Let’s pull all these fragments back together and see what we have. Here’s the original snippet.
He grew up to be supple and hardy. Most of the year he wore nothing but shorts, a shirt, and a battered old Tom Sawyer hat. But when the winter wind came sweeping up from Antarctica with ice on its tongue, licking and smoothing his cheeks into cold flat pebbles, he put on one of his father’s thick coats that came down to his ankles. Then he would turn up the collar, let his hands dangle down to get lost in the huge pockets, and go outside again as snug as a penguin in a burrow. For he couldn’t bear to be inside. He loved the whip of the wind too much, and the salty sting of the spray on his cheek like a slap across the face, and the endless hiss of the dying ripples at his feet. For Storm Boy was a storm boy.
Amelia was wiry and nimble. Her wardrobe was colourful and always mismatched, a hodgepodge of garb discovered in bins or given to her by charities. But when it was time for someone to pay attention to her, when official types wanted to bark and blather and blame and make her go to interviews she didn’t want to attend, Amelia had a grey business suit hanging near her mattress, ready to go. Then she would wash, slip the outfit on, and try her best to look like everyone else, as normal as the people who usually ignored her. For she loved to be ignored. Amelia craved the quiet calm of exploring overlooked places, the sweet pleasure of unearthing unwanted trinkets like a junkyard archaeologist, and the pure joy of being part of a secret, overlooked world. For Amelia didn’t call herself homeless. She was a treasure hunter.
Xavier grew up to be breezy and bright. Weekdays he put up with the school uniform: white button-up shirt, knee-high socks, tartan tie and bottle-green hat. But when the bell rang at 3pm on Friday, snapping open the lock of school so the chains fell to the floor, he went straight to the toilets and there changed into singlet and shorts, with a pair of dirty blue thongs clamped between his toes and a yellow Billabong cap tugged over his head. Then he would sling his uniform-stuffed bag over one shoulder and cruise out as easy as a seagull gliding over the waves. For he was all about taking it easy. He loved the bake of the sun on the bay, and the damp shade in the marsh like a cool cloth on his back, and the slow tumble of the clouds in the endless dome of the sky. For Xavier was the lord of chill.
