Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

I can’t wait to get a letter from you. The mail is so slow here.
I wish I had a computer. I hope you and Al are having the very
best time.
Love you,
Lena
What am I doing here? Carmen gazed around the noisy
room. Not a single noise or face distinguished itself in her ears
or eyes. It was just random South Carolina teenagerness.
Krista was chattering with her friends in the backyard.
Paul was being important with his babelike girlfriend and
jock buddies. Carmen stood alone by the staircase, forgetting
to care that she looked like an unforgivable loser.
She felt weirdly numb and invisible. It wasn’t just that
she missed her friends; she was starting to wonder if she
needed them around to feel like she existed at all.
Lydia and her dad had tickets to a chamber-orchestra
concert. (For the record, her dad hated classical music.)
They thought that Carmen going to a “fun party” with Krista
and Paul would make everything good. Even a sullen girl
who’d spent the last four days pouting in the guest room
couldn’t resist a “fun party.” Her father looked so depressingly
hopeful at the idea, she’d just gone. What did it matter?
A short guy sideswiped her shoulder. “Sorry,” he said,
spilling half his plastic cup of beer on the carpet. He
stopped and looked at her. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” Carmen mumbled back.
“Who are you?” he asked. He looked at her breasts as
though he were asking them.
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