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Kostos's grandfather opened the door. The man looked fully astounded at the expression on Bapi's face. Bapi Kaligaris started yelling. Lena heard him bellow the name Kostos a few times, but otherwise she understood only anger. Grandma fluttered around timidly.
Bapi Dounas's face transformed slowly from confusion to indignation. He started yelling back.
“Oh, God,” Lena whimpered to herself.
Suddenly Bapi was forcing himself into the Dounas house. Grandma was trying to hold him back, and Bapi Dounas was planting himself in the way. “Pou einai Kostos?” Bapi thundered.
Lena was pretty sure that meant “Where is Kostos?” Right then, Kostos appeared behind his grandfather, looking bewildered and upset. He obviously wanted to comfort Lena's grandfather, but his own grandfather wouldn't let him by.
Lena watched in acute horror as her bapi put his wiry arms out and tried to shove the other old man out of the way. Bapi Dounas's eyes bulged, and he shoved back. Suddenly Bapi Kaligaris cocked his arm and punched Bapi Dounas in the nose.
Lena gasped. Grandma screamed.
The old men each got in another punch before Kostos overpowered them both. He held them apart, his face gray with agitation. “Stamatiste!” he bellowed. “Stop!”
Dear Daddy,
Can you send more clothes? My tank tops and the sundresses in my third drawer down? Also, my black bathing suit—the two-piece? Oh, and skirts from the fourth drawer—the short pink one and the turquoise one?
I'm still loving it here. We have our first big scrimmage today, and I'm starting at forward. I'll call you again on Saturday. Say hi to Perry.
Love,
Bee
“Are you excited about your wedding?” Carmen asked her father as they drove, hoping her voice didn't sound sour.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Can't wait.” He looked at her affectionately. “And I can't tell you what it means to me that you'll be here, bun.”
Carmen felt guilty. Why was she being this way? Why couldn't she stop, and be nice?
“I hope you like miniature soufflés,” she said, for no reason.
Her dad nodded. “Lydia's taking care of all that.”
“I notice she spends a lot of time on it,” Carmen said evenly, both wanting and not wanting her father to understand her implied criticism.
“It means a lot to her. She wants every detail exactly right.”
Fleetingly Carmen considered the nasty question of who was paying for all this.
“She didn't have a real wedding the first time,” her father continued.
Carmen's brain leaped around to various possible scandals. A shotgun affair? An elopement? “Why not?”
“She was planning an elaborate wedding with her mother, but her mother died suddenly six weeks before the wedding. It absolutely broke her heart. Ultimately her wedding involved two witnesses and a justice of the peace.”
Carmen felt sad and deflated. “That's awful,” she murmured.
“Now is her chance, and I really want her to enjoy it.”
“Yeah,” Carmen mumbled. She considered this awhile. “What happened to her old husband?”
“They split up four or five years ago. He has a serious drinking problem. He's been in and out of treatment.”
Carmen sighed again. This was sad. She didn't want to feel sorry for Lydia. That made it hard to dislike her. But she thought of Lydia with her dead mom and her drunk husband, and silent Paul with his messed-up dad. In that context, his silence seemed more like stoicism. And Krista, so obviously in awe of Carmen's solid, kind, functional dad . . . How grateful they must all feel for their new life with Al.
Carmen promised herself she would smile at Lydia when they got home and ask at least two friendly questions about the wedding.
“Hey, do you mind if we make a stop before tennis? Paul is playing in this summer soccer league, and today is a big match. I promised I'd look in for a few minutes.”
“Fine,” Carmen grumbled, and she went right back to being mad.
Bridget went swimming by herself at dawn. When she got excited, she couldn't sleep. She swam far, far out in the hopes of seeing a dolphin, but there wasn't one today. On her way back to shore, she swam around the headlands that separated their beach from the main part of Coyote Bay. RVs dotted the sand. Ick.
She swam back to her beach and lay down on the sand. She fell asleep for another hour or so. Then she heard the breakfast rush. She raced back to the cabin to put on her clothes. She was starving as usual.
She carried her three boxes of Froot Loops, two cartons of milk, and her banana across the deck and sat next to Diana.
“Do you sleep?” Diana asked. “Where were you this morning?”
“Swimming,” Bridget answered.
“Alone?”
“Sadly, yes.”
She searched the tables for Eric. He wasn't there. Was he hungover from last night? Or just slaving over his playbook? The memory of dancing with him last night brought color to her cheeks. “We can't do this,” he'd said. He hadn't said, “You can't do this.”
“Let's go warm up,” she said to Diana.
The first scrimmage started at nine. Team one, El Burro, was already beating team two, the Gray Whales, by two goals. Team three, recently dubbed Los Tacos, and team four, Los Cocos, had the other field for practice.
Bridget sat on the sidelines, watching Eric discuss strategy with Marci and a couple of his players.
She laced up her cleats. Some famous old actor, she couldn't think of which one, had said he began his character with his shoes. Bridget was her favorite self with her cleats on, whether she was clicking through locker rooms with her extra three quarters of an inch of height or tearing through soft grass on the field. Her cleats were beat up and muddy, molded perfectly to her feet. They made her walk like a jock, but she liked that too.
She looked at Eric till he glanced back. She smiled; he didn't. You guys are toast, she vowed to whomever besides her happened to be listening to her thoughts.
Her team's coach, Molly Brevin, called them all over.
Bridget put on her shin guards and pulled her hair back in an elastic. Ollie and Emily slapped her hands as she joined the group. It was their first time playing as a team.
Molly read out the starting positions, even though they all knew them. Bridget jumped up and down to keep her blood flowing.
“Yo, Tacos. Listen up. All I care about is passing,” Molly proclaimed. “I mean it. I don't care what else you do in this scrimmage. You hog the ball, and you come out.” Why did she look at Bridget when she said that?
The teams assembled on the field. Bridget passed by Diana and gave her a quick squeeze around her waist. Diana jumped in surprise. “You are so de-ad,” Bridget teased like a five-year-old. She got in her position at center field and waited for the long whistle.
Bridget needed a single focus. She had too much energy, she knew, and a fair amount of raw, undisciplined talent. At almost every point in her life, she needed one simple, unified goal to keep her going forward fast. Otherwise there was the possibility of going backward, where she did not want to go.
Today her focus was Eric. It was showing him what she could do. He was the unifying idea that kept every one of her cells in line.
Her energy exploded as soon as the ball got moving. She immediately stole the ball from Dori Raines and took it down the field. She positioned herself for an open shot on goal, gathered two of three defenders, then passed it to the open forward, Alex Cohen. Alex got bottled up and passed it back to Bridget.
When Bridget's focus was good, time slowed for her. She had time to make choices. She had time to size up the position and trajectory of the goalie. She drew back her leg and tucked her foot under the ball to give it a few feet of lift. It sailed right past the goalie's head. Her teammates engulfed her. Through the gaps between bodies and limbs, she saw Eric. He was talking to his subs on the sideline. She wanted him to notice her so much.
