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.