Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Bridget nodded, but she didn’t emerge from her
sleeping bag.
“The Cocos and the Boneheads are playing in the
semis in a couple of minutes. Do you want to watch?”
“I’d rather sleep,” Bridget said. “I’m tired today.”
“Okay.” Sherrie turned to go. “I wondered when that
energy was going to run out.”
Diana, who returned a couple of hours later, told
Bridget that the Cocos had crushed the Boneheads. It
would be a Taco/Coco final.
“Are you coming to lunch?” Diana asked. She kept
her tone light, but her eyes showed her concern.
“Maybe in a little while,” Bridget answered.
Diana cocked her head. “Come on, Bee, get out of
bed. What’s with you?”
Bridget couldn’t begin to explain what was with her.
She needed somebody to explain it to her. “I’m tired,” she
said. “Sometimes I just need to catch up on sleep.
Sometimes I crash for a whole day.”
Diana nodded, as though reassured that this was just
another part of the peculiar Bridget canon.
“Can I bring you something? You must be starving.”
Bridget had earned her reputation as a rapacious
eater. But she wasn’t hungry. She shook her head.
Diana considered all this. “It’s weird. In almost seven
weeks I’ve never seen you under a roof for more than three
minutes. I’ve never seen you stay still except when you
were asleep. I’ve never seen you miss a meal.”
Bridget shrugged. “I contain multitudes,” she said.
217