Read Online Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares - Free Book Online Page B

understand.
    Some sane part of her brain told her she should feel happy for her dad. He’d met a woman he loved enough to marry. He had this whole life now. It was obviously what he wanted. She knew she should want for him what he wanted for himself.
    But still she hated them. And so she hated herself for hating them.
     
    Slowly Bridget waded into the warm water. A thousand triggerfish darted around her ankles.
    “I want Eric,” she told Diana, who was on team four. “Will you trade places with me?” It wasn’t the first time she’d proposed this.
    Diana laughed at her. “Do you think they’d notice?”
    “He’s leading a run at five,” Emily said.
    Bridget looked at her watch. “Shit, that’s in five minutes.”
    “You’re not seriously going to go,” Diana said.
    Bridget was already out of the water. “Yeah, I am.”
    “It’s six miles,” Emily said.
    The truth was Bridget hadn’t run even one mile in over two months. “Where are they meeting up?”
    “By the equipment shed,” Emily said, wading deeper into the water.
    “See you all,” Bridget called over her shoulder.
    In the cabin, she yanked on a pair of shorts over her bikini bottoms and traded her top for a sports bra. She pulled on socks and her running shoes. It was too hot to worry about whether running in just the bra was acceptable.
    The group had already started off. Bridget had to chase them down a dirt path. She should have taken a minute to stretch.
    There were about fifteen of them. Bridget hung back for the first mile or so until she found her stride. Her legs were long, and she carried no extra weight. It made her a naturally good runner, even when she was out of practice.
    She pulled up with the middle of the pack. Eric noticed her. She pulled up closer to him. “Hi. I’m Bridget,” she said.
    “Bridget?” He let her catch up with him.
    “Most people call me Bee, though.”
    “Bee? As in bumble?”
    She nodded and smiled.
    “I’m Eric,” he offered.
    “I know,” she said.
    He turned to face the group. “We’re doing seven-minute miles today. I’m assuming we have serious runners in this group. If you get tired, just fall back to your own pace. I don’t expect everybody to finish with me.”
    Jesus. Seven-minute miles. The path led uphill. She kicked up dust from the dry ground. Over the hills the land flattened out again. They ran along a riverbed, which carried just a trickle in the dry season.
    She was sweating, but her breathing was in check. She stayed up with Eric. “I hear you’re from L.A.,” she said. Some people liked to talk when they ran. Some people hated it. She was interested to test out which type he was.
    “Yeah,” he said.
    She had just cast him as a type two when he opened his mouth again. “I’ve spent a lot of time here, though.”
    “Here in Baja?” she asked.
    “Yeah. My mom is Mexican. She’s from Mulegé.”
    “Really?” Bridget asked, genuinely interested. That explained his looks. “Just a few miles south of here, right?”
    “Right,” he agreed. “What about you?”
    “I’m from Washington, D.C. My dad is from Amsterdam.”
    “Wow. So you know the whole foreign-parent syndrome.”
    She laughed, pleased at how this was going. “I do.”
    “What about your mom?” And here, without warning, she’d come directly to a second test. This was one she usually saved for much further down the road if she could.
    “My mom . . .” Is? Was? She was still indecisive about tense when it came to this. “My mom . . . was from Alabama. She died.” Bridget had spent four years saying her mother “passed away,” but then the term started to really annoy her. It didn’t fit with what had happened.
    He turned his head and looked at her straight on. “I’m so sad for you.”
    She felt the sweat dry up on her skin. It was a disarmingly honest thing to say. She looked away. At least he hadn’t said, “I’m sorry.” She suddenly felt exposed in her running bra.
    With most guys