The Telling by Alexandra Sirowy Page B

flounce and faces forward like a naughty child who’s been scolded. After not too long she fiddles with the stereo, hitting next on ten songs before she finds one she approves of. “This is my anthem,” she shouts happily. Her window is rolled down and her arm hangs out. It flaps uncontrollably against the wind as wego. It reminds me of how Ben’s limbs were buffeted against the asphalt of the road as he was dragged and stabbed. I look away.
    Josh’s house is halfway between mine and Swisher Spring. Up until a month ago I bet I was the only upperclassman who’d never been inside. Even Willa had gone when she was paired with Josh for an AP biology assignment in ninth grade.
    Beginning sophomore year, Josh hosted parties when his moms went out of town. Josh and I had third-period chemistry together, and I’d hear people asking him what time to show up and if there’d be Jell-O shots or pizza. Once he invited Jamie Nanderbosh, who sat at the desk to my right. Maybe it was because Jamie and I talked a decent amount that I felt bold enough to stare as Josh invited him to a party. Josh saw me drop my eyes as he caught me listening and added, “You’re invited Friday too.” I bobbed my head, sensing his gaze on me. I stared at my class notes and hid my shaking hands in my sleeves until he ambled up two rows to his seat.
    I reenacted the invite for Willa: in pajamas, standing at the foot of my bed, Willa humoring the performance; before the first warning bell rang, sitting in Willa’s car, as she wolfed down a marionberry scone and I paused to take sips of kale smoothie. Privately, I imagined all the ways it could play out. In the rosier scenarios, Josh pulled me aside and told me how happy he was I came. Or I did something amazing, like talked the police out of breaking the party up. Then Josh would apologize to me for not recognizing how great I was before. It was pathetic. I was pathetic.
    Friday night rolled around and after all that, I didn’t go. I told Willa I’d be happier eating Rice Krispies Treats while finishing my English lit paper. The invite was a fluke. If Josh saw me there, he’dbe polite. Carolynn would spill a beer on me, everyone would laugh. Or worse, Carolynn would spill the beer and Josh would tell me to leave. Or worst, Ben would be there to witness all of the above. Ben would observe just how unlike that ferocious little girl with the knitting needle I had become. See, Ben could have solved all my problems in school. He had that same radioactive effect that the core has. I only needed to repeat what those cruel girls had said and Ben would have stopped it. My problem: This would have meant admitting what I was. How unlike my braver, fictional self I’d grown to be. I couldn’t bear Ben knowing. Instead I acted like I wanted to eat lunch in the library. I pretended that parties and dances didn’t appeal to me and that I wasn’t interested in making new friends. I lied.
    Josh’s street is lined with cars. His two-story house is putting out amber light from its floor-to-ceiling windows. Becca drums her palms on the dashboard. “Gah,” she says as a happy gasp, “it looks like half the school is here.” She flips the vanity mirror open. “I think my lips are too skank red and not enough vixen.” She purses her lips to Carolynn. Carolynn grunts. Becca twists and blows me a kiss before returning to her reflection.
    We park in the driveway behind Duncan’s SUV. “C’mere, babies,” Becca coos. “Your fans await.” Twinkie and Winkie leap from the backseat, scramble over the center console, and land in a squirming heap on Becca’s thighs. They scale the walls of Becca’s oversize quilted leather tote and perch expertly inside, so their little front paws are hooked and their heads poke out. They’ve been to more of Josh’s parties than I have.
    Outside, the crisp air nips only