Girls in Pants - Ann Brashares [34]
She imagined, depressingly, what it must feel like to be a wedding officiator or a doctor who delivered babies. You’d watch these people in the middle of their personal wonders, imagining for themselves a pure, unique once-in-a-lifetime experience. And then an hour or two later you’d watch somebody else do the same thing. What they thought were miracles were your breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
It was sad that what you once thought were marvels on the screen were really manipulations. What you thought was art was just some gimmicky formula.
Bridget discussed it with Diana at night after the campers were in bed. They sat on the edge of the lake, tossing rocks into the still water. Bridget outlined her strategy, which was pretty simple. She’d just avoid Eric. She would stay away from him and throw herself into other things—her team, her training, hanging with Diana, and making new friends. And besides, she got three weekends off, and so would Eric. Chances were, they’d be off on different weekends. It didn’t need to matter so much that she and Eric were working at the same camp. It was a big camp.
At a prebreakfast meeting the next morning, the directors gave out assignments to the staff. Besides coaching, they each were assigned partners with whom they would preside over afternoon activities and chaperone certain meals, evening events, and special weekend trips.
It was long and somewhat boring and Bridget tuned it out, surreptitiously glancing at more of the pictures Diana had brought—more Michael, her roommates, her soccer team at Cornell—until she heard her name called.
“Vreeland, Bridget. Rafting and kayaking. Two-thirty to five weekdays. And you’ve got Wednesday breakfast, Monday lunch, Thursday dinner, and Sunday night moonlight swim. Weekend trips TBA,” Joe Warshaw read out.
She shrugged happily. It sounded fun. She didn’t know the first thing about rafting or kayaking, but she was a quick learner. And she, more than anyone, loved swimming at night under the stars. Joe was flipping pages on his clipboard. “Vreeland, Bridget, you’ll partner with…” He was scanning for a name. “Richman, Eric.” Joe didn’t even look up when he read it. He went on to the next assignment.
Bridget hoped she was hallucinating. Diana cast her a panicked look. If Bridget was hallucinating, then so was Diana.
It was so outrageous Bridget almost wanted to laugh. Was this somebody’s idea of a joke? Had somebody from Baja phoned ahead to say that Bridget and Eric shared by far the most wrenching history, so be sure to put them together?
She looked up and Eric caught her eye. She was frowning.
“You can change it,” Diana said under her breath. “Talk to Joe after. He likes you. He’ll change it.”
Bridget marched over to Joe after. “Hey. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
The kitchen staff was beginning to set up for breakfast.
“Can I, uh, change partners? Would that be all right?”
“If you give me a good reason.” He seemed to anticipate what she was going to say, because he started back in before she could open her mouth. “And I mean a medical or professional reason. I don’t mean a personal reason. I don’t accept personal reasons.”
“Oh.” She racked her brain for something that sounded medical or professional. Oozing sores? Would those help? Contagious foot fungus? Multiple personalities? She could make a case for that last one.
“Good. Stick with your partner. Everybody always wants to change at first.” He piled up his papers and stood to leave. “You’ll do fine.”
God is subtle. But not malicious.
—Albert Einstein
The ferocity was back on Valia’s face, and it was more ferocious than ever. They were due in the hospital again, this time for the double whammy of blood testing for Valia’s kidneys and physical therapy for her knee. She’d refused to get into the car with Carmen, on account of Carmen’s allegedly holding the steering wheel wrong. So Carmen was steering Valia down the sidewalk in her wheelchair, much like a mother pushing the stroller of a very grumpy baby.
Ashes to ashes, diapers to diapers, strollers