Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

her longing to do that proof. Her fingers were practically
tingling for the pencil.
She could hear Lydia blabbing on the phone in the
den in her wedding voice. It was the caterer, Carmen
guessed, because Lydia kept mentioning “miniature
soufflés.”
“All set?” her father asked, appearing at the kitchen
door in his Williams T-shirt and his white tennis shorts.
Carmen got up, her heart lifting. This was the first
thing she was doing with her father in the five long days
she’d been there. She felt almost absurdly privileged to
have him to herself.
She left the house with a sigh, sorry only to be leaving
the geometry proof.
It wasn’t until she was out the door that the thought
occurred to her that if Krista weren’t Krista, if she bore
no relationship to Carmen’s father, she would have asked
Krista if she needed some help.
Dear Bee,
Skeletor came over again this afternoon. She’s over
here almost every hour that Paul is home. It’s pretty
sad that my only joy in life is tormenting that dumb girl.
Today I put on a pair of boxers and a cut-off tank
top and knocked on Paul’s door and asked to borrow
a nail clipper. It’s clear that Paul completely hates me,
though he never says anything, so it’s hard to know.
The idea that I would be attractive to Paul and a
113