As the Byron Writers Festival approaches, local author Tristan Bancks shares with Herald readers an extract of his latest book for readers aged 10 years+, Raised by Wolves, a story inspired by adventure, resilience and the complexities of growing up. Tristan is host of the free Kids Program on Sunday 16 August at the Bay Street Stage, 9-11.30am

Mr Wolf 3.07pm

Olive knows the man is watching her even before she wipes the foggy classroom window. Cars and buses build up out front for the end of school; a van passes, splashing through a puddle, and as water sprays in a high arc, her eyes are drawn to the shape of him, leaning against a power pole. Her breath hitches and she leans in, wiping the window again, fingers squeaking on cold glass. He looks skinny with a scraggly beard and a shaved head. He wears black jeans and a black t-shirt. He stands in the rain with no umbrella and he stares directly at her.

A bus goes by, obscuring her view for a moment. Another bus passes right on the tail of the first, then another as the bell rings and kids start to pack up.

‘Chairs on tables, please,’ Ms Ridgeway calls over the clatter. ‘Please read the intro to chapter seventeen by second period tomorrow. Have a good afternoon.’

By the time the third bus is gone, he’s gone, too. Olive feels a hot rush from her chest to her throat, making it hard to swallow. She wants to call her brother, Ben, but he won’t believe her.

‘Hey,’ says a voice from the desk behind.

Olive turns. It’s Arya, who seems to want to be friends with her, though Olive can’t understand why.

‘Do you want to come over to my place this afternoon? Some of us are gonna hang out.’

Olive looks out the window again. He’s nowhere to be seen.

Say yes, she thinks. Don’t go home alone. But the words are out before she can talk herself around.

‘Nah, thanks. I’m okay. I’ve got something I need to do.’ Arya looks deflated. ‘O-kay.’

It’s not the first time this has happened. Arya must think Olive has a really busy social life. Or that she has heaps of other friends.

Arya and the rest of the class head for the door but Olive stays, scanning the street for her dad.

‘Are you okay?’ a faraway voice asks. ‘Huh?’

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Ms Ridgeway says, approaching Olive’s desk. She has dark curly hair, lots of necklaces and a worried smile.

Maybe I have, Olive thinks. ‘Are you okay?’ the teacher asks again.

‘Thriving,’ Olive says, scrunching her maths exam paper into her bag on top of her library books. The paper has a green A in a circle and a smiley face.

‘Have you had a think about Extension yet?’

Olive takes a last look out the window. Students pour out the doors below, flooding the gate. Cars are at a standstill in the street, wipers swishing, waiting for kids to cross. But no Dad.

‘I’m all good,’ Olive says, heading for the door. Ben’ll know what to do, she thinks.

‘You could be very good,’ Ms Ridgeway says. ‘I don’t want to pressure you, but if you don’t do the foundational work now . . .’

Or should I call Mum? Olive wonders. No. She’ll freak.

‘Olive?’

‘Huh?’ She stops in the doorway. Kids swarm by in the corridor, chatting, laughing, loud.

‘Did you hear any of what I just said?’ the teacher asks, tilting her head to the side, necklaces rattling.

‘Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ll think about it. Thank you.’

She heads out into the corridor, taking the stairs down two at a time, dodging a thousand kids who tower over her and act like the world hasn’t just been tipped on its side. She bursts through the double doors of E Block and pulls her hood up against wind and rain, half expecting him to jump out and grab her.

Or hug her. Was it him? After all this time?

Olive pulls out her ancient, hand-me-down phone and calls Ben. It rings and rings. Cold rain trickles from her hand into the arm of her hoodie and down to her elbow, but she barely notices.

Maybe Dad just wants to say sorry, she thinks. She has dreamed that he would show up one day and be so sorry for what he’s done that he would, somehow, make it up to her and Ben and Mum. This dream feels a bit like when Nan used to talk about winning twenty million in Lotto and buying a house on the harbour.

She ends the call and dials again, spilling out the gate onto the wide footpath in front of Parent Pickup – a service Olive has never needed to use. She scans faces in cars, but it’s hard with rain pouring and wipers thrashing. The phone goes to voicemail. ‘You’ve called Ben. Leave a –’

She hits end. It’s impossible to get hold of him at the academy.

Five years. Why would Dad come back now? Maybe I’m seeing things again.

She used to see Dad around all the time. Or think she did. For the first two years after he took off from the cops, Olive thought she saw him every few days. Ben and Mum never believed her.

Olive bustles along, wiping rain from her eyes, scouring the street for him. He looks different now with his head shaved, but she’s sure it was him. She hated Dad when she was little. She used to call him Maugrim, the evil wolf from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. She was small and white-blonde and tough back then. She is still small but her hair’s darker and she’s nowhere near as tough.

Buses and cars amble past as she rushes along the footpath toward the intersection. One of her fears is walking home and Dad snatching her off the street, pulling her into a car. Another fear is that he wouldn’t care enough to bother. She also worries that she will come home after school and find him in the apartment, which is why she checks every room with a knife.

At the intersection of School Road and the old highway, cars splash through the lights, even after they turn red. Olive searches for Dad’s face in the cars and on the street. She tries Ben again and he picks up first ring.

‘What?!’ he snaps. ‘Sorry.’ ‘What do you need?’ Now that he’s angry, Olive is afraid to say it.

‘You know I’m not supposed to use my phone,’ he says. ‘What do you need?’

‘I . . .’

The words are stuck somewhere between her brain and her mouth. She doesn’t want to upset him. Or hear that note in his voice that shows he doesn’t believe her, that he thinks it’s just like before when she was an annoying little sister, desperate to see her dad no matter who he was or what he’d done.

If she tells him, Ben will ask, Where is he now? and Olive won’t know. And Ben’s an hour-and-a-half away, so what’s the point? It’s not like he’ll just come home.

‘Olive?’ Ben says, frustrated. ‘Are you all right?’ ‘Yeah,’ she says.

‘I gotta go.’ His voice is a whisper now. ‘They’re calling us. Love you, kid.’

And he’s gone. ‘Love you,’ she says to no one.

Cars rip by on the old highway. A siren wails. Olive searches for signs of Dad but sees nothing. She knows she should drop this. No good can come from finding him. But once Olive gets an idea in her head, it’s hard for her not to follow through. She edges from foot to foot, wondering whether to go home or back to school and wait it out in the library. Or to Mum’s work.

She looks behind, then up ahead, then diagonally across the old highway. That’s when she sees him.

Photo Tristan Bancks at the launch of Raised by Wolves in Byron bay  Photo Amber Melody