Page 92 of What Are The Odds?
“You’re live?” I gawked.
“Shit yeah. Will, read out some comments.”
I offered Grace a sympathetic look. My friends were hectic. Or as Grace sometimes said,heckers.
“Someone wants to know what trackies are?” Will asked.
“Sweatpants.”
“How do you say spaghetti bolognaise?”
“Spag bog. Or bol. That one’s up for debate.”
“Do you shorten everything?” Tripp asked.
“Defs,” she winked.
“Yeah, nah?”
“Means no. Nah, yeah means yes.”
“Why not just say yes or no?” Will challenged.
“Yeah, nah. Probs not.”
“Ten more questions,” I told them.
I’d invited Grace over to spend time with me. In bed. Not get dragged into one of Ryan’s live videos.
“Why do you say bloody so much?” Will questioned.
“It’s like an emphasis,” Grace explained. “If something’s good, it’s just good. But if it’sbloodygood, it’s great.”
“How would you describe Levi in bed?” Ryan questioned.
Grace laughed. “Fair dinkum. Levi's a bloody ripper in the sheets.”
I think that was a good reference. And if I had my way, I would be proving that to her right now.
“That counts as one of your questions,” I told Ryan.
“Goon?” Tripp posed.
“Cheap wine usually sold in cartons. We take the goon sack out of the box, peg it to a hills hoist and play goon of fortune,” Grace shook her head, giggling. “Man, Aussies are bogan.”
“I have no idea what hills hoist, goon of fortune or bogan is,” Tripp said in disbelief.
“Google it.”
“Piece of piss?”
“Something that’s easy. Like, scoring a goal in ice hockey is a piece of piss.”
“Hockey,” we all corrected.
Grace smirked. She’d baited us on purpose.
“Bee’s knees?” Tripp asked next.
