The Wyld Girls

Chapter 1 - Michelle

Today, I owe it to the families and teens and grandparents and couples waiting patiently for the show to begin. I stretch my lips into biggest, brightest smile I can manage on my face then check my reflection in the mirror beside the door.

My hair hangs down to the small of my back in its normal beachy blonde waves that I've been told I should be grateful for my entire life. I've thought about cutting it so many times; in my line of work dealing with fish and faeces, long hair is a burden. I actually tried to get a hairdresser to chop it off a few months ago, but she refused, white-faced and shaking. "I can't chop off the hair of Michelle Wyld," she'd gasped. "That's like shaving off the KFC guy's beard! Oh my god, what would Bruce think?"

Bruce has been dead for seven years, he doesn't think much about anything anymore, I'd wanted to retort. Instead I smiled politely and left, and the hairdresser sold her story to Woman's Day where it immediately transformed into viral news. 97% of Australians officially agreed that cutting my hair was disrespectful to Bruce's memory, so that was that. I'm stuck with long locks that constantly get trapped under my armpits or trail through the damp and dirty surfaces around the wildlife sanctuary I'm charged with caring for. Yay...

Sighing and feeling as though I should be turning 90 instead of 30 in a few weeks, I straighten my headset microphone and ask Parker in the sound booth, "Any sign of Kylie yet?"

"Briggs said she left the tiger enclosures twenty minutes ago. She'll be here."

"She loves to make an entrance," I say, exasperated. "I swear, since she turned eighteen, she's gotten worse. I'll meet her backstage."

I clomp to the door in my giant work boots, wishing for the millionth time that my life was different, that I was wearing pretty heels and a dress and strutting down a city street somewhere instead of my current reality. Outside the changeroom, the seals and sea lions slosh inside their enclosures, some pausing to check if I'm there to feed them or just passing by. "I'm just here for Dell," I tell them, waving the glossy heads away.

The enclosure on the end contains a mammoth shape turning happy circles in his small pool. "Dell!" I call out, tapping my metal ring on the door frame. "Come on, mate. Showtime!"

With a mini-tidal wave, my favourite sea lion, Lindell, launches himself out of the pool and onto the deck. I gesture for him to sit on his bed, a low wooden pallet by the enclosure door, and when he's propped up patiently on his station, I toss him a fish for his trouble and open the lock. "Let's go, big guy!"

Lindell follows me along the gangplank to the floating stage, his movements a combination of awkward waddling and ungainly sliding. Backstage, I set him up near the wings and feed him again. "Hey, Parker? We're all set back here."

"Okay, one minute time call. You guys have fun out there."

"Thanks." This time, my smile is genuine. "And thanks for manning the sound booth today. I know that's not part of normal duties for a sanctuary curator."

"Anything you need, Mish. I've got you covered."

His voice is my safety blanket. I know from reading stupid press articles about Bruce and Parker's friendship that Parker is considered the less attractive, less charismatic one - the sidekick. Bruce was like a superhero, a six-foot-four giant of a man with a massive white smile and eyes so brown and wide, they looked like anime features. He was bumptious and loud and immediately commanded the attention of everyone in any room.

Parker is shorter than Bruce was, his red hair and freckles causing him to be the butt of every ginger joke known to man. He doesn't have Bruce's magnetism, but his emerald eyes are always kind, and his voice is low and calm and soothing, like thunder as it rumbles after a storm.