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Chapter 2

Zac

Sunday, 13 October

Nine hours and forty-­four minutes before the murder of William Drax-­Du Pont

As soon as Vittoria parked the car outside William’s apartment block, Zac reached over to grab the gift bag from the back seat. It was silver with #naughty in cursive red. Not ideal, but it was the only one he’d been able to find in the gift--wrapping drawer at his mum’s house. He shuddered to think what she had bought that would come in a bag like that.

‘And you’re not giving it to William tonight because . . .?’ asked Vittoria. She’d gone to the effort of wearing sparkly make--up and a denim dress that hugged her curves, but she’d been subdued during their date. Not at all like her usual bubbly self. Zac had spent brunch stewing in paranoia that somehow, impossibly, she’d discovered the truth.

‘That’s the point of the surprise,’ he said.

He could feel her stare as she asked, ‘Is it like an apology or something for what happened at the party?’

Zac lowered his head, his flop of dark hair hanging across his wire--framed glasses. It wasn’t William he wanted to apologise to. Vittoria hadn’t been at the party last Saturday because it had clashed with a family event. It must’ve been even worse to hear about what happened second--hand from Rosie.

Vittoria touched his shoulder. ‘Hey. Talk to me.’

God help him. He didn’t deserve her.

He summoned a vision of the task. Get in, get out. No distractions. Just focus. Act.

It was easy to immerse himself when he was onstage. Less so when there were real people at stake.

‘I’ll be quick,’ he said, opening the car door.

He carried the bag to the building’s pedestrian gate, holding his breath as he put in the code. There was every chance he’d forgotten it, or they’d changed it—

No. The light flashed green; the gate unlocked. Zac released his breath. He followed the narrow, tree--lined path and stepped into the foyer. The space had cream carpet and fancy artworks. Zac lingered, long enough for Vittoria to think he’d gone upstairs, with a story prepared in case anyone came out of the lift. To his relief, no one else appeared. He stashed the bag behind a pot plant before heading back to the car.

Vittoria was silent as they drove away. She hadn’t asked what was in the bag, even though Zac had a lie ready. Maybe she was tired of his half--answers. He’d brushed off her questions about his fight with William.

Just a misunderstanding. Stuff to do with the pod. Nothing to worry about.

Disgraceful, patronising responses.

Zac watched the scenery change from concrete freeways along the sparkling river to shrub--lined highways, then to narrow, weaving roads between towering gum trees. He had tried hard to be a model boyfriend this week. To prove that he was the same guy he’d been for the past three years. To pretend everything hadn’t gone to crap.

‘Are you okay?’ he said as they pulled up at the end of the sharply sloping driveway to his mum’s house. The air was laden with floral smells, the native trees in bloom around the neighbourhood. Across the road, he could see his little sisters racing across the huge grassy park, sharp--beaked magpies eyeing them beadily.

‘Yeah, just thinking about exams.’ She glanced at him sideways. ‘And you?’

He didn’t want to answer that. Tonight, the gang would be recording the next two episodes of Five Voices. The next two . . . or the last two. That would depend on William.

Zac’s anger from the party was still simmering beneath the surface. It was a volcano inside him, its pressure building, squeezing at his lungs like an asthma attack. He imagined how the others would react. Ocean would try to stay out of it – he was allergic to conflict. Rosie and Simone would be furious . . . but only for a while. They didn’t need the money like he did. And William would smooth--talk his way back into their good graces.

Zac couldn’t blame them. Up until recently, he had been enthralled by William too.

William dictated their every move, whether they knew it or not. Zac could attempt to make amends, but he suspected their friendship was over. There was no turning back now.

‘Charlie’s here,’ Vittoria said.

Zac glanced up as Charlie parked on the verge in her van. She hopped out, satchel slung across her chest. Her fuzzy black hair was captured in a short ponytail. A gothic singlet hung from her thin frame. Ripped jeans and sneakers finished the look.

She trotted over and leaned through Vittoria’s open window. ‘Hey, darls.’

‘Hey,’ Vittoria said. ‘He’s all yours.’

Zac’s jaw locked. Being passed between his girlfriend and his best friend was supposed to be funny, but the joke stung. It reminded him too much of his parents’ divorce. If he could afford a car, it wouldn’t be so awful. And now he knew what William had done, it was all the worse.

Charlie jerked her chin in Zac’s direction. ‘I like your outfit.’

Zac glanced down at his rainbow--striped shirt and black vest. Alarmingly appropriate.

Or inappropriate.

Don’t think about the party.

‘Still want to squeeze in a few Sondheim movies before tonight?’ Charlie asked.

Don’t think about the party.

‘If I ever say no to that, I’ve been replaced by a clone,’ Zac said.

Don’t think about the party.

‘Yeah, obviously.’

Don’t think about the—

His brain was already surrendering. The familiar, spinning--teacup sensation whirled through him as memories surfaced from the depths. Torturous, heavenly echoes. That pervasive smell, hands cupping his face, hot breath in his mouth—

Charlie thumped her hand on the car roof, making him jump.

‘Ground control to Major Zac,’ she said.

‘He’s been like this all day,’ Vittoria said. ‘All week, actually.’

Charlie gave Zac a knowing look. ‘Come on, spaceman. I’m sure Vee has better things to do than watch you zone out.’

‘I do, actually.’ Vittoria leaned over to peck Zac on the cheek. ‘See you later.’

‘Okay.’ Zac got out of the car, trying to banish the spinning--teacup sensation.

He and Charlie watched Vittoria drive away. It was only after her car disappeared around the corner that Charlie said, ‘You worried about tonight?’

‘Why would I be worried? It’s not like my life is about to fall apart or anything.’

Charlie gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. ‘I got you through the doxxing. I’ll get you through this too.’

Zac exhaled shakily. He didn’t like being reminded about the doxxing. About their school photos being slathered across the Five Voices forum, along with their personal information.

The one called Maestro is ZACHARIAH HOLTZ, who lives between DARLINGTON and MIDVALE. Surprised by the photo? Yeah, looks like he ‘forgot’ to mention for the entire three--year run of the pod that he’s brown. Ashamed? Afraid? Assumes it’s irrelevant?

The humming panic. The sludgy dread.

Someone had found out everything about him. Had hunted him. The photo suggested they’d hacked into the school network, but how had they known where to look?

And why had they gone so hard on the fact he was brown? What did it matter to them?

He’d always intended to be a public figure, but under terms he could control. With his future podcast network and film studio, he’d be working behind the scenes. As for his plays, he’d use a nom de plume, screening himself the same way his codename was supposed to protect him on Five Voices.

Except their little podcast had grown bigger than anyone had predicted, and now, thanks to the doxxer, the whole world knew what he and his friends looked like, what they sounded like, where they lived.

The post had been taken down, but the data was out.

None of them could hide anymore.

Extracted from Five Voices by Tamara Moss, available from September 1 at your bookstore of choice.

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Five Voices

by Tamara Moss

Five characters. Four suspects. All of them are hiding secrets. None of them can be trusted. A thrilling and addictive YA murder mystery from a New York Times bestselling Australian author, and perfect for fans of One of Us Is Lying, We Were Liars, and A Good Girl's Guide to Murder.

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