Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

He waved away her concern. “You look fine,” he said,
and she believed him.
She posed with the four of them. She posed with
Krista and Paul. She posed with Lydia and her dad. She
posed with her dad. The old assistant made a sour observation
about Carmen’s jeans, but nobody else said a
word. She couldn’t help feeling impressed by Lydia letting
her fairy-tale wedding pictures be mucked up by a
dark-skinned girl in a pair of blue jeans.
The drinks-and-dinner part of the wedding seemed
to rush by. Carmen made small talk with her neurotic
aunts until the bride and groom took the floor to loud
applause. Shortly afterward, Paul arrived at her chair.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked her formally, bowing
slightly.
Carmen stood, deciding not to worry that she didn’t
really know how to waltz. She put her arm through his.
On the parquet platform he began whirling her in time
with the music.
Suddenly she remembered the girlfriend. She began
studying the surrounding tables to see where the poison
looks would be coming from. Paul seemed to sense her
distraction.
“Where’s . . . uh . . .” Suddenly Carmen couldn’t think
of her actual name.
“Skeletor?” Paul supplied.
Carmen felt her cheeks grow hot. Paul laughed. He
had an unexpectedly sweet, hiccupy laugh. Had she
really never heard it before?
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