Page 67 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer
Beside me, Amy’s phone lights up like a damn strobe.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snap. My voice could cut glass.
She doesn’t flinch. “Googling how long it takes a body to decompose under concrete. Duh.”
“DUH?!Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
She blinks at me, all faux innocence. “What? I’m trying to be informed. If we’re committing a felony?—”
“No. No-no-no. You do not Google felony shit on your personal phone, Amy!”
“I’m using incognito mode.”
“Ohgoodie,” I say. “Because incognito mode is basically an invisibility cloak for the FBI.”
Before she can argue, I lunge across the console, grab her phone, roll down my window, and?—
“Wait—ELLE?—”
Too late. The phone goes flying into the middle of nowhere like a digital death warrant.
Amy gasps. “What in the actual fuck?! That was my phone!”
“And now it’s not evidence,” I shout. “You’re welcome!”
“You could’ve just deleted the history like a normal psycho!”
“Do I look normal to you right now?!”
“Wait, we’re going to go back for that, right?” She asks.
“Oh, sure. Let’s circle back and leave a Yelp review while we’re at it.”
“Elle, seriously. Mywholelife is on that phone.”
“So is asearch historythat includes 'how long does it take a body to decompose under concrete.’”
“Ugh. Fine. But you owe me a new phone.” She exhales. Then starts laughing—completely unhinged, hysterical giggles. “Jesus Christ. We’resobad at this.”
“We totally suck at this,” I say, breathless. Half-laughing, half-sobbing. “This is why I don’t join pyramid schemes. Once you’re in, there’s no getting out.”
“Just when I think I’m out, they suck me back in,” Amy says through her laughter. “Oh my God, we’re going to die. We’re going to drive this car into a construction pit and die next to Doug, and the cops are going to find us and go, ‘Huh. Well at least they saved us the paperwork.’”
“Shut up,” I groan, gripping the wheel like it owes me money. “Start thinking of a story in case anyone shows up. Or I swear to God, I’ll hurl you into the pit too.”
We are definitely not cut out for this.
Except—
“There are lights,” I hiss, pointing ahead as we turn onto the gravel road. “Why are there lights?”
Amy squints. “Shit. That’s a work crew. Why is there a crew here at night?”
“Because karma is real. And she’s petty.”
“Back up, back up!” Amy panics.
Which makesmepanic.
