The only thing less convenient than having a broken leg is attempting to climb a tree with said broken leg. Subtlety and sleuthing had never been my greatest talents, but with my leg encased in thick decorated plaster, I had all the grace and elegance of an uncoordinated three-legged turtle.
With an embarrassing pant of exhaustion, I hoisted myself up another branch, cursing under my breath when my leg continued to hang listlessly. "Do you think my doctor would be mad at me if I told him about this?" I called down to my cousin.
Kaelin looked up from her book and squinted at me. "Not at all," she reassured me with an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "I've heard climbing trees is stage three of broken-leg recovery. Really helps with healing process."
I decided I wasn't going to fact check that.
I stared upwards, eyeing my target with laser focus through red and gold autumn leaves. Only three branches left until I would reach the second floor window that led to Jace Hartley's bedroom, carefully propped open by Daria this morning. This is going to be so much fun.
Everyone had to have a reason to get up in the morning; something that forced their legs out of bed and helped them to pull back the curtains to embrace the day. Kaelin woke up to read. My brother Austin woke up to play video games. My friend Jonah woke up because he was forced to, but still generally considered it a crime that it was mandatory. My reason for waking up was torturing Jace Hartley. My hatred for Hartley predated my earliest memory. I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment I decided that he was my least favourite person.
Mum did tell me that he, quite literally, pissed in my sandbox in kindergarten, which is a perfect example of the foul excuse for a human being that Hartley was. He insisted, to this day, that it was actually some snotty-nosed kid called Ryan, but I didn't believe him. I did give him a revenge bowl cut when he was asleep not long after, so perhaps that was the beginning of our rivalry.
No matter when or where it started, it was a simple fact that would remain true until the day I died; Lena Montez and Jace Hartley shared a mutual loathing that burned with the heat of a thousand suns.
Unfortunately, my friends adopted Jace into our little group about a year ago. This meant that, tragically, I was forced to see his face on a regular basis.
I didn't know who decided it was a good idea to invite him into our group. Now recess and lunch were an adventure in possible food poisoning (apparently we both had the laxatives idea on the same day), "accidental" but strategic drink spillages and a consistent and vividly imaginative stream of violent threats. The constant proximity had done nothing but add fuel to the fire of our hatred.
And yet, my accident meant that I hadn't been mean to Hartley in far too long. The grinding crush of metal, glass and most of the bones in my leg had robbed me of many things, but I was arguably most upset about the loss of many months of being nasty to Hartley. Or, you know, enduring trauma and pain, but it was primarily the Hartley thing. But now that I was (mostly) recovered, I was going to remedy that.
"Can you move your wonderful ass a little bit faster?" Alexander Krisler complained from beneath me. He had the misfortune of climbing up second—so that he could catch me if I fell, though I had little faith in his capability to do so—which meant he was stuck waiting for me to move. Something that was currently not my strongest suit.
"My ass may be wonderful, Alex, but my leg is currently a little less wonderful, so I would appreciate the kindness and patience that a cripple deserves, thanks," I said, looking down at the black head of hair below me.
Alex was my designated prank assistant friend. He was born with a flippant disregard for rules, a love for setting things on fire and a passion for drawing penises on things that shouldn't have a penis on them. Responsibility was not his forte, which was excellent, considering we were committing something vaguely like B&E. Mostly just E, since we weren't actually breaking anything. Is that even a crime?
I decided I was not going to fact check that either.
"I get that you're a sad, one-legged creature, but if you don't hurry up, I will throw you out of the tree and do this myself," Alex threatened, swatting a stray leafy branch out of his face.
"Patience, grasshopper," I reprimanded. With an afterthought, I added, "Also, you're physically incapable of throwing me out of the tree. Muscles come with maturity, and you're lacking both."
Ignoring Alex's squawks of protest, I shimmied along the last branch. Small sticks impaled my butt painfully the entire way across. The end of the branch was thin—definitely breakable—so this was probably not one of my better ideas. I mean, I'd just recovered from an accident; I probably didn't need another one. If I fell to my death, this would officially be the worst Monday of my life. Though I would take great satisfaction in knowing that I died outside Jace's window. He'd hate that.
I could haunt him forever. It would be an excellent prank.
"Try not to die," Alex suggested from his perch beneath me, as I rose unsteadily to my...well, foot and gripped the windowsill with white-knuckled fingers.
"Thank you for the enlightening advice. I was planning on jumping up and down until the branch snapped," I said, my voice dripping in sarcasm. Alex held up his hands defensively.
I managed to lift the window with a manly grunt and slip inside. Gracefully. And by gracefully, I obviously meant that my legs flailed like a panicked kitten and I made a god-awful sound of surprise and shock that was annoyingly squeaky. I groaned as I hit the wooden floorboards with a loud, painful thump.
Alex was laughing as he clambered through the window, his small, scrawny frame easily sliding inside. "Good job, Kim Possible."
I glared at him, rubbing my side with a wince. "I'm crippled. You can't pick on someone who is crippled. It's not very politically correct of you."
With a scoff of disagreement, he offered me his hand. I slapped it out of the way and used the windowsill as support to lift myself off the ground, knowing quite well that Alex would drop me on my butt halfway through helping me. He was considerate like that.
I leaned out the window and waved to Kaelin, who was now circling the tree on my crutches. Why was everyone so keen to have a go on those arm-abusing death sticks? "I'm in!"
She didn't even look up, her dark head bent over, completely engrossed in her task. "That's nice."
I suspected she'd only joined us because she thought I was going to fall out of the tree. She's the type of person who'd find that amusing.
I turned back to the room, examining it critically. I'd never ventured into Jace's villainous lair before, and I was rather disappointed. It just looked like a regular bedroom belonging to a teenage boy, albeit a little cleaner than the ones belonging to my other male friends.
Jace's plain blue comforter was rumpled and covered in a collection of movies, clothes and (bleh) textbooks. His computer was open and unlocked (score!) and his bookshelves were surprisingly neat. A collection of photo frames sat on his bedside table; family shots, one of him laughing with Daria and, to my surprise, a picture of our whole group from an excursion last year. I was in the front, pulling a funny face at Hartley as my head was resting on Jonah's shoulder. It made me supremely uncomfortable to know that my face was in Hartley's room. Maybe he used it to show to potential hitman applicants? That would make sense. Hitmen needed some way to identify their targets.
It was especially weird since he hadn't bothered to give me devil horns, a curly moustache and a trident. A stranger looking at that photo could even mistake us as friends, which was deeply unsettling.
All in all, his room was...nice. Maybe he had befriended a demon who once pursued a career in interior design.
Downstairs, I could hear his mum's pottering around, chatting and laughing. I liked Camille and Rachel; they'd always been kind to me, despite my feud with Jace. How such nice people could raise such a complete and utter wanker was beyond my comprehension. Clearly, the thump of my broken body hitting the floorboards had not alerted them to my presence, though they were relatively relaxed people, and if his aunt Corine was here, she'd probably go as far as to offer to help us out.
As I examined Jace's room, I noticed something rather odd and a little disconcerting. "Oh, come on, Hartley. What kind of nemesis of mine doesn't have a Lena Montez destruction plan pinned on his wall?" I looked around for evidence of such plans. None. Not even a secret diary or a giant self-destruct button. "Or like...a pin board with cut outs of my daily schedule or something?"
Alex looked at me suspiciously. "What? No one does that. That's not a thing. That's... I feel like there's a law somewhere saying you can't do that. Do you have Jace Hartley destruction plans in your room and a copy of his schedule?"
"Of course. Laminated and everything. Except mine are titled 'Lena Montez's 101 Guide to Exorcising a Demon." I shook my head mournfully. "Just expected a little more dedication is all."
Alex just stared at me blankly. "Okay, you really need to get help. Am I aiding and abetting a bad addic—wait, is that it?"
A grin crept onto my face when I spied the backpack Daria stashed underneath Jace's desk when she picked him up for school this morning. Daria might've been Jace's best friend, but she was too sweet to take sides. God, I love that girl.
I grabbed the backpack—since it was Daria's, it was bright shades of pink and purple with a cupcake design. With a triumphant whoop, I unzipped the colourful monstrosity.
The backpack was filled with an assortment of items integral to my plans. Shaving cream, post-it notes, gift wrap, saran wrap and seventy cutouts of Nicholas Cage. Originality was not my aim for this prank. Jace was going to be furious.
"You deal with the bathroom, I'll take the bedroom," I instructed, handing Alex the tools he needed to transform Jace's bathroom into a minefield of annoyance. I would have to ask Daria to film his reaction.
Alex grabbed the array of items gleefully, an evil grin lighting up his face. "Deal."
It was the face of a man ready to cause havoc, ready to wreak destruction, and ready to draw numerous doodles of hairy genitals. For once, I was glad of Alex's childish habit.
We shared one last fleeting look before we broke into a series of vengeful cackles. Wicked Witch of the West style. Well, mine were vengeful. Alex kind of liked Jace.
After thirty minutes of setting up, giggling and taking hundreds of ugly selfies on Jace's computer, Alex and I stood carefully in the corner of the room, admiring our handiwork.
Over a hundred water-filled plastic cups were neatly lined across the floor. The walls were covered in post-it notes with various drawings of genitals on them (thank you, Alex) and air horns were taped behind the door handles. Majority of the furniture was gift wrapped (thank you, Jim Halpert), and pictures of Nicholas Cage were deposited at the bottom of drawers and taped on the walls. I disabled his keyboard and taped a small piece of paper beneath the sensor on his mouse. This was a juvenile prank perhaps, but amusing all the same.
The grand finale, of course, was the giant tapestry I'd ordered online. Sometimes, my platinum credit card came in handy. The tapestry took up a large portion of the wall, and depicted my smiling face, holding a sign that read I'M BACK, HARTLEY. DID YOU MISS ME?. I was also holding up the middle finger. At least now, the image of my face in his bedroom didn't display a deceptive show of apparent friendship.
And I was. Back. A rush of relief and pure, unadulterated happiness filled me. Goodbye, couches and appointments and overbearing parents. Hello, friends and pranks and being mean to Jace Hartley.
"Nice work," I praised.
"Back at 'cha." Alex grinned.
It was bloody brilliant. Hartley was going to be furious.
Because really, why play one prank when you can play them all?