The Great Between

Gracie

That afternoon, Gracie walks into town with me on Mum's orders. According to Mum, marching Gracie to the shops and back will cure her cloudy mood, but I'm not convinced. She trudges along behind me, dragging her feet. As we turn onto Main Road, I say, 'Do you want to walk ahead or something? Pretend you don't know me?'

'No.'

'Do you want to tell me what's going on?'

'Nothing's going on,' she grumbles.

'You look miserable.'

'I am the definition of fine.'

The traffic comes in trickles, two or three cars at a time. Gracie keeps her head down and glares at her scuffed blue sneakers as we walk, crunching autumn leaves and curled-up gumtree bark under her stomping footsteps.

'Have you spoken to anyone from school these holidays?'

She shakes her head. 'Nope.'

Something must have happened with her group. We walk a little further before a terrible thought occurs to me, something I should have realised before now.

'Have they spoken to you since Noah left?' I ask.

Gracie falters as she decides whether to tell the truth or lie to stop me from worrying. There is a moment where I think she'll lie to me, brush me off like the grumbling teenager she's becoming. But her shoulders drop and she shakes her head.

'No, they haven't,' she says.

Noah and Gracie were inseparable. For nearly three years, there was hardly an afternoon when Noah wasn't at our house, teaching Gracie to play video games, asking her for homework help, or yelling the lyrics to Hamilton with her. And then his family moved closer to the city, which doesn't sound far, but when you have to switch trains three times between Illarra and his house, it becomes a long way to go. I don't know if they've kept up texts and things.

I should have realised sooner that Gracie's storm-cloud moods started once he left, just after Christmas. I could have helped her.

'I'm sorry, Gracie.'

'Why are you sorry? Did you tell Isabelle and the others to ignore me? Did you tell them to pick on me about Noah being...' She shakes her head and shrugs like he doesn't matter.

'I can get Max to beat Isabelle up for you,' I offer.

Gracie almost smiles. 'It wouldn't be a fair fight for Isabelle. And I'm not that mad at her.'

She should be angry at Isabelle, but I don't press it. I have to follow Gracie's lead on this.

We reach the bookshop and hover in the doorway. 'Do you want to come in with me?'

'Am I allowed?'

'You're always allowed.'

Gracie doesn't look too sure, but when Pen collects her in a squeezy hug at the door, her shoulders relax and she comes inside with me.

'Good to see you, Gracie.' Pen pats Gracie on the back so hard, she nearly buckles. 'I've got some new books for the space section. I know you're more of a re-reader, but I think you'll like these. You might even branch out a little bit, move away from that astronaut you like and read about something further afield.'

'I doubt that,' I say.

Gracie has read the same three books on the repeat for the last two years, only broken up by the books she has to read for school. But Pen's book grandma magic works wonders once more, and soon Gracie has made a little nest of cushions on the floor, with a mug of hot chocolate in her hand and a huge hardcover about Mars exploration cradled in her crossed legs. Pen leans on the counter and dusts off her hands, her bangles jingling with the movement. It's not that much further afield than Gracie's usual books about the moon and Simone Stewart, but it's a start. Maybe with time she'll even read some fiction.