Page 57 of Sweeper
“That means diapers,” Daphney whispers under her breath.
“I know what that means,” I hiss back at Daphney, not wanting to look weak in front of her friend here since we’re clearly on trial. I pin her with a skeptical look. “If you’re so close, what’s one of your favorite childhood stories involving Daphney?”
Phoebe’s eyes alight with this change in course. “My God, which one should I pick?”
“Don’t embarrass me,” Daphney whines, and I slightly regret my question.
“Why would you think I’d embarrass you?” Phoebe laughs and turns devilish eyes to me. “Okay…there’s the time that Daphney forced me to ditch school.”
“It was your idea!” Daphney interjects.
Phoebe waves her off. “We snuck into my neighbor’s house and stole a packet of his cigarettes and tried to smoke them in the woods behind his house. We both ended up vomiting and nearly starting a fire. It was completely mental. We went back to school for the last lesson smelling like smoke and sick.”
I turn amused eyes to Daphney. “You have a thing for neighbors, don’t you?”
Her pink lips part in shock. “I do not!”
“Oh, and then.” Phoebe reaches over and grabs my arm to redirect my attention. “She tried to give me a haircut when we were, oh, I don’t know…eleven? She swore she could make me look like Reese Witherspoon inSweet Home Alabama. It looked so terrible that my mum had to take me to London to get it fixed.”
“It didn’t look that bad,” Daphney argues, her eyes lighting up with amusement. “I just needed a bit more time.”
“Time for it to grow out, you mean?”
“No!” She erupts in a fit of giggles. “Time for you to get some taste.”
“Oh, so it’s my taste that was the problem?”
“Or your mother’s. She never did like me.” Daphney harrumphs, crossing her arms over her chest to pout.
Phoebe rolls her eyes. “My mother doesn’t like anybody.”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupt the walk down memory lane, trying to make sense of everything I’m hearing. “Phoebe, are you telling me that Ducky here was a bad girl?”
“Entirely. She was a horrible influence on me.”
“Not true!” Daphney interjects.
“This does not compute,” I reply, moving my chair so I can turn all my focus to Daphney. “You seem like such a Goody Two-shoes now.”
She glares at me. “I’m not a Goody Two-shoes.”
I look pointedly at her friend. “Is this the same girl you grew up with?”
Phoebe narrows her eyes at Daphney. “I believe the former dark passenger still lives inside her. It’s just quieter now.”
“Or maybe I’ve just grown up,” Daphney snaps as the server sets the food down in front of us. “That’s kind of what people do, right? We’re not children anymore. Nothing is wrong with being responsible.”
“Nothing wrong with that at all,” I respond knowingly, ignoring my food for a moment. “But it’s usually not very fun.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her!” Phoebe exclaims, pointing her fork at me in a moment of silent comradery.
“I have plenty of fun,” Daphney says, tucking into her food.
“When you’re not working seventy hours a week.” Phoebe rolls her eyes and begins cutting up her pancakes.
A sullen look begins to mar Daphney’s striking features, so I offer, “You were loads of fun yesterday.” A knowing smirk lifts the corners of her mouth, so I lean over and whisper, “Three times, if you recall.”
“Three times?” Phoebe squeals around a fork full of food. “Well done, Soccer Boy!”
