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

restaurant, but in somebody's own dining room? There were matching white covered dishes that turned out to contain all kinds of homemade food. Lamb chops, roasted potatoes, sautéed zucchini and red peppers, carrot salad, warm bread. Carmen jumped when she felt Krista's hand reaching for hers. She yanked it away without thinking.
    Krista's cheeks flushed. “Sorry,” she murmured. “We hold hands for grace.”
    She looked at her father. He was happily holding Paul's hand on one side and reaching for hers on the other.
That's what they do. What do we do?
she felt like asking her father.
Aren't we supposed to be a family too?
She submitted to hand-holding and an unfamiliar grace. Her father was the one who'd refused to convert to Catholicism to please Carmen's maternal grandparents. Now he was Mr. Grace?
    Carmen thought forlornly of her mom. She and her mom said grace now, but they hadn't when her dad still lived with them.
    She stared at Lydia. What kind of power did this woman have?
    â€œLydia, this is fabulous,” her father said.
    â€œIt's great,” Krista chimed in.
    Carmen felt her father's eyes on her. She was supposed to say something. She just sat there and chewed.
    Paul was quiet. He looked at Carmen, then looked down.
    Rain slapped against the window. Silverware scraped and teeth chewed.
    â€œWell, Carmen,” Krista ventured. “You don't look at all like I was imagining?”
    Carmen swallowed a big bite without chewing. This didn't help. She cleared her throat. “You mean, I look Puerto Rican?” She leveled Krista with a stare.
    Krista tittered and then backtracked. “No, I just meant . . . you know . . . you have, like, dark eyes and dark wavy hair?”
    And dark skin and a big butt?
Carmen felt like adding. “Right,” Carmen said. “I look Puerto Rican, like my mother. My mother is Puerto Rican. As in Hispanic. My dad might not have mentioned that.”
    Krista's voice grew so quiet, Carmen wasn't even sure she was still talking. “I'm not sure if he . . .” Krista trailed off till she was just mouthing words at her plate.
    â€œCarmen has my height and my talent for math,” her dad piped up. It was lame, but Carmen appreciated it anyway.
    Lydia nodded earnestly. Paul still didn't say anything.
    â€œSo, Carmen.” Lydia placed her fork on her plate. “Your father tells me you are a wonderful tennis player.”
    Carmen's mouth happened to be completely full at that moment. It seemed to take about five long minutes to chew and swallow. “I'm okay,” was the big payoff to all that chewing.
    Carmen knew she was being stingy with her little answers. She could have expanded or asked a question back. But she was angry. She was so angry she didn't understand herself. She didn't want Lydia's food to taste good. She didn't want her dad to enjoy it so much. She didn't want Krista to look like a little doll in her lavender cardigan. She wanted Paul to actually say something and not just sit there thinking she was a stupid lunatic. She hated these people. She didn't want to be here. Suddenly she felt dizzy. She felt panic cramping her stomach. Her heart was knocking around unsteadily.
    She stood up. “Can I call Mom?” she asked her dad.
    â€œOf course,” he said, getting up too. “Why don't you use the phone in the guest room?”
    She left the table without another word and ran upstairs.
    â€œMamaaa,” she sobbed into the phone a minute later. Every day since the end of school, she'd pushed her mother away little by little, anticipating her summer with her dad. Now she needed her mother, and she needed her mother to forget about all those times.
    â€œWhat is it, baby?”
    â€œDaddy's getting married. He's got a whole family now. He's got a wife and two blond kids and this fancy house. What am I doing here?”
    â€œOh, Carmen. My gosh. He's getting married, is he? Who is she?”
    Her mom