Chapter One

​

Breathe. You can do it.
Quinby Clark tried to draw in air. Being winded feels like you’re dying, like breathing is just out of reach.
Breathe.
She ignored her aching stomach and the shooting pains in her chest.
Just breathe. Concentrate on your “real” family.
Who would she imagine today?
Maybe they were royalty, and she was accidentally switched at birth.
Breathe in.
Maybe they were superheroes, and they would fly in to save her.
At eleven, she might be getting a bit old for that fantasy, but it was still her favourite.
Breathe out.
Yes, she is the spitting image of her oldest brother, Trent, when he was her age. And perhaps they have their mum’s crooked front teeth and their dad’s bump in the nose, but it could be a coincidence.
Breathe in.
Maybe this was all a horrible nightmare and she’d wake up in a cot, a little baby with a loving family.
Maybe breathing wouldn’t be so hard then.
“Quinby, get off the floor!” Mum snapped as she arrived home, carrying groceries past the loungeroom into the kitchen.
Quinby pushed herself up to a sitting position, breathing shallowly.
“Brenan, help me bring in the bags,” Mum directed on her way back to the car.
Quinby’s fourteen‑year‑old brother protested, “Why can’t Quinby?”
“I … can’t … brea—” Quinby began.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Mum interrupted. “Quinby, unpack the shopping. Brenan, bags. Don’t make me ask again.”
Brenan hauled himself off the shabby couch, hitting Quinby hard in the head with a cushion as he strode past. “Annoying brat!”
Quinby’s head buckled on impact. Cushions are deceptive: comfortable to lean on, painful when slammed against your head. One of Brenan’s favourite weapons – hurts like the dickens but leaves no sign of damage. Though Quinby did prefer it to being winded. You felt like your head would fall off, but at least you could breathe. Being punched until breath became elusive was not fun. For Quinby that is, Brenan seemed to really enjoy beating her up.
Her vision swimming in and out of focus, Quinby heard footsteps approaching from the car. She dragged herself to standing, leaning heavily on the couch. Wobbling her way into the kitchen, she grabbed the top item from the nearest bag. Moments later, Mum dumped more groceries on the counter. Brenan dropped the remaining bags on the floor.
“You two, put the shopping away. I’ll start making dinner in ten minutes.”
Mum disappeared into her bedroom with a glass of wine. Brenan returned to the loungeroom after kicking a bag over on the floor, its contents spilling everywhere.
“Great help!” Quinby called after him.
She preferred to put the fortnightly payday groceries away by herself anyway. Far more peaceful. She did smile when she noticed that his favourite packet of generic biscuits had rolled behind the rubbish bin. She couldn’t be expected to find them there.

Later, Quinby sat at the dining table with her family. Their eyes were on the television, which was blaring the local Sydney news for the 20th of March. She picked at her dinner as she observed Dad shovelling his food down too fast to appreciate the taste, Mum filling her wine glass for the third time, and Brenan emptying the dish of hot chips onto his plate.
Trent was eating on the couch, which was the new norm since he won his last fight against Dad a fortnight ago. Trent was pretty big for a seventeen‑year‑old, bigger than Dad. Quinby thought Trent might have hurt Dad more than he let on because they hadn’t had a punch‑up since. That must be a record. Quinby and Brenan were getting more than their share of thrashings to make up for it.
“Why are they interviewing that lot?” Dad complained, emphatically waving his beer can around.
The news story was on worsening bushfire seasons in Australia due to climate change.
“Because they’re the experts,” Quinby offered.
Dad jeered, “They’re trying to be politically correct. I bet their boss is a white man.” 
He drained the last of his beer.
“That woman’s in charge. Thankfully the world is changing, and white men aren’t always the boss anymore.” Quinby spooned peas into her mouth.
Dad whacked her across the back of the head, sending peas flying across the table. 
Brenan found this hilarious.
“They’re the boss here, so stop backchatting and pick up those peas.” Dad opened another can of beer. “Hopeless,” he muttered as Quinby attempted to round up her vegetables.

That night as she tried to fall asleep to the sound of her parents arguing, Quinby pondered her imaginary family. She didn’t actually care if they were rich or super‑powered, she just wanted them to be kind. They always were, in her daydreams. And she wanted them, or anyone, to take her away from this place. But she’d been hoping for that as long as she could remember, and she was still here.
Her head realised she would probably be stuck in this house with her real family until she grew up, but her heart continued to dream.

Quinby lay in bed, listening to the morning bird chorus outside her open window. It was Thursday. Most kids were happy when the school week neared its end. Quinby wasn’t. Not that she particularly liked school – especially now she was in Year Seven at the same Penrith high school as her brothers. But it was easier to evade them at school than at home.
She waited for her brothers’ squabbling to subside in the kitchen, which meant they had moved to the loungeroom. Her cue for breakfast.
Mum would already be at work; she was a receptionist at a lawyer’s office. Dad was still sleeping it off. He’d lost another job a few weeks ago and was having trouble finding a new one.
Quinby gulped down her usual breakfast, Vegemite on toast, while making herself a peanut butter and jam sandwich for lunch. She had learned to be fast if she didn’t want to start the day with a fight. She packed the sandwich in her lunchbox, added an apple, then stuffed it in her bag.
She locked herself in the bathroom and had just finished cleaning her teeth when Trent banged on the door. Quinby opened it, jumped over Trent’s outstretched foot, and disappeared into her bedroom to get dressed. Minutes later she left the house in her school uniform wearing her backpack, congratulating herself on successfully dodging her brothers.
A tennis ball hit her on the back of the head as she reached the corner.
Almost, she thought, turning to see Brenan in the front yard. She picked up the ball and pelted it back at him, but without the element of surprise, he easily blocked it. Quinby disappeared around the corner as the ball flew past. She hurried across the road and down a side street, so she’d be out of sight before her brother reached the corner.
Quinby arrived at her best friend Imogen’s house without any more incidents. She rang the doorbell and waited. Imogen emerged, pulling on her backpack, balancing a basketball, and trying to keep her big dog, Marley, inside the house.
“You’ll never guess who rang me last night.”
“Who?” Quinby asked as they walked out of the yard, bouncing the ball between them.
“Catherine Wilton!” Imogen was so chuffed, she practically skipped down the street.
“What did she want?”
“She asked if I’d bring my basketball today. She wants to borrow it at break.”
“You going to play with her?”
Imogen hesitated. “I guess.”
“She didn’t ask? Figures.”
Imogen grabbed her basketball and dribbled it up the street, sidestepping imaginary opponents.
“She’s using you,” Quinby called.
Imogen was standing in front of an empty lot when Quinby caught up with her. She was watching some bigger boys messing around near the back fence.
“You should tell her you’re going to play. Your ball, you play. They're the rules.”
Imogen wasn’t listening. “Is that Michael from Year Eight?”
Quinby glanced at the boys. “Yeah.” She did a doubletake. “What are they doing to that cat?”
Imogen started walking up the street, carrying her ball. “Let’s go.”
The boys had cornered a black cat and were creeping up on it. Michael was holding out his school jacket, ready to throw it over the animal.
“Hey!” Quinby yelled at the boys. “What are you doing to that cat?”
The boys turned, guiltily. When they saw it was Quinby, they relaxed.
“Mind your own business,” Michael shouted, turning back to the frightened feline.
“Leave it alone!”
Michael straightened up again to face Quinby. His mates followed suit.
“Or what?”
Imogen called from the corner, “Come on.”
“Or I’ll make you leave it alone,” Quinby yelled.
With the boys distracted, the cat took the opportunity to sneak towards a hole in the fence. One of the boys noticed. “It’s getting away!”
The boys rushed towards the cat, but it disappeared through the hole. They turned to Quinby, furious, but she was already hurrying around the corner after Imogen.
The girls quickly crossed the road to the school.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I couldn’t just let them hurt the poor cat.”
“Now they’ll hurt you instead.”
Quinby scoffed, “They can try!”
“They’re bigger than you.”
“I’m bigger than the cat, so better me than it. At least I have a chance of beating them.”
Imogen shook her head, half in exasperation, half in admiration.
They walked through the school gates as the bell rang, parting ways for their different Homerooms.
There were six Homeroom classes in Year Seven, and you stayed with your group for all lessons. It seemed like they were graded by last year’s entrance exam. Officially, they were randomly assigned but Quinby noticed that her classmates kept getting top marks on their assignments. She did not. Quinby did well on exams where you didn’t really need to study, but it was hard to work on assignments or study at home. The teachers thought she was lazy. She didn’t correct them.
Quinby gazed out of the open window while Mrs Mizzi marked the roll. A black and white Australian magpie carolled from a tree outside their second‑floor classroom.
“Catherine Wilton?”
“Present.”
Mrs Mizzi was marking the roll backwards again, to make sure they were paying attention.
Quinby looked over at Catherine, who was making big eyes at Jason Huang.
That explains why she wants the basketball, thought Quinby. Jason always played on the courts at breaks.
Quinby returned to watching the large bird as it warbled.
Imogen was envious of Quinby being in the same class as the popular kids. Quinby couldn’t care less.
“It’s a beautiful day.” Someone was singing! 
Quinby laughed as she looked away from the window and around the classroom to see who it was.
No one else was reacting. They appeared just as bored as usual.
“The perfect time to be free.”
Quinby couldn’t see anyone’s lips moving. Why was she the only one laughing?
Mrs Mizzi kept calling the roll. “Jason Huang?”
“Here.”
“Let’s celebrate!”
Quinby realised the voice was coming from outside. She turned back to the window and her mouth fell open in shock as the magpie continued to sing, “This magical day.”
“Quinby Clark?”
“Here,” Quinby answered, unable to tear her eyes from the bird.
The class exploded in laughter. Quinby was too distracted to wonder why. The magpie stopped singing to stare at her with its beady red eyes.
Quinby shook her head to clear it. She must be imagining things.
Mrs Mizzi wasn’t laughing. “Very funny, Quinby. I hope you brought that sense of humour to your creative writing assignment.”
That grabbed Quinby’s attention. She looked nervously at Mrs Mizzi.
“Class, if you haven’t already handed yours in, please do so at the end of roll call.”
Quinby pulled a folder from her backpack. She opened it to her half‑written assignment. She hadn’t touched it since class on Monday. She started scribbling frantically, trying to finish, while glancing at the staring magpie.
Mrs Mizzi was unimpressed. She called the last few names on her class list as she walked over to shut the window.

 

Quinby had never been so relieved for English class to be over. Not only was Mrs Mizzi clearly displeased at her half‑hearted attempt at creative writing, but the magpie had gazed at her through the whole lesson. At least it hadn’t sang again. She didn’t want more proof that she was going crazy.
Quinby grabbed her bag and hurried from the room. She had Maths now and didn’t believe any homework was due. As she crossed the noisy playground, Quinby spotted a magpie circling above her, undeterred by the strong winds.
It can’t be the same one, can it? she thought. There were lots of brown‑haired girls with pale skin and freckles hurrying to classrooms. Surely the magpie wouldn’t be able to single her out.
She walked into her Maths class and deliberately chose a seat in the middle aisle, away from the windows. Quinby pulled out her Maths book and tried to look attentive while Ms Owusu wrote equations on the board.
Lalita plopped into the seat next to her as the bell rang for the start of class.
“Look at that bird,” she whispered.
Quinby tensed and slowly turned towards the windows. The magpie was perched on the windowsill. Staring at Quinby.
They weren’t the only ones who noticed. Catherine rose from her desk and banged on the window, making the bird jump.
“Hey!” the magpie cawed, its feathers ruffled.
Quinby cringed. The bird hadn’t spoken in English, it probably just sounded like “hey”.
The magpie settled back down on the ledge.
Catherine pulled the window open; now there was only a flyscreen between them. 
The magpie didn’t move. Catherine reached for her water bottle.
“Hey!” Quinby yelled.
The whole class turned to look at her, including Ms Owusu.
“Stop that, Quinby!”
“I didn’t want her to scare the bird.”
Ms Owusu saw Catherine standing near the magpie, her water bottle hidden behind her back.
“Squawking won’t help. Sit down, Catherine.”
Catherine smirked as she returned to her seat.
Quinby sagged in her chair, watching the magpie watch her. Something strange was definitely happening.

At recess, Quinby met Imogen near the courts. She’d had to walk the long way to avoid Brenan. Catherine and her friends were already playing basketball against Jason and his mates. Imogen was spectating from the sidelines.
The magpie landed on a nearby fence, still watching Quinby. She tried to ignore it.
“You going to play?”
Imogen shrugged.
“Get out there. If they say anything, remind them it’s your ball.”
Imogen indicated a basketball near a pile of bags. “Jason has one too.”
“So? They’re using yours.”
Imogen tentatively stepped onto the court. Eventually a loose ball came her way. She picked it up and bounced it.
“Pass it to me,” Jason urged.
Catherine countered, “Pass it here.”
“Can we play?” Imogen asked.
“You can,” Catherine said, giving Quinby a dirty look.
Imogen turned to her.
“Go ahead,” Quinby said.
Imogen threw the ball to Catherine, who had noticed the magpie.
“Is that the same stupid bird? I bet I could hit it with the ball.”
“Catherine!” Jason said.
“Kidding,” Catherine simpered to Jason. She turned towards the hoop and took a shot. She missed.
Quinby decided she’d better move away from the courts. If that bird was following her, she didn’t want to lead it into the line of fire.
She walked slowly, eating her apple. Sure enough, the magpie took to the air and flew above her in circles.
This is bizarre, thought Quinby. She sat down on a bench, a short distance from the courts.
The magpie landed in front of her. “Can you understand me?”
Quinby glanced around before answering, “Yes.”
“Welcome to a whole new world, human.”
“What’s going on?”
“You’re Awakening.”
“I’m what?”
“You’re so weird!” Catherine shouted.
Quinby looked up to see all the basketball kids staring at her. She met Imogen’s eyes. Imogen turned away. The magpie flew into a tree.
“You have no idea,” Quinby muttered as she stood and walked towards the classrooms.
The magpie sang joyfully from the treetop.
“I’ve found one! I’ve found an Animal Listener!”
Quinby heard another magpie respond.
“You’ve found one! You’ve found an Animal Listener!”
More and more magpies joined in the singing.
“We’ve found one! We’ve found an Animal Listener!”
Quinby listened in amazement. What was happening? Was she really going mad?
The bell rang for her next lesson, drowning out the celebration. She went inside in a daze. Quinby found it impossible to concentrate in class, so, naturally, she was called on more than usual and couldn’t answer a single question right. The only thing she was aware of was the magpie always sitting outside her classroom, watching her. Often singing his new song, sometimes by himself, sometimes with an ensemble. And no other human noticed a thing.
Imogen played basketball again at lunchtime, so Quinby went into the library to research magpies. She assumed she wouldn’t find anything on people understanding them, but she was desperate to make some sort of sense out of the situation. She discovered that they’re excellent mimics – copying other birds, dogs, horses and even sirens. They have been known to mimic human speech, one source said. Quinby paused, is that what she heard? But no one else could understand the magpie. And mimicking wouldn’t explain how she had a conversation with one.
Quinby was at a loss. Maybe that tennis ball to her head did more than give her a headache. Maybe she just needed a good night’s sleep. Yes, she was sure that was it. The delusions would disappear after a rest.
She left the library for her next class expecting her magpie escort, but when she looked up, a pied currawong had joined the magpie.
“Is that her?”
“Yes.”
“Hello girl,” the mostly black currawong called down.
Students were milling about but Quinby didn’t want to be rude, so she waved surreptitiously.
“She can’t talk with the other humans around,” the magpie explained.
“Of course.” The currawong’s yellow eyes filled with understanding. “Wouldn’t want her to get locked up like a bird in a cage, would we?”
The birds chatted as they followed Quinby to her classroom. She checked to see if anyone else was hearing the conversation, but all the students carried on as if nothing momentous was occurring. Quinby pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. No, she was wide awake.

When the final bell rang for the end of school, an agitated Quinby waited for Imogen at their usual spot, with the magpie observing from a fencepost. She saw both of her brothers leave, Trent driving his old car. The school was almost empty by the time Imogen joined her.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Nowhere.” Imogen glanced around then rushed through the gate.
Quinby walked fast to catch up. “I’ve had the strangest day.”
Imogen didn’t respond as she crossed the road and turned the corner, hurrying along the empty lot. Quinby realised it wasn’t completely empty. The black cat was there again. It strolled onto the footpath and rubbed against her legs.
“I think it remembers me,” Quinby called to Imogen, who was a few steps ahead. She bent down to pat the animal.
“Thank you for defending me,” the cat meowed.
“I can understand cats too?” Quinby said, straightening up in surprise.
Imogen spun around to face her. “Now you’re meowing? You’re never going to be cool if you keep imitating animals.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t meow.”
“Yes, you did! Just like you were chirping at that magpie earlier.”
“Hang on, tell me if I meow.” Quinby leaned over and stroked the cat. “Can you understand me?”
“Yes,” the cat said, enjoying the pats.
“Yes!” Imogen shouted.
Quinby stood up. She didn’t know what to say.
“And Catherine told me you kept squawking in class. What’s going on?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“I don’t realise I’m doing it.”
“How could you not?”
“I don’t know. I’m just talking to the animal. And the weirdest part–’
“Weirder than that?”
“I can understand what they’re saying to me.”
“Oh, come on Quinby! Stop mucking around.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Yeah, right.” Imogen started to leave.
“I’ll prove it.”
Imogen paused. “How?”
“I’ll ask the cat to … go over to the fence and sit down.”
Imogen turned slowly to watch.
Quinby crouched next to the cat, who was sitting quietly, observing their interaction.
“Would you please walk to that fence and sit?”
The cat regarded Quinby. Imogen huffed impatiently.
“Please? I’m trying to show my friend that we can talk to each other.”
The cat raised one paw, licked it leisurely, then delicately smoothed it around her face.
Quinby shrugged at Imogen. “She won’t do it.”
Imogen rolled her eyes. “I dunno what’s up with you lately.” She walked away, dribbling her basketball.
“Thanks for nothing,” Quinby grumbled to the cat.
The animal stretched luxuriously before responding. “Be careful who you tell of your Ability. Humans can’t always be trusted.”
The cat sauntered over to the fence and disappeared through a gap.
Quinby continued towards her house; the magpie shadowed her.
On the next street, a pair of gorgeous rainbow lorikeets played in a shrub full of berries. The sun sparkled off their vibrant coloured feathers.
Quinby wasn’t so surprised when she heard the one hanging upside down sing out, “Look at me, I’m a bat!”
The other lorikeet chattered, “I’m a possum!” as it sprang from branch to branch.
“I’m going crazy!” Quinby said, which made both birds freeze.
“Are you a new Animal Listener?” the upside‑down lorikeet asked.
“I guess so,” Quinby replied.
“Welcome,” they trilled.
It seemed like every time Quinby saw a different type of bird, she began to understand what they were saying. She soon kept her eyes on the footpath, attempting to ignore the surrounding twittering.
As she approached her house, the three Chihuahuas next door rushed to their gate barking. Quinby’s eyes were automatically drawn to them.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, your neighbour,” Quinby said, more concerned for her sanity than shocked that she could also understand dogs.
The Chihuahuas stopped barking in astonishment and sniffed towards her.
The smallest dog, Omega, spoke first. “The nice girl can speak to us now?”
“Apparently,” Alpha, the oldest dog, said.
“The males in your family are mean,” the female dog, Zeta, declared.
“I hope they haven’t hurt you,” Quinby replied.
“We’re too scary for them to get close.” Omega bared his little teeth.
“Here’s the awful old one,” Alpha said as Dad’s car pulled into the driveway. “Be careful.”
“I will.” Quinby crossed the yard.
Dad climbed out of his petrol-guzzling jeep and trudged towards the front door.
“Hi Dad.”
“Hi. Your Mum and I are going to the club. Get your own dinner, alright?”
“Okay.”
Dad turned to glare at Quinby as he unlocked the front door. “And behave yourselves. 
If I come home to find another hole in the wall, you’ll cop it. Am I clear?”
To emphasise, he raised his hand, ready to whack her.
She flinched instinctively and stepped back. “Yeah.”
Quinby waited while Dad disappeared into the hallway, already planning how to elude her brothers. Stepping through the front door, she glanced behind and saw the magpie take off into the sky.

​