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In a sec, I say. I just need to get my hair up into the cap.
Penny watches them, rather longingly, as they line up by the exit. Then she looks back at me and chews
her lower lip. Half of my hair has yet to be tucked into the swim cap and only one of my Aquashoes is
on. The other is nowhere in sight.
I ll wait for Maggie, she says morosely. I know how she hates not being on time.
Barb shrugs. Suit yourselves.
As they head out the door, I hear Helen ask, Should we worry about Barb getting into that warm
water? The rest of them crack up.
You could have gone with them, I say. I can get there on my own.
Penny plunks down on a bench. That s okay.
Sorry I m so slow today.
I don t know what s wrong with me. All afternoon I ve been draggy and not just because my dress fit
like a condom.
The Stabbies are back, worse than before. After lunch today, six different people came up to either
congratulate me on standing up to Dr. Wohman or tell me how cool my parents are. One guy who
high-fived me was even wearing galoshes. I told myself it was no big deal (after all, it s still muddy out
from the storm), but it was scary anyway.
Each time someone was nice to me, I felt a sharp pain in the center of my midsection, as if I were getting
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a series of belly-button piercings. All this plotting to be unpopular is wearing me out. And it isn t even
working.
You look like you have a headache, Penny remarks. Do you need one of those plants?
I shake my head, causing another several strands to fall out from under the cap. I m just tired. I try to
explain. I just want to go away and do nothing. Like on an island somewhere. Me and no one else.
Except maybe Trevor.I zone out for a moment, imagining the two of us sneaking away and meeting up
in some tropical paradise. We could live in a hut and eat coconuts and sleep snuggled up in a hammock
together. He would tell me how stupid he was to think he could ever let me go; then he would feed me
bits of banana and pledge his everlasting devotion& .
I used to want to live on a cloud, Penny says. I d be all alone up there, except for the birds, and I
could float wherever I wanted.
I look over at her. She s staring off toward the showers, but her eyes seem to be focused on something
beyond the painted brick walls. Her mouth is partway open, the way it always is when she s thinking
hard.
I used to daydream about the same thing when I was little. Clouds always looked so soft and fluffy and
safe from all the craziness on the ground. Just a poufy paradise where the only thing to worry about is the
occasional jumbo jet.
Seems strange that Penny, of all people, would have this fantasy. She s always so darn literal.
In my distracted state, I loosen my grip, and my swim cap slips sideways, causing most of my hair to
tumble back down.
Aaaauugh! I hate this stupid cap. I hate my stupid hair! I hate my parents for bringing me to this
stupid place! Crap! I shout, grabbing the cap and whacking it against the bench. Crap! Crap! Crap!
Eventually the freaking stops.
Penny s jaw drops even more.
Sorry, I mutter. I forget. She s probably allergic to high volume.
You know, it s easier to do that in front of a mirror, she points out.
Good idea. I smile to reassure her that I m not crazy. Then I trot around the corner and start the whole
process again before the mirrors above the sinks.
After a few seconds I hear the door squeak open. I figure Penny probably couldn t stand waiting
anymore and decided to catch up with the ladies. Then I hear a familiar droning voice.
& need to get better subs. I mean, rully. No way am I getting a workout from that woman. Did you see
her thighs?
Caitlyn.
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The door squeals shut, followed by a round of snickers. Penny must still be there, in the line of fire.
Oh. My. God! Where did you get that swimsuit? Caitlyn screeches.
My mom ordered it off the Internet, Penny replies.
Like I said: literal. Her tone is wary, but she doesn t realize that the question is rhetorical.
Looks like someone barfed up fruit salad, says somebody with a different, nasally voice.
Sharla.
Snorts and laughter echo through the humid air. I can t take it anymore. I let go of the cap, which snaps
tightly around my skull, and march around the corner to the locker area.
What I see brings on a surge of anger so intense I m amazed I don t burst into flames. On one side of
the dressing area stands Penny, with her knock-knees and protruding belly. She looks so pitiful I just
want to pat her rubber-covered head. Meanwhile on the other side of the room stand Caitlyn, Sharla,
and Shanna in their fancy workout wear, their hair neatly clipped or braided and their runway-model
limbs cocked at huffy angles.
It s such a disgusting imbalance of power I want to retch.
Don t listen to them, Penny, I say, surprising the three Bippies with my presence. Orange is a much
nicer color for swimwear than it is forskin . My voice echoes back to me, all high pitched and growly. I
can t remember the last time I let myself feel so mad.
Both Caitlyn and Sharla look like they re trying to vaporize me with their stares. Shanna stands behind
them, gazing into the distance. I used to think that look made her seem shallow and stupid, but now I see
it for what it really is: fear. She s scared of them. And she s scared of me. She s afraid I m going to rat
her out.
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