Tightrope

Eat the Rich, Honestly

So, my plan was not very well thought out, logistically.

Firstly, Marc McGovern lived four kilometres away from me, and his house was not near a train station.

Secondly, I was on crutches, and could not really travel four kilometres on them.

Thirdly, Alex had yet to answer my text messages, and therefore Chance was not here to, begrudgingly, drive us.

In some ways, this was a blessing. Chance was panicky and safe and very much liked to adhere to rules of proper conduct he had made up in his head. For example, when I had generously set him up with Alesha Hart's brother last year, Chance had disregarded all of his fabulous qualities; the gorgeous skin and face and body and killer personality, all because Maverick Hart had done a little bit of cocaine at their 9am brunch and tried to play a drinking game with him at the cute café on the corner of West and Elm.

Maybe that was not the best example.

I think Maverick Hart was in prison now. Alesha told me he'd repeatedly shoved his special tool into a traffic cone at midday in the middle of the main street.

His real problem seemed to be with recognizing time of day, actually. Which didn't work for the ever-punctual Chance.

I was just not a good Cupid. Clearly, I couldn't recognize a perfect couple if it was standing right in front of me.

I had already hopped an entire kilometre and my body was aching in protest. I could practically hear my underarms shouting at me as the crutches dug viciously into them. I was, honestly, tempted to cut the cast off my body and just walk normally, but I knew the poor thing would just collapse. She had truly been through the wringer, my poor leg. What a trooper.

"Ugh," I said aloud. I couldn't go any further. I would just have to wait for Alex to respond to his stupid messages.

I sat down on the nature strip outside Lenny Holden's house with a disgruntled sigh. Toorak was an affluent suburb, and I knew most of the people here, even though I didn't go to fancy private schools with their kids. But it was a safe area—otherwise, I would not be traipsing the streets in the dark—and I used to dog walk most people's puppies on the weekend, so I tended to know most of the folks around here.

I pulled out my phone. Alex had yet to text me back. I tapped his number and held the phone in front of me, set on speaker. I liked speakerphone, because if someone tried to murder me, at least Alex could yell at them that he was going to call the police or something. The call rang out once, so I tried again. Alex's voicemail was just him making a fart sound. And he wondered why he was never hired.

"What's up, Montez?" said Alex as he picked up the phone. He sounded sleepy. It was only just reaching midnight, the clock having just shifted to let me know that it was now April 19th. 

"Get Chance to drive you up here. We're going to Marc McGovern's."

"Wha—?"

"Have you been asleep?"

"Well, yeah. It's a school night."

"You sound like Daria."

Alex laughed, and the noise echoed through the empty streets. "It's called adulting, you turd. And why do you want to go to Marc McGovern's? He's the worst. No one but the stoners will be there."

"Since when are you responsible?"

"Lena, I'm not becoming a priest. I just don't really think Marc McGovern is my particular brand of fun. Also, no offence, but you're a cripple. Looking after you would be very boring."