Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (18 page)

“Well, kind of,” Bridget answered. “I did see Eric. But we didn’t hook up or anything.”

“Did you want to?” Diana asked.

Bridget nodded. “I think tonight might be the night.” She tried to convey confidence without swagger.

“Tonight is going to be what night?” Ollie asked, sitting down with her tray.

“My night to hook up, Oh-livia,” Bridget responded.

“You think so?” Olivia asked.

“I do.” Bridget didn’t want to go into what had happened last night. It seemed too intimate to give details.

“I can’t wait to hear about it,” Ollie said in a doubtful, challenging way.

Bridget couldn’t resist a little bravado. “I can’t wait to tell you.”

Sherrie stopped by their table on her way out. “Bridget, you’ve got a package.”

Bridget got up. A suspicion about the package sent a thrill up to her scalp. She was fairly sure the clothes she’d asked her dad for hadn’t arrived yet. Her father was the notoriously cheap Dutchman. No way he would have sent her stuff by fast mail. That meant it was . . .

She ran barefoot to the main building and stood fidgeting at the telephone desk. “Hello!” she yelled to get attention. Patience might be a virtue, but it wasn’t her virtue.

Eve Pollan, Connie’s assistant, came out from the office. “Yeah?”

Bridget couldn’t keep her feet still. “Package for me? Bridget Vreeland. V-R-E-E—”

“Here.” Eve rolled her eyes. There was only one package on the shelf. She handed it over.

Bridget tore it apart right there. It was! It was the Pants. They were beautiful. She had missed them. They were already a little dirty, especially on the seat—somebody had been sitting on the ground in them. The thought made her laugh and ache for her friends at the same time. It really was like having a bit of Lena and Carmen and Tibby here. Although Carmen wouldn’t be caught dead with mud stains on her butt. That had to have been Lena or Tibby. Bridget pulled the Pants on right over her white nylon shorts.

There was a letter too. She stuffed it in her pocket for later.

“Are these gorgeous pants or what?” she asked Eve, because sour Eve was the only one around.

Eve just looked at her.

Bridget ran back to the cabin for her cleats and her green jersey. Today was the first round of the Coyote Cup championship. The Tacos were playing team five, the Sand Fleas. “Diana! Check these out!” Bridget commanded, wagging her butt in Diana’s face.

“Are those the Traveling Pants?” Diana asked.

“Yeah! What do you think?”

Diana looked her over. “Well, they’re jeans, pretty much. They fit you great, though.”

Bridget beamed. She put on her cleats in a hurry and ran out to the field.

“Bridget, what are you thinking?” Molly demanded the minute she saw her.

“What do you mean?” Bridget asked, blinking innocently.

“You’re wearing blue jeans. It’s a hundred degrees out here. We’re about to play our first real game.”

“They’re special pants,” Bridget explained patiently. “They’re kind of . . . magical. They’ll make me play better.”

Molly shook her head. “Bridget, you play plenty well without them. Take them off.”

“Come on.” Bridget tapped her cleat. “Please.
Please?
”

Molly dug in. “No.” She couldn’t help laughing. “You are a piece of work, girl.”

“Rrrrr.” Begrudgingly Bridget stripped off the jeans. She folded them carefully on the sidelines.

Molly put her arm around Bridget’s shoulders before she sent them out into formation on the field. “Play your game, Bee,” she said. “But don’t run away with it. Hear me?”

Bridget felt that Molly would make a good grandmother someday. It was too bad she was only twenty-three.

Bridget took off like a shot at the whistle, but she didn’t run away with the game. She gave it to her teammates. She fed beautiful assists to them all game long. It was an act of sacrifice. She felt like Joan of Arc.

The Tacos were seeded first and the Fleas sixth, so it made sense they were beating them. But when they got up 12-zip, Molly called them over. “Okay, call off the cavalry, kids. Let’s not be cruel.” She glanced at Bridget. “Vreeland, take over for Rodman.”

“What?” Bridget exploded. Brittany Rodman was the
goalie
. This was the thanks she got?

Molly made her “Don’t mess with me” face.

“Fine,” Bridget spat. She strode sullenly into the goal. She’d never played the position in her life.

Of course this was the moment Eric chose to come scouting. He couldn’t help smiling at the sight of her, her hand planted on her stuck-out hip in the goal. She scowled at him. He scowled back. Sweetly, though.

She was busy making faces at him when a ball came flying at her. Her reflexes were good. She could hardly help herself. She snatched it out of the air.

When she saw the disappointment on all the faces, including Molly’s, she threw the ball behind her, deep into the goal. Everyone burst into cheers. The long whistle ended the game. “To the Tacos, twelve to one,” the ref called.

Bridget looked to Eric. He gave her a thumbs-up. She curtseyed.

The Pants were good luck, even from the sidelines.

“Carmen! Jesus! What are you doing here?”

Tibby was in her underwear and a T-shirt when Carmen burst into her room. Carmen had only stopped at home long enough to dump her suitcase and call her mom at work.

She threw herself at Tibby, nearly mowing her friend down. She slapped a kiss onto the side of Tibby’s face and promptly started to cry.

“Oh, Carma,” Tibby said, leading her friend over to her unmade bed and sitting her down.

Carmen really cried. She sobbed. She shuddered and heaved and gulped for breath like a four-year-old. Tibby put both arms around her, smelling and looking that comforting Tibby way, and Carmen was so relieved to be in a safe place with someone who knew her really, truly, that she let loose. She was the lost child in the department store, waiting until she was safe with her mother to cry a flood of tears.

“What? What? Was it so bad?” Tibby asked gently, when the volume and frequency of sobs had died down.

“It was horrible,” Carmen wailed. “It was miserable.”

“Tell me what happened,” Tibby asked, her sometimes remote eyes damp and open with worry.

Carmen gave herself a few more breaths to calm down. “I threw a
rock
through the window while they were eating dinner.”

This obviously wasn’t what Tibby expected to hear. “You did? Why?”

“Because I hate them. Lydia, Krista.” Pause. “Paul. Their whole stupid life,” Carmen said sulkily.

“Right, but I mean, what happened that made you so upset?” Tibby asked, rubbing her back.

Carmen blinked. What a question. Where to begin? “They . . . they . . .” Carmen needed to stop and regroup. Why was Tibby interrogating her this way? Why wouldn’t she just be regular and accept Carmen’s feelings as proof that whatever was wrong was wrong? “Why are you asking so many questions? Don’t you believe me?”

Tibby’s eyes opened wider. “Of course I believe you. I’m just . . . trying to understand what happened.”

Carmen bristled. “Here’s what happened. I went to South Carolina expecting to spend the summer with my dad. I show up and—surprise! He’s moved in with a new family. Two kids, nice big house, the works.”

“Carmen, I know all that. I read your letters. I promise.”

For the first time Carmen observed that Tibby looked tired. Not just stayed-up-too-late tired, but tired on the inside. Her freckles stood out against white skin on her nose and cheeks.

“I know. Sorry,” Carmen said quickly. She didn’t want to fight with Tibby. She needed Tibby to love her. “Is everything okay with you?”

“Oh, yeah. Fine. Weird. Good. I guess.”

“How’s Wallman’s?”

Tibby shrugged. “Mostly despair. As usual.”

Carmen gestured toward the guinea pig cage. “How’s the rat?”

“Mimi’s fine.”

Carmen stood and hugged Tibby again. “I’m sorry for putting on the drama class. I’m so happy to see you. I’ve just wanted so much to spill to you, I can’t even make any sense.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tibby said, squeezing Carmen back hard, then sitting on the bed. “Just tell me everything that happened, and I’ll tell you you’re good and that the rest of them suck,” she promised, sounding more like her usual self.

I’m not good
were the words that bubbled to the surface, but Carmen kept them in her mouth. She sighed and lay back on Tibby’s bed. The wool blanket was itchy. “I guess I just felt . . .
invisible
there,” she answered slowly, thoughtfully. “Nobody paid any attention to me. Nobody listened when I said I was unhappy or complained when I acted like a brat. They just want everything to look and seem perfect.”

“‘They’ is Lydia mostly? Your dad?” Tibby let the last word linger.

“Yeah. Lydia mostly.”

“Are you feeling mad at your dad too?” Tibby asked carefully.

Carmen sat up. Why couldn’t Tibby just get mad with her? Tibby was the master of anger. She judged without reason; she loathed on a dime. She hated your enemies more than you did. “No I’m not! I’m mad at those other people!” Carmen shot back. “I don’t want to have anything to do with them. I want them to go away and for it just to be me and my dad again.”

Tibby backed away a little. Her eyes seemed wary. “Carma, do you think . . . I mean, is it really . . .” Tibby pulled her feet up onto the bed. “Is it possible it’s not the worst thing in the world?” she asked, looking down. “I mean, compared to the really bad things?”

Carmen gaped at her friend. When had Tibby become Miss Perspective? Miss Proportion? If anybody got feeling sorry for herself and blaming other people for it, it was Tibby. Why was Tibby making her be reasonable when she just needed to be heard?

“Where’d ya put Tibby?” Carmen finally asked with a punctured lung and walked out of the room.

Dear Lena,

So the movie is going along, but it isn’t how I expected. Bailey has become my self-appointed assistant. I let her do the interview with Duncan, Assistant General Manager of the World. It didn’t come out funny, like I’d planned. But it was kind of cool anyway. The people I find most laughably insane, she seems to find most interesting.

So how’s the boxing Bapi? How’s ineffable Eff? Don’t torture yourself, Len. We love you too much.

Tibby

That afternoon was their match against the Gray Whales. Meanwhile, Los Cocos, Eric’s team, won their first match too. They were playing against team six, the Boneheads, tomorrow. Then the grand all-Coyote championship match was planned for the day after. Bridget took it for granted that the Tacos would be playing in the finals.

They waited for six o’clock, for the sun to sink and the air to cool to start the game. The whole camp was watching this time. The light was pink and pretty, slanting across the field. Bridget watched Eric sitting on the ground with a couple of other people on a checked blanket, laughing at something Marci said. Jealousy stabbed through her heart. She didn’t want other girls making him laugh.

She’d brought the Pants with her again. She carefully folded them on the sidelines.

Molly was regarding her. Bridget didn’t like the look on her face. Was Molly going to play her at goalie the whole game? “Bridget. You play defense.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way. Get out there. Don’t go past midfield,” Molly added bossily, like Bridget had never watched a soccer game in her life.

“Go, Bridget!” Diana yelled from the sidelines. She was kicking back on the grass with a bunch of other girls, eating chips and salsa.

Bridget lined up at defense. She toiled back there all game long as Ollie and Jo and other girls played for glory. At least Bridget could feel good about destroying the Whales’ offense.

By the middle of the second half it was 3-0. Bridget saw her chance. It was too good to pass up. There was a big skirmish on the sidelines, drawing nearly everybody from their positions. Bridget found herself drawn up to midfield with the far half of the field almost completely open. Ollie had the inbounds pass and spotted Bridget in the corner of her eye. Making sure she stood behind the midfield line, Bridget efficiently captured the ball and sent it in a high, fast arc toward the goal. The crowd grew quiet. Everybody’s eyes were on the ball. The goalie reached high and jumped. The ball sailed up and over her, sinking into the corner of the net.

Bridget looked directly at Molly. She was the only person on the sidelines who wasn’t cheering.

“Bee, Bee, Bee!” Diana and her friends were chanting.

After that, Molly took Bridget out of the game. Bridget faintly wondered whether she would be asked back here next year. She sat on the grass and ate chips and salsa, enjoying the burning sensation in her mouth and the last rays of the sun on her shoulders.

L
ena needed to get back to painting. She was just hanging around, day after day, wanting to see Kostos, waiting for him to please return her glance, waiting to discover that he’d told everybody what happened between them—almost wanting him to. Half the time she believed herself that she couldn’t find any way to make her stony, impassive grandparents talk about it. Half the time she knew she was lying the other half of the time. She was making excuses for her own discomfort.