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proud. Her voice is perfect and sweet, not like anything I listen to usually, and her expression as she sings makes me feel the meaning more. Lee’s heard her before, but the people who haven’t are all stunned, hypnotized. Not that Kaz has noticed. She likes to sing with her eyes closed – or at the very least concentrated on the floor.
    Which means she can’t see me look over at Tom, watching him watching her.
    The look on his face differs from everyone else’s. There’s no surprise there, no growing admiration. He looks proud and sad and hungry, as if Kaz is a feast he helped prepare but hasn’t been invited to join.
    I don’t look away when he glances over at me. Instead I think of all the times I listened to Kaz cry, rather than sing, as if I can transfer the memories from my head to his. He knows he should not be here and yet there he is, sitting right in Kaz’s eyeline, collar popped on his shirt, healthy-outdoorsy tan at full peak, a clean-living and clean-shaven tick list of all the things Kaz wants in a boy.
    When the song draws to a close, Lee leaps up to give a standing ovation and Parvati and Dongle join him. Anna and Owen slap her on the back and tell her she’s amazing. Even new-girl Stella is clapping like she means it. Only Tom and me remain undisturbed amidst all the movement – me still watching him watching her.

8 • TOXIC
KAZ
    After five songs, my voice starts to go. The sun’s sunk below the line of trees behind me and my audience has grown. Two girls from a couple of camps over (who I can’t tell apart except for the fact that one has a fringe) asked Dongle whether we had any spare firelighters. I watched as he pushed the carrier bag filled with flammable material further back under his camping chair and invited them to share our fire instead. Given that they’ve brought a couple of bottles of tequila that they show no qualms about sharing, no one else objects.
    When I finish the song, everyone chants my name. This makes me both happy and uncomfortable, especially as some of the older people from the other camps look over. Now seems like a good time to stop and I hand the guitar to Owen, relieved to be able to adjust my position. My left foot went to sleep during the second chorus of “Time of Your Life” and I stand up to stamp some feeling back into it.
    “Encore!” Lee calls out and I shake my head.
    “Time for someone else’s fingers to cramp,” I say with a smile.
    Lee pulls a face. “Does that person have to be Owen?”
    There’s a beat in which I don’t know whether I’m supposed to laugh, because even if it’s a joke, it’s not a funny one.
    “What are you saying, Lee?” Anna asks, although I can tell that Owen wishes she hadn’t.
    “That this is supposed to be a singalong. Give that one a guitar and I guarantee two songs in and Owen’ll start playing his own stuff.” Lee is grinning, an air of mischief about him as he points a finger at Owen. It’s not a very steady finger and I wonder exactly how many of those cocktails he’s drunk.
RUBY
    Lee pulls this shit on me all the time, winding me up to watch me snap just for the kick of it.
    But Owen’s more patient than I am.
    “I’m sorry, Lee, I always thought you liked my stuff.”
    “I
love
your stuff!” Lee redirects his finger from Owen’s chest to Owen’s crotch, prompting a round of chuckles from the group.
    If I could reach, I’d snap that fucking finger. Lee is not playing nice.
    “Nice to know you only want me for my body.” Owen’s smile is forced.
    I know before he opens his mouth what my brother will say.
    “Well, someone’s got to.” Lee would never have resisted a quip like that in front of an audience as big as this one.
    Only no one laughs. Not even Parvati, who might be as sharp as my brother, but loves Owen more, nor the Tequila Girls and Stella, who all draw closer together, united by their discomfort.
    In the silence that follows, Owen takes the guitar from his lap and hands it