Page 46 of Serenity Falls

Anyway, a few days before the Arnie meet-and-greet, Chris comes to see me at the diner. He didn’t usually do that. He hung out with the jocks, the popular kids. They came into the diner sometimes, and he’d say ‘Hi,’ but he wouldn’t really talk to me. That was okay. I got it. I’m twenty-one. I work a dead-end job, and I live with my gran. I am the definition of ‘loser’. If I didn’t grow the best weed, no one would talk to me at all.

But this evening Chris came up to the counter and asked quietly if he could have a word. He looked upset, worried. And that wasn’t like Chris. Chris didn’t worry about anything. Why would he? So, I got the feeling something was up. I asked Lou if she could cover for me for a few minutes. She rolled her eyes, but said, ‘Yeah. I guess.’

We headed out the back. I looked around and then slipped out half a joint I’d saved in my apron pocket. I sparked it up and took a drag. ‘So, what’s up, dude?’

‘I, err, I wanted to ask you a favour?’

‘Okay?’

‘Can you do the Arnie meet-and-greet on Monday?’

I stared at him. ‘I got work.’

I didn’t have work till the evening, but there was some shit I needed to do which I couldn’t tell Chris about.

He frowned and looked agitated. He hadn’t even asked for a drag on my joint (and I wasn’t going to offer) so he must have been preoccupied. ‘Please, man. I really need someone to cover for me.’

Still, I hesitated. ‘I dunno—’

He looked desperate. ‘I’ll make it worth your while, man.’

Did I mention Chris’s family is rich? I mean, really rich. They own one of the biggest houses in Serenity Falls. Chris drives a brand-new Porsche and always wears the latest designer gear. He once told me he has like, fifty pairs of trainers.

Unlike me, he doesn’t need to do the Mascot work for cash. He does it for the kudos – being a Mascot is seen as serving the community in Serenity. Sure, it gets you other perks, like discounts at places to eat, free popcorn at the cinema and, for college kids, it goes on their record when they graduate. It might seem dumb to some people, but I guess it all filters down from the original guy – Harold Winsom. Even when he became mega rich, he would still wear a Mascot costume from time to time and walk round the parks to spread some joy and all that shit.

I considered. ‘I mean, I guess I could move stuff around—’

‘I’ll pay you a hundred dollars.’

I blinked. Chris must be really desperate. Which made me a little concerned.

‘Is everything okay, man?’

‘Yeah. I just … I just got some stuff I need to do – a college assignment. I got to hand it in or get an imposition.’

Chris was smart, hot and an okay dude. But he was a terrible liar.

But still, one hundred dollars.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘You’ve got a deal.’

‘Great.’ His face broke out in relief. Like someone had just lifted a noose from his neck.

‘Remind me again,’ I said, stubbing the joint. ‘Which house is it?’

‘Twenty-two Acacia Avenue. The Brits.’

‘Ah, right.’

People had been talking about the new people. Apparently, they were from the UK, and they inherited the house. Like, really? That place had been a ghost house for years. Then suddenly these two show up claiming an inheritance. I was kinda curious.

In fact, when Monday rolled round and I made my way over to Acacia Avenue, I wasn’t feeling too bad about the meet-and-greet. I had my costume slung over one arm, the balloons floating up from my other hand, and I had a sweet one hundred bucks back home.

The new owners weren’t due till late afternoon, so I got there a little early, let myself in the back gate and settled down in the yard to light up a small spliff. I tied the balloons to one of the deckchairs and lay the costume by my feet. I’d put that on last minute ’cos it was freaky hot.

While I waited, smoking, I flicked through my phone, replied to a few messages. But I felt restless. My mind was on other things, had been for the last week or so. I felt on edge, like I’d accidentally stepped on a mine, and I was waiting for it to go bang. In a way, doing the meet-and-greet was a welcome distraction.

After half an hour or so, when I was just thinking about rolling another joint, my phone pinged. Frances: ‘Suit up. They’re on their way.’