Twisted Sisters Read Online Free Page B

me. Ugh, why does she have to sit with me?
     It’s aggravating enough that I’m compelled to deal with her antics at work. Like the
     time she insisted we swish our tongues into a cup of water and scrub our eyes with
     the backwash because it was supposed to cure us of our allergies? Hello,
conjunctivitis
! Or how about the time she made us lie down and covered us with stones for a purpose
     I’ve yet to understand? Utter nonsense. I’m willing to put up with that foolishness
     at work, but here? On our fantastic thanks-for-a-second-great-season trip to Maui
     from our benevolent benefactor, Wendy Winsberg? Patently unfair.
    Plus, I’m very busy waiting for a text. Sebastian’s been doing that I’ll-come-see-you-but-then-I’ll-ignore-you
     business again that’s been going on ever since he insisted we take our break last
     month.
    He told me to text when I got here, and I did, and he’s yet to respond. So frustrating,
     and yet I figure if I provide him with ample time and space, he’ll realize I’m exactly
     what he needs, largely because he’s exactly what I need.
    I love that Sebastian’s as focused on his career as I am. He won me over when he shared
     his ten-year plan. Sure, Boyd was fun back in the day, but he had no tangible goals
     (save for competing in the Billabong Pro) and his ten-year plan was basically to not
     be eaten by a shark. Boyd was like ice cream for dinner: delicious in the moment,
     but ultimately a poor lifestyle choice.
    Without benefit of an official invitation, Deva settles in next to me. I pretend to
     be immersed in the awful book I grabbed in the airport bookstore. How do I inevitably
     wind up with memoirs penned by hacks? I hate when writers try to pass off their clear
     and present neuroses as humor. The author claims to be “bitter,” but anyone with credentials
     would assess her as “borderline.”
    Camille said you stole a bag from a homeless guy.
    Insufferable.
    I could write circles around this moron.
    I snap shut the book because even a conversation with Deva would be less painful than
     this dreck. I quickly calculate how long I might have to chat with her before I can
     feign sleepiness. Given the angle of the sun, fullness from brunch, and how late the
     luau ran last night, I estimate fifteen minutes.
    Deva makes short work of slathering herself in sunscreen, due to the fact that her
     hands are the size of catchers’ mitts. I offer a tight smile and she grins back. Perhaps
     this won’t be so bad.
    “Tell me everything about you, Reagan Bishop.”
    Ugh.
    “A lifetime is a lot of ground to traverse,” I reply lightly, glancing down at my
     phone. Why am I not hearing back from him? The trading desks have been closed for
     hours. What’s he busy doing?
    She shakes a massive finger at me. “Ah, Reagan Bishop, as Creighton Abrams says, when
     eating an elephant, take one bite at a time.”
    I try not to grit my teeth. “Yes, but the problem there is that I’m a pescatarian.”
     True story. I haven’t touched any live protein source other than fish in years, unlike
     Geri, who I’d wager hits the Golden Arches every single day. My body’s a temple and
     I’m not about to worship with a Big Mac. I believe you are what you eat, which makes
     Geri a basket of cheese curds and a mountain of buffalo wings. I’m a proponent of
     clean, organic eating, which means I have to be constantly vigilant. You should have
     seen me last week when a new barista at the indie coffee shop by the office tried
     to slip nonorganic white milk into my latte instead of almond. I had to ask her, “I’m
     sorry, are you trying to kill me?”
    Deva laughs. “That was a metaphor, Reagan Bishop. No one’s asking you to dine on pachyderm.
     Although once while traveling in Mongolia with descendants of Kerait tribesmen, I
     ate boodog. Let me assure you, marmot does
not
taste like chicken. I’d say it’s more of a—”
    In order to stop her from whatever comes next, I rattle