Second Summer of the Sisterhood (Sisterhood 2)

With a swarm of emotions in her chest, she took the ball out of its box and smelled it. She had tears in her eyes. She dropped it on the ground. She loved it clean and shiny, but she loved it dusty, too.

She had quit soccer back in November because she hadn’t wanted people counting on her anymore. She’d just wanted to sleep. For the entire autumn and winter, she had watched her former teammates and pretty much everyone involved in athletics at school stare at her in the halls as if she’d personally amputated her legs.

But she loved soccer. She loved it in every one of her muscles. She’d missed it deeply and painfully. Her body needed to be in motion. She was a voracious person.

She had dreamed about connecting her foot to a ball again. Kick. There she went. It rolled softly. She kicked it again. A puff of dust rose from the ground. Her heart was galloping madly. She ran to keep up with it. Kicking, running, kicking. She let the blurring hexagons and pentagons hypnotize her. This was nice, just this. She didn’t need any games or coaches or cheering onlookers or college scouts. She just needed this.

“She hasn’t gotten out of bed in three days,” Carmen said, sipping her latte. “I feel horrible. I want to be there for her, but she won’t even look at me.”

Tibby was listening, but she wasn’t listening in the way Carmen liked best. She wasn’t nodding and egging her on. She was sitting very quietly, shredding her croissant between her fingers.

Finally she looked up. “Carma?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you tell your mom yet?”

Carmen pulled the lid off her coffee. “Tell her what?”

“Tell her about David calling on Sunday?”

Carmen was surprised. She had already confessed her guilt on this one. “No.”

“Do you think … you’re going to?”

“Tell her?”

“Yes.”

Carmen cast her eyes toward the big menu board, wanting to change the subject.

Tibby was looking straight at her. “Hey, Carma?”

“Uh-huh.”

Carmen was considering the price difference between a tall, a large, and a magnifico latte. And anyway, why didn’t anybody call anything small anymore? When you ordered a latte, if you asked for a small the cashier looked at you as though you were retarded. “You mean tall?” she’d say patronizingly. Small is a relative term! Carmen felt like screaming at them.

“Carma?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tibby’s face was so unusually earnest that Carmen knew she had to pay attention. “Maybe you should tell her. It won’t fix everything, but it might make her feel better.”

“Who feel better?” Carmen snapped suspiciously.

“Her. You. Both,” Tibby said carefully.

Carmen’s mouth opened before she could stop it. “Like you’re the expert on mother-daughter relations,” she spat.

Tibby looked down at the stringy pile that had been her croissant. Her features seemed to shrink in her face. “I’m not. At all. Obviously.”

“I’m sorry, Tib,” Carmen said reflexively, putting her hands over her face. Tibby had already been feeling down. Her expression was fragile and her features looked impossibly delicate in her freckly face. Carmen hated herself for making Tibby sadder.

“That’s okay.” Tibby stood up. “You’re right.” She swept up the mess on the table. “I have to go. I told my mom I’d pick Nicky up at swimming.”

Carmen stood up too. She wished this conversation had turned out differently. “When are you going back to Williamston?”

Tibby shrugged. “A couple days.”

“Call me later, okay?”

Tibby nodded.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Carmen begged.

“I’m not.” Tibby offered up a smile. It was weak, but it wasn’t fake. “Seriously. I’m not.”

Carmen nodded, relieved.

“But Carma?”

“Uh-huh?”

“You should talk to your mom.”

Carmen felt like crying as she watched Tibby walk out the door and across the parking lot. She knew a worse friend would have made her feel better.

Power corrupts. Absolute power is kind of neat.

—John Lehman

Carmen was a disaster. Tibby was a disaster. Lena was an even bigger disaster. Carmen considered this as she strode toward the Burger King on Wisconsin Avenue. The only current nondisaster was Bee, who ordinarily took the cake in disasters. A strange summer it was shaping up to be.

Carmen had the day off from work, so she’d spent Lena’s lunch hour sitting and sweltering with her in the parking lot behind the store. Well, Carmen had done most of the sitting, while Lena had done the pacing and obsessing.

Carmen opened the door, enjoying the wave of cold, corporate air. As her eyes adjusted, she squinted at a blond girl standing at the counter. Maybe it was knowing Kostos was in town, but Carmen couldn’t shake the feeling of seeing flashes of people she thought she knew. On sidewalks, in the lobby of her building, outside Lena’s store.

Carmen walked toward the counter, studying the back of the blond girl. She had cutoffs and a perm, and she was counting out her change. No way, Carmen said to herself. It couldn’t be.

And yet, as Carmen ordered french fries, she couldn’t stop looking over at the girl. It couldn’t be who she imagined it might be, because the girl Carmen was thinking of didn’t have a perm, and she would never have worn shorts like that. And also she lived in South Carolina.

Still, Carmen waited impatiently for the girl to turn around. The girl was taking so long to count out her change, it might really be her, Carmen considered.

Finally, the girl did turn, and she looked straight at Carmen. After a moment of surprise, her face lit up.

“Oh, my God,” Carmen muttered.

The girl hurried over, carrying her soda, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. “Carmen!”

Carmen stood there frozen. Apparently Kostos wasn’t the only ghost from last summer to have returned. “Krista?”

Krista looked both excited and shy. “I can’t believe I ran into you?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping to find you,” Krista replied. She felt around in the front pocket of her shorts and with some effort yanked out a crumpled piece of paper. “I tried your place a few minutes ago, but nobody answered.”

On the paper Krista had written Carmen’s address and phone number.

“Wow … really? Well …” Carmen wanted to say why? without it sounding impolite. “Are you here with … uh … friends?” Carmen was mesmerized by the eyeliner and the shorts and the small red tank top. It had to be Krista, but Carmen didn’t quite believe it was Krista.

“No. Just me.”

“Oh,” Carmen said. The only thing that had stayed the same, that convinced Carmen this girl was actually Krista and not an imposter, was the gold add-a-bead necklace.

Carmen quickly paid for her french fries. “Do you … want to sit down for a minute?” she asked, leading the way to a table.

No matter that she was a fugitive, Krista probably couldn’t forget her manners if she tried. She stood beside her chair until Carmen was seated.

“Um, is your mom in town?” Carmen asked. It would give the mystery a whole other dimension if Lydia and possibly her dad were in town without even having called Carmen.

Krista’s face darkened slightly. “No.” She cleared her throat. “I am here to get away from her.”

Carmen’s felt her eyebrows shoot upward. “You are? Why?”

Krista looked around in case someone might hear. “She’s been tickin’ me off is why.”

Carmen was stunned, and she didn’t try to hide it.

“Does she know you’re here?” Carmen asked slowly, as if she were talking to Jesse Morgan.

“No.” Krista had a fearful yet triumphant look.

“Krista.” Carmen was staring at her seriously now. “Is everything okay? You seem really … different.”