“Oh, great. Now she’s a poet,” mutters Maya, making a spare-me face.

But Sicilee, of course, is no longer looking at Maya. If her smile were sunshine, Cody would be burnt to a crisp.

Cody, however, doesn’t step into the shade. Maya watches in horror as he opens his arms to Sicilee the way he opens them to Maya in her fantasies, as though inviting the girl who isn’t aware and doesn’t care to step into them.

“Don’t keep us in suspense—” pleads Cody. And he hesitates. Maya sits up straight, her bones locked. Why does he pause? Was he going to call her “baby”? Was he going to call her “Siss” the way her friends do? Sicilee is practically glowing; she has ideas about what he was going to call her, too. (In fact, Cody hesitates because the only thing he can remember about Sicilee’s name is that it has something to do with pizza – but neither Maya nor Sicilee will ever know that, of course.) “Shine the light of knowledge on us. Tell us what your idea is.”

Maya’s smile is as gone as the woods that once covered Manhattan. Has she made a mistake? Was she so certain of victory that she dropped her guard? So sure of success that she moved her eyes from her opponent to the prize? She’s definitely misjudged to what levels someone like Sicilee – someone not handicapped by scruples – is willing to sink.

“Well…” Sicilee shrugs as though she actually knows what “modestly” means. “It kind of hit me that a lot of people, you know, they want to do stuff to help the planet, but they really don’t know what to do.” She removes two sheets of paper the same shade of purple as her blouse from the purple folder in her hand. “So what I figured was that we could do a series of posters on, you know, basic things we all can do to make things better.”

Of course, it’s an embarrassingly simple idea – how could it not be when it comes from someone who thinks that an example of an existential question is: What should I wear with these shoes? But even Maya can see that it’s not a bad idea.

Cody thinks it’s a great idea. “Man,” he says, “that’s so close to being a stroke of genius you couldn’t tell them apart.”

Maya sits a little straighter, raising her hand. “Excuse me,” she says, smiling almost apologetically, “but I have a question.”

Sicilee turns to her with the look a queen might give a cat. “Yes?”

“Well, I was just wondering if maybe it isn’t a little anti-environmental to use brand-new paper that matches your clothes when you could write your notes about how to save the planet on the back of an old envelope or something like that?”

Sicilee’s smile doesn’t dim. There is no way the Barbarian is going to ruin this moment of triumph for her. She may be snide, sneaky, unprincipled and treacherous, but this time she has met her match. “Well, obviously I would have, Maya. Sweet Mary, of course I would. But, unfortunately, we’d just taken everything to the recycling centre and there wasn’t any scrap paper at all in the house.” And then she sails on as though the only sound for the last few minutes has come from her. “So I already jotted down some suggestions… Just really easy things anybody can do. You know, like recycling and composting organic waste and cutting back on disposable items and using those energy-efficient light bulbs? I figured that if we put up a list of maybe twelve different things every week or so, by Earth Day everybody will be, like, really with the programme.”

Maya can’t believe her ears. Couldn’t Sicilee think of anything more obvious? That’s like telling people to open the door before they walk through it. She looks at Cody, expecting him, if not to laugh out loud, at least to stop smiling as if Sicilee just invented a car that runs on air.

But Cody says, “Hey, I like it! I really like it!” He thinks it’s a great idea. He is jubilant. Exultant. If he stands any closer to Sicilee, he’ll be past her. “Let’s see what else you have there.” He reaches out his hand to her.

This time, Maya doesn’t bother raising hers. “Recycling and energy-efficient light bulbs?” she asks. “Are you serious?” She says this in a kindly, helpful way. “I mean, I really don’t think that there’s anyone who isn’t living in an igloo who doesn’t already know about those things.”

Cody disagrees. “No, she’s flat-out right.” Cody says you should always start with the really obvious stuff and work your way up. “A-B-C,” says Cody. “That’s how you teach.” He touches Sicilee’s fingers. He smiles at Sicilee in a way that he has never smiled at Maya. There are places in the world where the way Sicilee smiles back at him would get them both arrested. Maya shuts her mouth so tightly she can feel her teeth.

Things, however, are about to get even worse.

It may be a bitter moment for Maya, but for Sicilee it couldn’t be sweeter if it were covered in honey. Cody is standing so near her you could barely slip a mobile phone between them, and Maya is glaring at her as if she would turn Sicilee into a lizard if she hadn’t left her cauldron and broomstick at home. “You know what?” says Sicilee. “I just had another idea.” Luminous with victory, she grabs Cody’s arm and purrs, “Wouldn’t it be really cool if Maya did some of her cartoons to go with my lists?” She moves her head just enough so that she can look right into Maya’s eyes. “You know, because she’s so artistic.”

The only reason Maya doesn’t gasp out loud is because her mouth is clamped so tightly closed. The girl’s completely delusional. Can she possibly think that Maya would work for her? Or is she just trying to jerk Maya’s chain?

“That could be really awesome,” says Cody, though not to Maya. “That could really float the boat.”

Maya unclamps her mouth and gives Sicilee a look that could sink every ship in the navy. “Oh, what a shame,” she says, managing to keep any trace of regret from her voice. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Siss.” There is no trace of regret in her smile, either. “Because I already have a project. And it’s pretty all-encompassing, if you know what I mean. It doesn’t leave me any time to doodle pictures of light bulbs.” She rises from her seat, addressing the group at large. “Actually, I’ve been mulling it over for a couple of weeks now. You know, doing some preliminary sketches … getting my thoughts in order … sorting out my ideas?”

“Oh, really?” Sicilee brushes a long, golden hair from her sleeve. “And just what is this all-encompassing project, pray tell?”

Maya can only wish she knew. She forces herself to smile, her eyes darting around the room as though the idea that will save her is tucked into a corner or languishing on the window ledge. In fact, the idea that saves her is sitting on the lap of a girl named Daphne. It is a bottle of lemon-flavoured water. Only a few days ago, Maya had a conversation with Cody about plastic. Cody said that the problem with plastic wasn’t just that, instead of wonders of civilization like the pyramids, we’re leaving our descendants mountains of plastic that won’t rot away for a thousand years, but that we completely ignore the hidden costs of mass production. Maya’s smile takes on a luminosity of its own. “I call it Do You Know?” she says, staring back into Sicilee’s eyes – glacier-blue today to match her heart. “It’ll be a series of illustrated information posters that say things like—” She pauses, as if searching for an example. “Like … do you know how many litres of water it takes to make one litre of Coca-Cola? And then I give the answer. You know, two-and-a-half. That kind of thing.”

Cody nods his head approvingly – as well he might, since this information came from him to begin with.

“I don’t know what’s rising or what’s transiting, but the stars are righteously with us today,” he says. “Two great ideas in one afternoon! How outlandishly cool is that? I tell you all, I’m as happy as a bear in salmon season.” He looks over at Clemens. “What did I tell you, bro?” demands Cody. “We are going to be so gold we’ll have to rename ourselves El Dorado.”

Clemens says something and Cody walks towards him, while around them everyone else starts to talk.

Maya and Sicilee, standing facing each other now, are smiling at each other in a way that suggests pistols at dawn.

“So where are all these preliminary sketches, Baraberra?” Sicilee waves her purple folder in Maya’s face. “We’ve all seen my ideas. Where are yours?”

“I didn’t bring them today, did I?” Maya rests a hand on the back of an empty chair, leaning forward. “I didn’t feel ready to show them yet.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Sicilee leans towards her. “Like you even thought of this all-encompassing project of yours more than five minutes ago.”

“I don’t want to burst your little-princess bubble, Sicilee, but in case nobody told you, drawings aren’t like writing down ‘turn out the lights’ and ‘recycle your fashion magazines’ while you’re straightening your hair. They actually take some time and effort.”

“Let me tell you something, poor little worker bee.” Sicilee tilts towards her. She even smells purple. “You have so bitten off more than you can chew this time. And I, for one, hope that you choke on it.”

“Well, don’t bet on it,” counters Maya. “Because if you think you’re going to change the world with your feeble lists, you’re in for a big surprise.” She moves so close their noses almost touch. “In case this is something else no one bothered to tell you, a picture is worth a thousand words.”

It is Sicilee who pulls back first. “Did you know that you’re, like, a million times more irritating than a mosquito?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Maya laughs.

“A mosquito can be crushed,” says Sicilee.