Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants Read Online Free Page B

swimming?” she asked. Bridget wasn’t afraid of strangers. Often she liked them better than people she knew.
    “I’ve got to unpack,” one of the girls said.
    “I think we’re supposed to go to dinner in a couple of minutes,” the other one said.
    “Okay,” Bridget said easily. “I’m Bridget, by the way. See you later,” she called over her shoulder.
    She changed into her bathing suit in an outside shower and ventured out onto the sand. The air felt the exact temperature of her skin. The water held all the colors of the sunset. Fading sun rays touched her shoulders as they disappeared behind the hills. She dove in and stayed under a long time.
    I’m happy to be here , Bridget thought. Her mind flicked for a split second to Lena and the Traveling Pants—to how she couldn’t wait to get ahold of them and live her own story in them.
    A little while later, when she arrived at dinner, she was thrilled to see long tables set up on the big, simple deck off the side of the cafeteria building, instead of crammed in under the low ceiling inside. A wig of dense magenta bougainvillea drooped from the roof and crept along the railings. It seemed crazy to spend even a minute indoors here.
    Tonight she sat with the rest of cabin four. There were a total of six cabins, which she quickly calculated to mean eighty-four girls, all of whom were serious athletes. You couldn’t come here if you weren’t. She would know, and possibly even care about, these girls by the end, but tonight they were hard to keep track of. She was pretty sure the one with the dark, shoulder-length hair was Emily. The girl with the frizzy blond hair across from her was Olivia, called Ollie. Next to Ollie was an African American girl with hair down to the middle of her back, named Diana.
    Over seafood tacos, huge mounds of rice and beans, and lemonade that tasted as though it was made from powder, Connie stood at a makeshift podium and talked about her years on the U.S. Women’s Olympic Team. Spread among the tables were various coaches and trainers.
    Back in her cabin, Bridget crawled into her sleeping bag and stared at the crack of moonlight reaching through two planks of wood in the ceiling. Suddenly it occurred to her: She was in Baja. Why should she grasp for a crack of the sky when she could have the whole thing? She got up and bunched her sleeping bag and pillow under her arm.
    “Anybody want to sleep on the beach?” she asked the group.
    There was a pause and scattered discussion.
    “Are we allowed to?” Emily asked.
    “I never heard that we weren’t,” Bridget answered. It wasn’t crucial to her plans that anyone follow her, but it was also fine when two others did—Diana and another girl named Jo.
    They set up their sleeping bags at the edge of the wide beach. Who knew how high the tide came? The gentle sound of the surf beat away on the beach. The stars spread out above them, glorious.
    Bridget was so joyful, so full, it was hard to make herself lie down in the sleeping bag. She heard herself sigh at the pulsing sky spread out above her. “I love this.”
    Jo dug deeper into her sleeping bag. “It is unbelievable.”
    For a while the three of them watched the sky in silence.
    Diana raised her head and propped it on her elbow. “I don’t know if I can fall asleep. It’s so . . . obliterating, you know? The feeling of insignificance. Your mind wanders out there and just keeps on going.”
    Bridget laughed appreciatively. At that moment, Diana reminded her of Carmen in the nicest way, full of philosophy and psychochatter. “Honestly?” Bridget said. “That idea never occurred to me.”
     
    Planes are so clean. Carmen liked that. She liked the orderly, corporate smell and the sheer number of wrappers in her snack basket.
    She admired the snack itself, the miniature apple. Exactly the right size, shape, and color. Kind of fake, but reassuring at the same time. She tucked it into her bag. She’d save a little order for