(I had to write the first couple of hundred words by today - so far, this is all I’ve got.)

The river was called the Wairoa - this meant ‘big water’, which was probably a lie or a joke of some sort, as there were only a few spots where the water was over your head. Mostly, the river ran shallow over round grey rocks and sparkled in the sun, which was why someone had named the town Brightwater. The best place for swimming was down the end of Bryant Road, where the tar seal ended and the road changed to gravel and turned to follow the river. By the end of the long summer the river had shrunk from its banks, leaving the round grey rocks plastered with weed that dried to fibrous grey mats in the sun.

Blair scrambled up the bank and waited, scuffing his feet, for the other two to catch up. After a few moments, Jason came pounding round the corner, scaling the crumbling slope with more difficulty. Last was Godzilla, who clambered up awkwardly, little paws skidding, wheezing excitedly.
Jason brushed some of the dust off his pants. “Blai-air! Mum said stay off this part of the road! I don’t wanna make her mad with me! I saw her crying a bit in the laundry, before.” He looked imploringly at his older brother, but Blair wasn’t backing down.
“I don’t care – you wanna see where they do the burnouts, right? Anyway, who’s gonna tell her?” He started walking. Godzilla followed, and after a moment, so did Jason.