South beach by Aimee Friedman Page A

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    grand hotels along the boardwalk. "They'd probably let us use their bathroom, right?"
    Ooh, Alexa thought, intrigued. She'd been dying for a chance to get into one of those fabulous retro-glam hotels, especially after enduring almost a full day at the Flamingo. Brushing her teeth in the teensy hallway bathroom that morning had been anything but fabulous.
    They put on their flip-flops, stuffed their towels into their beach totes, and trekked over to the boardwalk. Alexa spotted a sign for a hotel called the Oceania and pointed it out to Holly. Behind the sign lay a winding path that led off the boardwalk. Alexa and Holly exchanged a quick glance, then, in silent agreement, stepped off the boardwalk and onto the path to the hotel.
    The path led to an elaborate, palm tree-bedecked fence. The fence door opened easily from the outside, so Alexa and Holly simply slipped in, and found themselves inside a jaw-dropping pool area. In the center was an L-shaped, bright blue pool with painted tiles on the bottom. Alexa remembered the mildly gross pool at the Flamingo and wanted to die. Here, reed-thin women in gold lame bikinis floated in the glimmering water on inflatable rafts, sipping fruity cocktails and dozing. Around the pool were an array of hammocks and cushioned lounge chairs where
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    other lucky, pampered guests munched on hors d'oeuvres brought to them by uniformed waiters. The whole area was surrounded by giant palm trees and exotic plants, which gave the place a tropical, rainforest feel.
    Alexa and Holly exchanged another glance, and this time they were both grinning. Alexa had arrived at her South Beach fantasy. This was where she should have been staying. And, by the looks of it, Holly was just as enchanted by the scene before them.
    "Forget the beach," Alexa whispered excitedly. "Let's hang out here!" She wanted to dip her toes in the cool, chlorinated water, and have one of the waiters bring her frozen grapes on a platter. Her hangover seemed to have magically disappeared. All I needed was a little luxury, Alexa thought.
    "We can't use the pool!" Holly protested. She glanced over her shoulder, paranoid, as a waiter sauntered past bearing a tray with hummus and pita wedges. "We're not guests here, Alexa. Besides, I thought you just had to go to the bathroom."
    "The trick is to act as if you belong," Alexa replied, pushing her shades on top of her head and striking a supermodel pose. She took Holly's hand and led her past the pool. "They don't know we're not staying here. Come on, let's go inside and find the little girls' room, and then we'll come back."
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    The hotel itself lay straight ahead a multistory pink-and-white confection. The rooms all opened up onto delicately latticed terraces that overlooked the pool. As Alexa and Holly neared the hotel, Alexa imagined what those rooms must look like inside: spacious and light-filled, with crisp, king-size beds, plush sofas, plasma TVs ... Next time, Alexa told herself. Next time I'm in South Beach, this is where I'll stay.
    But, for now, sneaking in would do just fine.
    They walked up a short flight of stone steps and were about to open the hotel's double doors when a dark-haired skinny boy in swim trunks burst out of the hotel, his shoulder knocking against Holly's. Holly's stomach tightened and she stopped in her tracks, glancing sideways at him.
    "Diego?" she whispered, hardly able to believe it. Would she really find him so easily?
    The boy stopped and brushed his straight hair off his forehead. Holly saw he had narrow green eyes and his nose was larger than Diego's. But she could've sworn ...
    "Sorry," the boy said, shaking his head. "Rodrigo." Then he ambled toward the pool, shooting a confused glance back at the girls.
    Alexa took Holly's arm and dragged her into the hotel. "Who's Diego?" Alexa asked. "Could you not humiliate us like that?"
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    "No one," Holly sighed as they entered the air-conditioned, carpeted lobby. She felt like a humongous fool.