Mark Smith - If Not Us

Hed always accepted the mine and power station were part of Shelbourne. On still nights, the thrum of the turbines echoed down the valley and melded with the sound of the ocean until you couldnt tell them apart.

Hesse lives a small coastal town, where a coalmine and power station are a part of the scenery, and a part of the ever-growing problem of climate change. His mum is a member of a local environmental group campaigning to close the mine and shut down the power station. Its a no-brainer, of course, but Hesse is more interested in surfing-and in Fenna, the new exchange student from the Netherlands.

But when someone seems to be trying to derail the campaign, and his friends families face losing their jobs, Hesse begins to realise that things are complex.

Even though hes reluctant to step into the spotlight, with Fennas encouragement he decides its time to make a stand. Because some things are too important to leave to everyone else. And even one small, nervous voice can make a difference.

When Hesse agrees to speak at a protest meeting he has no idea of the storm he is about to unleash.

If Not Us is Mark Smiths first standalone YA novel following his hugely successful Winter trilogy. Its another great story with an engaging and relatable protagonist, as well as an impassioned plea for climate-change action that will inspire and empower readers of all ages.

For June Monica Smithfor imbuing a love of books in this most reluctant of readers

If not us, who? If not now, when?
John F. Kennedy

You are failing us. But young people are starting to understand your betrayal. The eyes of all future generations are upon you. And if you choose to fail us, I say: We will never forgive you. We will not let you get away with this. Right here, right now is where we draw the line. The world is waking up. And change is coming, whether you like it or not.
Greta Thunberg (UN Climate Action Summit, 2019)

Hesse slipped his board into the rack on the side of his bike and swept down the Russell Street hill. If he was lucky hed get an hour in the water before dark. May was the best month for waves, with gentle offshore breezes and in-between-sized swells, like the whole coast was drawing breath before the arrival of winter. He loved this feeling of flying down the hill, with the promise of waves ahead of him and his weekend homework buried in his backpack in his bedroom.

School was done for the week and the next two days hed be tied up working in the surf shop. That didnt worry him, thoughthe water was crowded on weekends with surfers from the city. But Friday arvos were golden: just the local crew, the tradies finishing early and the schoolkids racing each other from the bus stop to the beach.

He reached the corner and swung left onto Ocean Road, past the general store with its two petrol bowsers standing out front like sentries, and on to the surf shop. It was a converted mechanics workshop, a big barn of a place that Theo Turnbull had been running forever.

Hesse mounted the kerb and skidded to a halt in the gravel car park. Theo was in the shaping bay, one hand holding a worn piece of sandpaper, the other caressing the rail of a foam blank he was working on. Most boards were factory-made these days, but Theo still shaped his own for special customers.

Hesse, my main man, he said, looking up. Youre in a hurry.

He always spoke like thatlike the seventies had never ended and Morning of the Earth was still showing at the Shelbourne hall.

Need some wax, Hesse replied. You should finish early and come for a surf. Its small but Haystacks should be okay.

And every tradie on the coast will be crowded onto the one bank, yahooing and carrying on like its New Years Eve.

Hesse looked at Theo. His hair was still thick and his ponytail long even though he was pushing sixty. When he was shaping like this, he tied his beard into a strange sort of bun and tucked it inside his T-shirt. The fine dust from the foam blank sat in the creases of his face making him look like some sort of nightmarish snowman.

You need to be careful. Youll frighten the customers away, Hesse said.

Theo smiled, showing the gap between his front teeth. Wax, you say? You know where it is. Thatll be on the account, will it?

Theo had taken Hesse under his wing when Hesses father had died seven years ago. Trevor Templeton paddled out at Razors one bleak winters afternoon and never came back. No body. No board. Nothing. It was like hed been swallowed by the ocean. Theo was meant to surf with him that day, but hed been held up at the shop. By the time hed driven out to the point, it was almost dark and low cloud had rolled in. Razors broke half a kilometre out to sea. Theo had waited for his friend to return to shore but Trevor never arrived. The weather had turned that night; the offshore shifted to a vicious southerly gale. By the time theyd got a boat out, Trevor would have been in the water for five hours. Theyd searched through the night, risking their own lives in the conditions, but found nothing.

It takes longer than seven years to get over something like that, but Theo had helped Hesse through the worst of the pain.

See ya tomorrow, Hesse said, grabbing a block of Mrs Palmers off the shelf behind the counter.

Dont be late. Its going to be a sunny weekend. Well be flat out.

Hesse gave him the upward nod that ended most of their conversations. He tucked the wax into the crate attached to the carrier, sliding it under his wetsuit and towel.

He rode around the side of the surf shop, cut through the Rotary playground and rejoined Ocean Road in front of the surf lifesaving club. From there he braced for the climb up the hill towards the lookout. As he emerged from the protection of the trees, the offshore hit him and he instinctively turned seaward. Haystacks was a kilometre further along the coast but he could tell by the way the sets were hitting the end of Wangim Point that hed be in for a good surf.

Reaching the top, he swung off the road, riding the dirt track like he was surfing a wave, banking on the corners and shifting his weight in the seat.

The car park at Haystacks was only half fulla good sign. Hesse stashed his bike in the tea trees, changed quickly into his wetsuit and ran down the track onto the open beach. There were a dozen surfers in the water. He hoped Jago Crothers wasnt one of them. Jago was a couple of years older than Hesse. He was apprenticed to his dad, Bob, Shelbournes only motor mechanic. For reasons Hesse could only guess at, Jago seemed to enjoy nothing more than hassling him whenever they found themselves surfing the same break. It wasnt as though Hesse had ever done anything to aggravate him, not that he could remember, anyway. And everyone else seemed to like Jago, with his Ryan Gosling smile and smooth manner.

Hesse hadnt seen his pimped-up ute in the car park, but Jago had plenty of mates who could have given him a lift.

The paddle out was easy. Once he got past the shore break, Hesse stroked towards the other surfers who were congregated on a clean right-hander. The waves always appeared a little steeper and hollower from water level, but the size was manageable. Hesse sat up on his board just wide of the pack and watched. Even with the sun in his eyes, he recognised Steve Dalys familiar style. Quick to his feet, he was perfectly balanced as he leaned into a bottom turn, one palm almost touching the face of the wave. Hesse was on nodding terms with Steve, though theyd never spoken. It was the way with most of the older localsa nod, maybe a brief gday, then back to business.