Snarklings vs the Snarkometer, round 29
"Isn't she supposed to be here by now?" India asked over the 50 Cent CD she'd been listening to all summer. "What was she driving?"
"I didn't ask," Aida replied.
"Daddy would have asked."
Aida looked at the apartment building across the parking lot, hating to admit India was right; Daddy would have made sure he knew what she was driving.
"Did you at least get her phone number?"
Aida fished a slip of paper from the pocket of her jeans. Grace Holley, she'd written on it, along with a phone number. She looked at India, who was holding out their mother's cell phone. Defying their mother, she'd gotten her hair frosted and braided. It made her look like a mall rat.
"Buy a clue, Aida," India said, but Aida was walking toward an ancient but well-kept Volkswagen microbus camper parked in front of the building, punching in the number.
Nearby, a phone rang.
"Hi, Grace? This is Aida Clarke. I'm at the apartments, where are you? What? Uh, I'm standing right by this old VW camper."
"Yeah, well, I'm standing right above you?"
The voice in Aida's ear took on an eerie quality as it she heard it in her other ear as well, and she looked up. Leaning over the railing was a short girl with closely cut dark hair and oval glasses, a row of silver rings rimming each earlobe.
Still looking up, Aida lowered the phone and cut the connection.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey, yourself. Come on up."
Aida and India? Right away you've got me wondering about these girls. I'd read on if only to find out who gets entombed with Radames and if I get to dance on her tomb as the curtain falls (despite my complete lack of regret).