Mom:I did, and I made myself some tomato soup. You worry too much.
It makes me so mad that she had to cook for herself. Dad should be there taking care of her, especially since he knows I won’t be there this weekend. Why isn’t he?
Maddie:If the soup hurts your stomach, you know where the nausea medicine is, right?
Mom:In the hallway cabinet, middle shelf. I know, dear. Please, stop worrying. Get some rest so you’re not too tired to have some fun tomorrow. I love you.
Maddie:Take care. I love you too.
I don’t remember falling asleep. I guess I was that tired. But now that I’m awake, I arch my back, and the lazy stretch sends euphoric waves down my spine. I can’t believe how good I feel, like a brand-new person. I have to rummage around the sheets for my phone. I must have fallen asleepwith it. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of it under the pillow next to me. I blink the sleep from my eyes with another big stretch before I bring up the screen.
That can’t be right.
Is it really noon already? Did I just sleep twelve hours? I can’t remember the last time I got eight hours, let alone twelve.
I check my messages. Nothing from Mom. That’s a relief. If something was wrong, she would have let me know. But I did miss some texts from thirty minutes ago.
Rhonda:Just woke up. Text me when you’re awake.
Rhonda:Just went downstairs to check things out. The pool is heated! How awesome is that? Feel like getting something to eat, then a swim? Lots of girls in swimsuits walking around. Oh, it’s sunny out and actually warm. Can you believe it?
Maddie:I’m awake. Food and pool sound good. Boots and bikinis?
Rhonda:You’re finally up! And you read my mind. Meet you downstairs in twenty?
Maddie:Yep.
Rhonda had the great idea to get us some white, furry, knee-high boots. She found them online for cheap, and while some girls might say they’re a little cheesy, I absolutely love them.
As I step off the elevator, she’s right there waiting forme, and she looks super cute with her white bikini, white sheer lacy cover-up, and matching boots. Rhonda is a couple of inches shorter than me with jet-black hair and a curvy figure. I think the current term is “thick.”
I, on the other hand, am a natural blond and naturally thin—no matter what I eat. Don’t ask me why. Maybe it’s all the calories I burn just trying to keep my head above water while working an ungodly number of hours each week.
Anyway, my friend was right about one thing, there are plenty of girls walking around in swimwear, and thank goodness. It means I can almost feel comfortable with what I’m wearing… almost.
I greet Rhonda with an exaggerated, “Oh my God, you look so cute!” My best friend thrives on compliments, and I’m more than happy to dish them out even though I’m pretty sure she’d be just fine without them. Rhonda is the type of girl who looks in the mirror and says, “Damn, girl, you look fine!” Wish I had her confidence. I look in the mirror and see every flaw, like what I call my vampire eyes. They’re this weird, light silvery gray as if there’s no color in them at all. Whenever I’m filling out a form that asks for my eye color, I put the word “none.” Jake always said he loved my eyes, but he knew I was self-conscious about them, so he had to say that. Seriously, they could scare small children.
Rhonda turns sideways at the compliment and arches her back to accentuate her round booty. “I do look good, don’t I? Think Damon will notice?”
Damon is the cutest of the three guys who came with us, and I’d like to tell her yes, he’ll definitely notice, but I don’t know what it is about those boys. I mean, of course they’ll notice. All three of them like to stare, which prettymuch makes them typical guys. But they never make a move beyond that. I know for a fact that Rhonda would love to go home with a boyfriend, It’s all she talked about on the flight here, which is so typical of her. She’s the horniest girl I’ve ever known. She’s been like that since she got her first period back when we were in junior high. All I remember about my first period is the unrelenting cramps and how grateful I was when they were finally over. But not her. As soon as her period was over, she turned from shy, bashful wallflower to a boy-crazy manhunter. It’s funny because neither of us had a clue what we would do with a boy, but she sure wanted to find out.
And speaking of boys, Damon isn’t bottom of the barrel. He’s nice, makes decent money, isn’t the hottest guy but he’s cute in his own way. I think he’d be good for her, so with my hand on her shoulder I offer, “Are you kidding? How could he not notice that ass and those tits? He’s not blind.”
Her already-wide smile grows wider, and I think this is going to be a great day. But then her expression suddenly turns from excited to concerned for no apparent reason. “You look good, too,” she says, “but you need to relax and enjoy yourself.”
Ah, she can tell. She’s always been able to get a good read on me. “Is it that obvious?”
“To be honest, yeah, kind of. Your shoulders are tense. I’m telling you—no one cares.”
It’s my cover-up. I was going for the cheapest one I could find online. It looked good in the Amazon photo, but when it arrived, I was surprised at how see-through it was. What’s the point of a cover-up that doesn’t, you know, coveryou up? I was going to return it, but Rhonda talked me out of it.
“Are you kidding?” she said when I complained about its transparency. “You look super hot. You should keep it. I know I would.”
Looking back, I shouldn’t have listened to her, but it’s too late now.
Screw it. I tilt my chin up and straighten my back with, “You know what? You’re right. I’m not going to let this ruin my weekend. It’s no big deal.” If only I could believe my own lies.
“That’s the attitude. Now let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
