Read Online Here Come The Bridesmaids by Ann M. Martin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ann M. Martin
Ads: Link
fast asleep. I crawled into my sleeping bag without a word.
When I awoke the next morning, Dawn was sitting up in her bed.
My first urge was to say good morning. That urge lasted about five seconds. All the memories of our fight came flooding back.
"Don't hate me," were Dawn's first words.
I looked at the floor. I played with the zipper of my sleeping bag. Finally I replied, "I don't."
"I'm sorry, Mary Anne. Really. I assumed so much. I should have realized what a big deal this was. I should have talked over everything with Carol and Dad. Somehow I figured I was, like, automatically in charge of the bridesmaids." She sighed. "I was so excited about you and me sharing this together. I got all spacey."
I listened closely. I tried to swallow the lump that was forming in my throat.
You know what picture popped into my mind? Sunglasses in an oatmeal cannister in our house in Stoneybrook. Sharon had left them there. Dawn's mom. I thought about the ways my dad and I are alike — both super-organized and quiet and serious. Dawn was like her mom, too, in some ways. It was only natural.
It didn't make what she did less hurtful. I mean, leaving sunglasses wasn't the same as messing up wedding arrangements. But thinking about that connection made me feel less angry.
"It’s all right, Dawn," I said softly. "I'm sorry I was so negative about the wedding being on the beach and all. And I really do like the dress."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. The saleswoman said I could take it back — "
"Actually, I thought I might wear it," I said. "My dress isn't really . . . beachy."
"Oh, you won't be sorry! You know, the sun isn't that strong this time of year. And Claudia bought some sunblock, just in case. SPF 30, I think."
"You don't mind?" I asked. "Won't people be confused if I'm wearing the same dress as a bridesmaid?"
Dawn shrugged. "Tough. We're sisters. We can dress alike if we want."
Would it bore you to know Dawn and I hugged and cried again? Well, we did.
Sigh. If s been that kind of trip.
Anyway, I was glad we got the bad stuff out of our systems so early, while the house was quiet. A minute later Mr. Schafer's voice trumpeted out: "Rise and shine! Big day ahead! Eat breakfast now or forever hold your peace!"
Before I could fold up my sleeping bag, a truck screeched to a stop in front of the house. We watched out Dawn's window as a team of workers unloaded tables, chairs, and a folded-up tent.
Then Claudia and Kristy came barreling upstairs. They had been sleeping in the living room and were still in their pj's.
"Aaaaah!" Claudia screamed. "It’s a group Bad Hair Day!"
It was true. Let me tell you, looking in the mirror is not great for your self-esteem after a night in a sleeping bag. My hair looked like shredded wheat. "Oh, noooo," I moaned.
"Have no fear," Claudia continued. "Everybody take a shower, get dressed, and report to the Kishi hair clinic — on the double!"
"Yes, ma'am!" Dawn replied.
Kristy smiled at Claud with admiration. "You sound like me."
I got the upstairs shower, and Dawn the downstairs one. We came rushing back into the bedroom at the same time. We threw on some old clothes and flew down to the kitchen. Mrs. Bruen was already there, flipping pancakes while Jeff set a huge, steaming stack of them on the table.
Claudia and Kristy had showered and dressed casually by that time, too. The four of us stood there in the kitchen, hair all wet and tangled, just gawking at those pancakes.
"Help yourself," Mrs. Bruen said.
Forget the hair. We were starving. We sat at the table and shoveled the food in.
Mr. Schafer whisked in, wearing his undershirt and a beautiful pair of linen pants. "Well,
well! If s breakfast with Medusa and the Gorgons."
"Ha ha," Dawn said.
"What’s that, a rock group?" Claudia asked.
"No, it's these women from a Greek myth who have snakes instead of hair," Dawn replied.
Jeff burst out laughing.
"It was a joke," Mr. Schafer said. "You all look
When I awoke the next morning, Dawn was sitting up in her bed.
My first urge was to say good morning. That urge lasted about five seconds. All the memories of our fight came flooding back.
"Don't hate me," were Dawn's first words.
I looked at the floor. I played with the zipper of my sleeping bag. Finally I replied, "I don't."
"I'm sorry, Mary Anne. Really. I assumed so much. I should have realized what a big deal this was. I should have talked over everything with Carol and Dad. Somehow I figured I was, like, automatically in charge of the bridesmaids." She sighed. "I was so excited about you and me sharing this together. I got all spacey."
I listened closely. I tried to swallow the lump that was forming in my throat.
You know what picture popped into my mind? Sunglasses in an oatmeal cannister in our house in Stoneybrook. Sharon had left them there. Dawn's mom. I thought about the ways my dad and I are alike — both super-organized and quiet and serious. Dawn was like her mom, too, in some ways. It was only natural.
It didn't make what she did less hurtful. I mean, leaving sunglasses wasn't the same as messing up wedding arrangements. But thinking about that connection made me feel less angry.
"It’s all right, Dawn," I said softly. "I'm sorry I was so negative about the wedding being on the beach and all. And I really do like the dress."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. The saleswoman said I could take it back — "
"Actually, I thought I might wear it," I said. "My dress isn't really . . . beachy."
"Oh, you won't be sorry! You know, the sun isn't that strong this time of year. And Claudia bought some sunblock, just in case. SPF 30, I think."
"You don't mind?" I asked. "Won't people be confused if I'm wearing the same dress as a bridesmaid?"
Dawn shrugged. "Tough. We're sisters. We can dress alike if we want."
Would it bore you to know Dawn and I hugged and cried again? Well, we did.
Sigh. If s been that kind of trip.
Anyway, I was glad we got the bad stuff out of our systems so early, while the house was quiet. A minute later Mr. Schafer's voice trumpeted out: "Rise and shine! Big day ahead! Eat breakfast now or forever hold your peace!"
Before I could fold up my sleeping bag, a truck screeched to a stop in front of the house. We watched out Dawn's window as a team of workers unloaded tables, chairs, and a folded-up tent.
Then Claudia and Kristy came barreling upstairs. They had been sleeping in the living room and were still in their pj's.
"Aaaaah!" Claudia screamed. "It’s a group Bad Hair Day!"
It was true. Let me tell you, looking in the mirror is not great for your self-esteem after a night in a sleeping bag. My hair looked like shredded wheat. "Oh, noooo," I moaned.
"Have no fear," Claudia continued. "Everybody take a shower, get dressed, and report to the Kishi hair clinic — on the double!"
"Yes, ma'am!" Dawn replied.
Kristy smiled at Claud with admiration. "You sound like me."
I got the upstairs shower, and Dawn the downstairs one. We came rushing back into the bedroom at the same time. We threw on some old clothes and flew down to the kitchen. Mrs. Bruen was already there, flipping pancakes while Jeff set a huge, steaming stack of them on the table.
Claudia and Kristy had showered and dressed casually by that time, too. The four of us stood there in the kitchen, hair all wet and tangled, just gawking at those pancakes.
"Help yourself," Mrs. Bruen said.
Forget the hair. We were starving. We sat at the table and shoveled the food in.
Mr. Schafer whisked in, wearing his undershirt and a beautiful pair of linen pants. "Well,
well! If s breakfast with Medusa and the Gorgons."
"Ha ha," Dawn said.
"What’s that, a rock group?" Claudia asked.
"No, it's these women from a Greek myth who have snakes instead of hair," Dawn replied.
Jeff burst out laughing.
"It was a joke," Mr. Schafer said. "You all look
Similar Books
