The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares

Tibby stuck the bottle back in her mouth.
    When Tibby was little, her dad had worked as a journalist and a public defender and briefly as an organic farmer, and he was always home for dinner. But after her mom started spending her time in people's big, clean houses and seeing all the nice things they had, her dad started practicing law in a private firm, and now he was only home about half the nights. It seemed poor planning to Tibby to have these extra kids and then never be home anymore.
    Her parents used to talk about simplicity all the time, but nowadays they seemed to spend all their time getting new stuff and not having very much time to play with it.
    Nicky was digging both hands in his yogurt and then licking his fingers. Tibby's mother snatched the yogurt away, and Nicky started howling.
    Tibby had thought about mentioning Bailey and her leukemia to her mom, but as usual, it was hard to see where any conversation would fit in.
    She went up to her room and recharged the batteries for her camera. She gazed at her sleeping computer, the Power button pulsing under its masking tape like a slow heartbeat.
    Usually her computer was flashing and whirring all evening as she IMed her friends. Tonight they were all far away. Somehow the masking tape looked like a gag over the computer's mouth.
    â€œHey, Mimi,” she said. Mimi was sleeping. Tibby added some food to Mimi's dish and changed her water. Mimi stayed asleep.
    Later, as Tibby began to doze off with her lights and clothes still on, her thoughts came unstuck in that way they did, and she thought of geriatric diapers and antiperspirant and sterile wipes and bacteria-free soap and extra-absorbent panty shields and Bailey lying in a mess on the floor.
    â€œThere's your boyfriend,” Diana said, watching Eric as he strode onto the deck.
    Bridget fixed her eyes on him.
Look up, you.
    He did. Then he looked away so fast it was almost gratifying. He noticed her, all right.
    He took a seat on the other side of the deck. Bridget dug into her lasagna. She was starving. She loved institutional food served in big quantities. She was weird that way.
    â€œHe probably has a girlfriend in New York,” a girl named Rosie said.
    â€œWe'll see about that,” Bridget said provocatively.
    Diana shoved her elbow. “Bridget, you're insane.”
    Emily was shaking her head. “Give it up. You'll get in huge trouble.”
    â€œWho's gonna tell?” Bridget asked.
    Diana put on her Sigmund Freud expression. “Anyway, getting in trouble is kind of the point, isn't it?”
    â€œOf course it's not the point,” Bridget said snappishly. “Have you taken one
look
at the guy?”
    She stood up and walked to the buffet table to get another helping of lasagna. She took a circuitous route in order to pass Eric. She knew her friends would be watching.
    She stopped right behind him. She waited for a pause in the conversation he was having with Marci, his assistant coach. She leaned over. The place was noisy, so it was perfectly understandable that she should lean close to his ear. A curtain of her hair fell forward as she leaned, brushing his shoulder. “What time is the scrimmage?” she asked.
    He hardly dared turn his head. “Ten.”
    She was making him nervous. “Okay. Thanks.” She stood back up straight. “We'll kill y'all.”
    Now he turned to look at her, surprised and almost angry. Immediately he saw from her face that she was teasing him. “We'll see about that.” At least he was smiling.
    She drifted to the serving table, allowing herself one quick glance at her friends' impressed faces. “Ha,” she mouthed.
    Dear Carmen,
    The cabin girls have upped my odds with Eric to 40/60. I'm being very flirtatious and very bad. You would laugh. What's a girl to do, stuck a thousand miles out here in the ocean?
    We went sight-seeing in the closest town, Mulegé. That's where Eric's mom is from. We saw this big