Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

“Nice smock,” Bailey practically spat at her back.
“Thanks,” Tibby heard herself saying as she fled.
Dear Carmen,
Some summer I want all of us to come here together. That is
the happiest thing I can imagine. The first day I walked about a
million steps down the cliffs to a tiny fishing village called
Ammoudi on the Caldera. Caldera means “cauldron.” It’s this
body of water that filled in after a monster volcano exploded
and sank most of the island. After I painted these pretty Greek
boats, it got to be broiling hot, so I stripped down to my bathing
suit and dove right into the clear, cold water.
I made a painting for you. It’s the bell tower right here in Oia.
My shy grandpa, who doesn’t speak English, came around and studied
my painting for a long time. He nodded approvingly, which was
pretty cute.
Effie and I rode mopeds to Fira, the biggest village on the
island, and drank unbelievably strong coffee at an outdoor café. We
were both strung out on caffeine. I got anxious and silent, and Effie
flirted outrageously with the waiters and even random passersby
(passerbys?).
There’s this guy Kostos. He walks past our house about six times
a day. He keeps trying to catch my eye and start a conversation, but
I won’t play. My grandmother’s dearest hope is that we’ll fall in
love. What could be less romantic than that?
Other than that, nothing really big has happened. Nothing big
enough for the Pants. They’re still waiting here patiently.
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