Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

fantastic Carmen looked in them and how laughably
dumb Tibby looked in Carmen’s baby-blue ones.
Though Carmen had slept in every morning until at
least ten o’clock for the past two weeks, on the morning
of August 19, she sprang out of bed with the sun. She
knew what she was going to do. She pulled on the Pants,
loving the snug, perfect fit around her hips. It felt like
they loved her. She pushed her feet into leopard-print
slides and quickly fastened the pearl buttons of a black
collared shirt. She shook out her voluminous hair, still
clean from being washed last night. She jabbed silver
hoops through her earlobes.
She left a note for her mom on the kitchen table and
heard the phone ringing as she sailed toward the door. It
was Mr. Brattle, she could see from the caller ID. She let
him ring himself out. She wouldn’t torture him today.
She took a bus to the airport, where she picked up an
expensive round-trip ticket that she’d reserved last night
with her father’s “emergencies and books” credit card.
She slept peacefully across three seats on the twohour
flight to Charleston, waking only for the snack.
Today, she ate the apple.
She used up some time reading magazines in the
Charleston International Airport; then she took a cab to
the Episcopal church on Meeting Street. This time the
live oaks and beard-trailing pecan trees looked nicely
familiar.
She arrived a few minutes before the ceremony was to
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