The Telling by Alexandra Sirowy Page A

sugared up with whipped cream, chocolate shavings, and caramel syrup.
    â€œHey”—Becca twists around to blow me a kiss—“you look freaking gorg.”
    â€œSo do you,” I say. “Hey, Carolynn.”
    â€œHi,” she answers curtly, without taking her eyes off her car’s backup camera.
    Becca sticks a pink flask in my face and sloshes the liquid. “Peppermint schnapps,” she sings. “Yum-yum-yummy!”
    â€œThanks.” The liquid is cool and syrupy on my lips. It leaves me thinking about winter and hot cocoa. I shiver even though the leather’s heated under my butt. The windows are fuzzy with steam. I trace half of a boat’s triangle sail before I stop.
    Becca props herself up on her knees to face me, folds her arms on the headrest, and cups her chin. Her eyes are sleepy, dewy, and drunk. Her smile is lazy and warm. The dogs are set loose, and once they avoid getting tangled in the long gold necklaces she’s wearing, they make desperate leaps to the backseat. Their little lavender nails paw at my hands as they whine shrilly to be petted. Becca sways gently with the car’s momentum around a turn. “My babies love Josh. They had to come celebrate,” she says. “He’s the only guy who plays with them and never complains that I make them look faggy or if I paint their nails.”
    I go rigid at the ugly word.
    â€œB, you can’t say the F word, not even to repeat,” Carolynn says.
    I give in and scratch Twinkie’s head. He wears a pink collar, and Winkie wears purple, both encrusted with crystals. “I know, I know”—Becca’s hand flaps—“I call pass since most people never have to see a dead person, let alone find one who’s been murdered .” She pauses, angular brown eyebrows knitting until she gives a little nod. “I get passes all night.” Her arm is outstretched and her hand opens and closes spasmodically until I put the flask into it. She tips it to her lips.
    Her inebriated smile has returned as she offers the schnapps to Carolynn, who waves it away. “Carolynn has her serious face on tonight,” Becca says in a pouty baby voice.
    Carolynn doesn’t respond.
    â€œWilla didn’t answer my calls,” I say, unnerved. Carolynn and Becca are always in sync, finishing each other’s sentences and laughing before the punch lines of jokes. This tension makes me feel more like a third wheel than their closeness does.
    Becca yawns into her hand and goes for a fifth cup that’s half-full with what was probably iced coffee earlier. “I need caffeine,” she says. She slurps the liquid. “No worries ’bout Willa. I called to say the party’s still on.”
    I lean forward, seat belt scraping along my neckline. “What did she say?”
    â€œShe was quiet forever .” Becca pauses to return the coffee cup to the holder. “Blah, coffee mouth,” she groans aside, and goes for a sip from the flask. She hiccups, giggles, and wipes her mouth on her bronze, bare arm before continuing. “She said she’d try to convince her mom to let her come.”
    I don’t say that I wonder if Willa was just aiming to hang up and knew she needed to appease Becca to do so. She hasn’t come out at night with the core for a couple of weeks. “I tried calling her cell and she didn’t answer,” I say.
    â€œI had to call the landline. Talked my way past P.O. Told her I needed a summer tutor and wanted to talk to Willa. I’m something else, huh?” Becca smiles triumphantly.
    I bob my head in agreement. I stop. I am a traitor. I shouldn’t be talking about Willa with anyone other than Willa. I should have had the guts to call the landline. I could have braved Principal Owen.
    Carolynn cracks a window. “I’m getting contact drunk huffing all that schnapps, B,” she complains.
    Becca drops back on her butt with a