Dial by Elizabeth Cage

Jo saw Diva’s face grow dark. “You obviously have your own tragedies to deal with,” she said.
    Diva sighed. “My hair used to be beautiful—it was a shiny, midnight black.”
    â€œIt’s still beautiful.” Jo decided against pressing further. If Diva wanted to talk, she would.
    â€œThis—” She pointed to the stripe in her hair. “It hasn’t always been there.”
    â€œNo?” Now Jo’s curiosity was uncontainable. “How did it get that way?”
    â€œPart of my hair turned white the day my father—” Her voice broke, and she began to sob. They were the kind of deep, tearless sobs that tore apart one’s insides.
    Diva had appreciated Jo’s privacy. Now Jo would return the favor. In time, she would probably discover the haunting secrets of Diva’s past. Diva would tell her—when she was ready to.
    â€œWe’re going to get this guy, Diva.” In the mirror Jo’s eyes locked with her new friend’s.
    Diva smiled weakly. “Yes. You three are my angels.You are going to help me and my family get our lives back.”
    â€œAnd you’re going to help. Like I said, we’re all in this together.” Jo looked at herself in the mirror again and found that she was smiling. As always, Jo found that once the Spy Girl inside her focused all her negative energy on the mission, she felt completely energized. Jo knew what she had to do—now for Diva as much as for herself. This mission was about justice for all.
    Jo stood up and faced Diva. “Shall we go back to the party?”
    Diva executed a small but graceful curtsy. “By all means.”
    The two touched hands for a brief moment, then left the bathroom, ready to grapple with their fears.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    â€œYou are like fire that is made of liquid,” Carlos exclaimed as Caylin was twirled around for what felt like the thousandth time.
    â€œNo, she is like fire that spits!” Jorge claimed as he grabbed Caylin and dipped her close to the floor.
    Caylin knew that people got carsick and seasick. But was it possible to become dance sick? Jo and Diva’s abrupt departure had created a dearth of females in the crowd. So for almost half an hour now, Theresa and Caylin had been juggling two guys each—both on and off the dance floor.
    â€œThis is great, guys, but I think Trixie needs a turn on the floor now.” Caylin was panting, and her hair felt as if it were plastered against her sweaty forehead.
    â€œTrixie is on the floor,” Theresa called from a few feet away. “Oh, and please forget that I ever said I wanted to learn the samba.”
    Juan pulled Theresa close, then picked her up and spun her around several times. “Trixie says she is not good at the Latin dance, but we prove her wrong!”
    Caylin gaped at Theresa. Was this the same girl whose idea of an ideal evening was surfing the web for chat rooms? Theresa’s dress was slipping off her shoulders, and her brown hair was swinging wildly around her face.
    â€œCorinne, we must show Trixie and Juan how muchbetter we are on the floor, ah?” Armand had approached Caylin from behind. Without warning, he put his hands around her waist, then scooped her into his arms.
    Well, at least Armand’s nose had been wrestled back into its joint. Theresa and Caylin had fawned over him enough so that he seemed to have forgotten all about Jo’s poorly timed freak-out. But enough was enough. If she and Theresa had to keep up this frenetic pace much longer, they weren’t going to be able to get out of bed in the morning—much less work to bring down a drug lord.
    â€œWhoaaa . . . !” Theresa cried. She had slipped out of Juan’s grasp and was now careening toward Armand and Caylin on her stilettos. “Watch out!”
    Smack! Theresa had plowed into Caylin, causing a three-body pileup on the dance floor.
    â€œI think