was found in shadows, reflections and lightning, in animaltracks, mud fissures and fossils. When you thought about it, nature’s graf was everywhere. Bryce studied the words on The Van, straining to make some sort of sense of them. He wondered what had happened to Adz. To all of them.
‘Well does it?’ repeated Clem. ‘Does it mean something?’
‘Nope.’
Darcy paced up and down. ‘Mongrels!’ His voice came out all punchy. ‘Wonder who did it?’
‘No idea,’ said Bryce. ‘Let’s check out the other side.’ He ventured around the front of The Van, anxiety bubbling as he imagined what he might find. But there was nothing except the gaping doorway. Bryce hopped off his bike, propped it against The Van and peered inside.
‘See anything?’ called Darcy.
All was as they’d left it. The milk crates, the TV, the old suitcase. Nothing had been changed. Bryce’s breathing grew more relaxed. But then he saw it, and the tension exploded with such a force that he almost cried out.
‘Well…?’
Beside him, Mio gasped. He hadn’t heard her approach, so was doubly shocked. Mio shoved her hands in her back pockets so Bryce wouldn’t see them shaking. It was just one word, a small word, but it had the potential to change everything.
One by one the others joined them, peering inside their van. After an initial chorus of ‘Oh’s, the silence thickened.
Clem turned to Bryce, her eyebrows raised and questioning. Bryce shook his head in protest. ‘It wasn’t me,’ he said, but the words rang hollow in the empty van…and hollow in Clem’s heart. Clem moved away, burying herself in the warmth of Bella’s body.
Mio stepped aside and Tong took her place. His written English was better than his spoken English because Vietnamese and English share the same letters. Immediately he knew what the problem was. For on the back of The Van, in trademark greeny-blue letters, was the word PHREE.
‘Don’t suppose you know how that got there, do you?’ asked