Surface Tension by Meg McKinlay Page B

out onto the raft.
    I stared at them, as if they were part of a puzzle we could fit together, as if they would tell me something if I just listened hard enough.
    What I heard was Liam, bursting through the surface, spurting water through his teeth like a whale through its blowhole.
    And then something else.
    Someone yelling. A voice, calling out. “Hey!”
    There was someone – a man – picking his way along the water’s edge, one hand shading the sun from his face as he stared out across the lake.
    Towards the raft.
    Towards us.
    I strained forward into the sunlight. For a second I felt hopeful. Maybe it was Elijah? He knew the way. And he suspected something the other week; I could see it in his face.
    “Hey!” the voice repeated. “You kids!”
    And it was a familiar voice now. It was a voice I’d heard at sports days and ceremonies and most recently in my own classroom.
    It was Finkle.

fifteen
    “What are you kids doing here?”
    As we approached the shore, Finkle came down to the water’s edge.
    The mayor’s face was dark. “There’s no swimming here,” he yelled. “There’s no … oh, it’s you.” His voice softened suddenly.
    At first, I thought he meant me. Dad was doing his head, after all. He had come to my house.
    But it was Liam he was talking to. And he didn’t sound angry any more. He sounded friendly, concerned.
    “You right there?” he asked as Liam waded through the shallows, hauling the raft behind him. “Need a hand?”
    I stared at Finkle. What was he going to do – roll up his trousers and walk into the mud?
    Liam shook his head. “I’m fine.”
    “You shouldn’t be here. There’s no swimming on this side.”
    Liam nodded. “Sorry.”
    Finkle frowned. “How did you get in here?”
    I shot Liam a look, hoping he would keep quiet. Finkle must have driven up the old track and come in the gate. If anyone had a key, it would be him. If anyone was authorised, it would be him.
    If anyone was trespassing, it would be us.
    But Finkle wouldn’t have seen the break in the fence. That was further along. And our bikes were in the bushes on this side. Not hidden, exactly, but not obvious either, unless you walked right by there, which you would never do if you were an authorised person coming through an officially approved gate.
    I thought fast. I remembered how Elijah and I had picked our way along the shoreline all those years ago.
    “We came around from the Point.”
    Finkle nodded at the raft. “On that? That’s quite a distance.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, you shouldn’t have,” he said. “It’s dangerous here. There are lots of snags on this side – submerged trees, sandbanks, that kind of thing.”
    In the corner of my eye, I saw Liam raise his eyebrows slightly. It made no sense, what Finkle had said, not if you knew anything about Old Lower Grange. If anything, there was more bush over the other side, near the Point. This side was slightly clearer, being closer to the town itself. It was true that there were some hills, but there were hills everywhere, and they weren’t the same thing as sandbanks at the beach that would rise up suddenly and break your unsuspecting neck.
    Finkle shaded his face as he looked out across the water. “What is that, anyway?” He pointed towards the tree.
    “I think it’s the fire tree.” I followed his gaze. “But it’s not dangerous or anything. It’s just–”
    “The fire tree?” Finkle took a few steps closer to the edge, craning forward. “Above the water?”
    “Yeah,” Liam replied, “you can see the pegs and everything.”
    “But that’s …” Finkle blinked. He lowered his hand from his face and peered down at the hardened mud at our feet. “I had no idea it was this low.” Something came across his face. “This isn’t good at all.”
    For a moment he was lost in thought, then he looked up quickly, as if he’d suddenly remembered we were there. “Well, what are you two going to do? You can’t stay here. I can