What is there to tell? Part 2

Souza's mother plopped down within the girls' inner circle, oblivious to the nervous laughter, the eyes of envy and guilt, Souza picking at a scab on her knee.

"Whatt'cha girls playing?" her mother asked.

"Truth or Dare," Molly answered meekly, head down.

"Oh my god, I haven't played that in forever. Okay, this is what we'll do. If anyone refuses the dare or acts like a little mouse and doesn't tell the truth, they have to swallow three swigs of beer. If they still refuse, it's a shot of vodka. Got it, girls?"

"I've had beer before. No big deal," said Malia, her red bangle bracelets flopping up and down her wrist in excitement.

Molly and Anna, identical twins, looked to one another, speaking their uncertainty through their eyes.

"So, we have a deal?" her mother spoke, irritated at the girls' silence, their hesitancy. "Don't worry, I won't tell your parents, sillies. This'll be our own little party secret. You're all spending the night anyway. You'll be safe here."

Anna shrugged, "Okay."

Molly followed her suit, though the shrug was smaller, more contained.

"Alright, let's start. Who spins first?" her mother spit out, noisily extracting five beers from the case and flinging one a t each girl's feet.

She then placed the vodka in between her own crossed, unshaven legs, the ice-frosted bottle leaning against her stomach, leaving patchy marks of wetness on her dress.

"Oh, that feels good. It's a hot one today, isn't it?" she sighed, looking at her watch. "Three O'clock, already? Just in time for Happy Hour, huh, girls?"

"Heck, yeh!" Malia answered, using her long pointer finger nail to pop open her can of beer.

Sour smelling foam erupted from the can like white lava, inching down the sides of aluminum and dampening the wooden floor.

Souza's mother laughed,an open-mouthed, inviting laugh. Malia laughed with her, licking the foam from her fingers as if it was frosting right from the bowl.

Souza could not believe any of this was happening. Where was Bobby, the hot pepper, the shirt tags at their necks? This was her party, her slumber birthday bash. She had had everything planned. This silly game, a half dozen Tiger Beat magazines on her bed with scissors and tape to plaster her walls with cutouts of Johnny and Cameron, Keanu and New Kids on the Block. She had popcorn and pajamas and her Molly Ringwald movie collection. The sleeping bags on her bedroom floor, pillows sprinkled with Jelly Bellies and Hot Tamale candies. She was pissed. Could she say "pissed?" Hell, god-damn, yes, she could. She could say anything she wanted, scream it into the blustering air. Tissy-fit tantrum right into her mother's ears.
She could do this. She could do all of this.
As long as her mouth was closed.
As long as her mind was her only listener.


To be continued...