Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

Slowly Bridget waded into the warm water. A thousand
triggerfish darted around her ankles.
“I want Eric,” she told Diana, who was on team four.
“Will you trade places with me?” It wasn’t the first time
she’d proposed this.
Diana laughed at her. “Do you think they’d notice?”
“He’s leading a run at five,” Emily said.
Bridget looked at her watch. “Shit, that’s in five minutes.”
“You’re not seriously going to go,” Diana said.
Bridget was already out of the water. “Yeah, I am.”
“It’s six miles,” Emily said.
The truth was Bridget hadn’t run even one mile in
over two months. “Where are they meeting up?”
“By the equipment shed,” Emily said, wading deeper
into the water.
“See you all,” Bridget called over her shoulder.
In the cabin, she yanked on a pair of shorts over her
bikini bottoms and traded her top for a sports bra. She
pulled on socks and her running shoes. It was too hot to
worry about whether running in just the bra was acceptable.
The group had already started off. Bridget had to
chase them down a dirt path. She should have taken a
minute to stretch.
There were about fifteen of them. Bridget hung back
for the first mile or so until she found her stride. Her legs
were long, and she carried no extra weight. It made her a
naturally good runner, even when she was out of practice.
She pulled up with the middle of the pack. Eric noticed
her. She pulled up closer to him. “Hi. I’m Bridget,” she said.
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