Island of Lost Girls - Jennifer McMahon [7]
Sometimes Rhonda thought about this when she looked at Lizzyhow once upon a time, all they needed was each other.
They had been born two days apart, this much was true, though they made up the lie about being from same motherhow Rhonda stayed in after Lizzy came out and their mother didnt know about the other one until she went to the bathroom a couple of days later and out popped Rhonda.
Into the toilet! the girls would holler in their singsong voices, identical in pitch and tone. Rhonda fell into the toilet! Which didnt seem like a bad beginning, just a funny one.
PETER WAS RUNNINGahead of them, closest to the rabbit. He had his fathers red wool hunting cap on over his blond curls but he hadnt worn a jacket. He was thirteen and Rhonda knew that as a general rule, thirteen-year-old boys didnt believe in jackets unless it was way below freezing. He had announced that this was the last year hed do the egg hunt: Easter baskets were kids stuff.
Rhonda and Lizzy rounded a bend in the path, and Lizzy hit a tree root and tripped, falling, pulling Rhonda down on top of her, both girls cackling, their good Easter dresses ruined already.
Eew! Rhonda complained, pushing herself up. What have you been eating?
Sardines, Lizzy said, smiling.
Gross! For breakfast?
My dad says theyre full of calcium. You know, cause of the bones and stuff in them. Theyre the latest part of the Rockette regime.
Your breath smells like cat food. Rhonda took off down the path, toward Peter and the rabbit, Lizzy right behind her.
Rhonda thought the entire, ever-changing Rockette regime was stupid, even the name. She thought the dumbest part of all was that Lizzy had never even seen the Rockettes except on television. How can you decide from some five-minute routine on a twenty-inch television that thats what you want to do with your life? But Lizzy was determined. And to be a Rockette, she kept reminding Rhonda, you had to be at least five foot six.
Im way too short, Rhonda.
Youre ten! Youre totally average for ten.
Neither of my parents are tall. Ive got short genes. Its a curse.
So, in addition to practicing eye-high kicks, Lizzy ate weird, allegedly tallness-enhancing food and avoided soda, which she swore rotted your bones and stunted your growth.
Besides, she said, sodas full of sugar. And whos ever heard of a fat Rockette?
PETER AND THErabbit had reached the stage. The rabbit jumped into the drivers seat of the old abandoned convertible and pretended to drive.
Over here! Peter shouted. The girls raced to catch up.
There, in a nest of snow tucked into the backseat, were the three plastic eggs that marked the true beginning of their hunt.
Oh! Lizzy exclaimed, clapping her hands together, like the eggs were a strange surprisenot the very thing shed been looking for.
Rhonda bent down and picked her egg up out of the car. Tucked inside the orange egg, like a fortune in a cookie, was a message:Go to the top of the hill. Look next to the rock.
She gazed up at the rabbit, who was standing on the hood now, hands on his hips, impatient and ominous with his huge paws and ears, the plastic cartoon-style eyes scratched from years of Easter rentals, the white fur dingy and smelling of dry cleaning chemicals.
Rhonda took off to the top of the hill, leaving her two friends to their own quests.
It went on like this for almost an hour. Zigzagging through the woods, finding an egg, following the clues inside to get to the next one. Shed run into Lizzy and Peter and theyd compare hiding places and messages, but always with the breathless urgency to hurry back to the hunt.
Rhondas breath was smoke. She wheezed from exertion. The rabbit darted in and out of trees, taunting. Pointing