The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (10 page)

H
ours after the fight, Lena sat between the two surly old men in a clinic in Fira. Her grandmother had gone for coffee and snacks, but Lena suspected she could no longer tolerate the scowling and moaning. Clearly disturbed, Kostos had quickly returned to the forge. He didn't even look at Lena.

Bapi needed four stitches along his cheekbone, and though Bapi Dounas complained bitterly of a broken nose—it
had
bled a lot—he didn't actually have one. As Lena waited under the fluorescent lights without even the comfort of a
People
magazine, she noticed a speck of blood drying on the Pants. “I'm sorry,” she quietly told them. She went to the bathroom and tried to dab at the speck with some wet toilet paper. For a moment she felt guilty, remembering the washing rule, but who wanted the blood of a cranky old Greek man on their magic pants for the rest of eternity?

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair had dried funny from the pond water. It was slightly puffy, rather than smooth and straight. She had the sensation of being tipsy. She put her face right up to the mirror.
Is that really me?

Returning to the waiting area, she saw how silly the grandfathers looked. Their plastic chairs were side by side, but in their efforts to spurn each other they were sitting almost back to back. Lena knew how ridiculous, how absurd—how comical, even—this whole thing was. But though it seemed funny, it didn't actually
feel
funny to her. It just felt bad. She felt ashamed. Obviously her grandmother believed that Kostos had physically attacked Lena, and she had told Bapi so. Now they both believed that their beloved Kostos was some kind of evil rapist.

Lena could see now how profoundly she had overreacted. She should have told Grandma the truth and not let her jump to dramatic conclusions.

So Kostos had spied on her. He'd seen her naked. It was a bad and stupid and juvenile thing to do. Even so, she'd felt relieved to see his big sturdy self intervening in the fight and calming the two men down before they killed each other.

Kostos had spied on her, and she was annoyed at him for that. But he hadn't done the things her grandparents believed he'd done.

Now what? When everything calmed down and they'd all had a chance to rest, she would apologize to her grandparents and explain exactly what had happened.

And then she would explain it to Kostos.

And eventually everything would be fine.

Lena,

I played too hard at the scrimmage today. I need to chill. What do you say to me? Calm your body, Bee. I'm trying, but my legs have got the jumpies.

I'll go for a run. With Eric. I WANT him. Did I mention that? I know you are above your hormones, but some of us can't help ourselves.

Love,
Bee FF

“Hi, my name is Bailey Graffman. I'm a friend of Tibby's. Is she home?”

Tibby listened in astonishment at the top of the stairs as Bailey stood at the front door introducing herself to Loretta over the screams of a cranky Katherine. Had she saddled herself with a twelve-year-old stalker?

Tibby carefully put Mimi back in her box and prayed Loretta would somehow not know she was home. No luck. Sure enough, seconds later, Tibby heard Bailey hopping up the stairs.

“Hi,” Bailey said, waving from the door of her room.

“Bailey, what are you doing here?”

Bailey made herself comfortable on Tibby's unmade bed. “I can't stop thinking about your movie. It sounds so cool. I want to help you.”

“You can't. I haven't even started yet,” Tibby protested.

“So you definitely need help,” Bailey reasoned. “I'll be your cameraman. Or your sound man. Or your gaffer. Or your best boy.”

“You don't look like a man or a boy,” Tibby pointed out.

“Or I could just be your general assistant. You know, P.A. Carry your junk and stuff.”

Bailey looked so genuinely excited, it was hard to turn her down.

“Thanks, but I really don't need any help,” Tibby said.

Bailey was on her feet and examining Mimi. “Who's this?” she asked.

“It's Mimi. I've had her since I was seven,” Tibby explained dully. She tended to act like she didn't care deeply about Mimi when she was around her friends.

“She's sweet,” Bailey said. She made twitching-nose faces at Mimi. “Could I hold her?”

Since she was about eight, not a single person, except for Nicky, had ever expressed interest in holding Mimi. Maybe that was the fringe benefit of being friends with a little kid. “Sure.”

Carefully, confidently, Bailey scooped her out of her box. Mimi didn't seem to mind. She settled her fat body into Bailey's chest. “Ooh. She's warm. I don't have any pets.”

“She doesn't do much,” Tibby said, feeling a bit disloyal to Mimi. “She's pretty old. She sleeps a lot.”

“Is she bored in there, do you think?” Bailey asked.

Tibby had never really considered that. She shrugged. “I don't know. I think she's pretty happy with it. I don't think she longs for the wild or anything.”

Bailey settled into a chair with Mimi. “Have you decided who's going to be your first interview?” she asked.

Tibby was about to say no. She stopped herself. “Probably Duncan, this freak at Wallman's,” she answered.

“How's he a freak?” Bailey asked.

“God, he's just . . . he just speaks this other language. Assistant General Manager language. He thinks he's so important. It's fairly hilarious.”

“Oh.” Bailey scratched Mimi's stomach.

“Then there's this lady with unbelievable fingernails,” Tibby continued. “And I think Brianna deserves a little airtime with her antigravitational hairdo. And there's this girl who works at the Pavillion I'd love to interview. She can recite whole scenes from movies, but only really dumb ones.”

Bailey fidgeted in her chair. “I always wanted to make a documentary,” she said wistfully.

Tibby had a feeling she was about to play the leukemia card. “Why don't you make one?”

“I don't have a camera. I don't know how. I really wish you'd let me help you.”

Tibby sighed. “You're trying to make me feel guilty because you have leukemia, aren't you?”

Bailey snorted. “Yeah. Pretty much.” She held Mimi close. “Hey, was that your little sister down there?”

Tibby nodded.

“Big age difference, huh?”

“Fourteen years,” Tibby said. “I also have a two-year-old brother. He's taking a nap.”

“Wow. Did one of your parents remarry?” Bailey asked.

“No. Same parents. They got married to a new lifestyle.”

Bailey looked interested. “How do you mean?”

“Oh, I don't know.” Tibby sank down on her bed. “When my parents first had me, we lived in a tiny apartment over a diner on Wisconsin Avenue, and my dad wrote for a socialist newspaper while he was getting his law degree. Then, after he got burned out as a public defender, we lived in a trailer on two acres out past Rockville, and my dad learned organic farming while my mom made sculptures of feet. One whole spring we lived in a tent in Portugal.” Tibby looked around. “Now we live like this.”

“Were they very young when they had you?” Bailey asked.

“Nineteen.”

“You were kind of like their experiment,” Bailey said, putting the sleeping Mimi on her lap.

Tibby looked at her. She'd never thought those precise words, but they captured a feeling. “I guess so,” she said with more openness than she'd intended.

“Then they got to be grown-ups and they wanted kids for real,” Bailey speculated.

Tibby was both amazed and discomfited by the way this conversation was going. What Bailey said was exactly true. When all her parents' friends had started having kids, her parents had seemed to want another chance to do it right. With baby monitors and matching bumpers and little musical mobiles. Not like it was for Tibby, a little tangly-headed accessory kid getting pulled along for the adventure.

Bailey looked at her with large, sympathetic eyes. Tibby felt sad. She wasn't sure how she'd ended up talking about this stuff. She wanted to be by herself. “I've got to, uh, leave in a while. You'd better go,” Tibby said.

For once Bailey wasn't pushy. She got up to go.

“Put Mimi back, okay?”

Tibby,

I am such a mess. Kostos caught me skinny-dipping, and I totally freaked. You know how I get about privacy. So I throw on my clothes all wrong (I actually managed to put the Pants on inside out—how's that for magical?) and go running home in a fit. My grandmother sees me and assumes something way worse than actually happened.

So then, oh, God, this is painful to recount, she tells my grandfather (in Greek obviously) what she thinks happened, and I am not kidding you, Bapi goes over to beat Kostos up. Kostos's grandfather won't let him in the house, so the two grandfathers get in a fistfight. It sounds funny, I know, but it was horrible.

Now my grandparents are at war with their best friends, and Kostos totally hates me, and nobody but us knows what happened.

I have to just tell the truth, right?

This was my first big Traveling Pants episode. I'm not sure the Pants have the effect we were hoping for. Oh, and I got a little blood on them—which may further inhibit their magic (did my best to wash it out, though). I'm now sending them to you by Santorini's fastest mail (it could take a while). I know you'll do better with them than I did.

I wish you were here, Tib. No, scratch that. I wish we were together anywhere but here.

Love,
Lena

Carmen's dad and Lydia were still at a party. Her dad, who'd basically never had friends, was suddenly a social butterfly. Lydia's friends were all his friends, just like that. He stepped into a life ready-made. House, kids, friends. What was strange was how little of an old life he'd had to bring with him.

Paul was out with Skeletor, and Krista was doing a home spa with two friends in her room. Krista had politely invited Carmen to join in, but the thought just depressed her. It made her miss her friends.

She was sick of the guest room. Every piece of furniture was draped with clothes; the rest were on the floor. She was a hypocrite, she knew. She made messes but couldn't tolerate them.

In the kitchen she saw that Krista had left her geometry homework on the table. Carmen eyed it lustfully. Krista had left off in the middle of the second proof, and there were eight more to do.

The house was silent. She grabbed the papers. She studied them and grabbed the pencil too. She began working. Geometric proofs were pure joy. You started out with both the problem and the solution.

Her focus was so complete she didn't realize Paul had come home until he was standing in the kitchen watching her. Thank goodness he was without Skeletor. He looked puzzled.

Warm blood rushed to her face. What reason could she possibly give for doing Krista's homework?

He lingered for another moment. “Night,” he said.

“Paul, did you do my math homework?” Krista demanded the next morning at breakfast. Her tone fell somewhere between sulky and grateful.

It was Sunday, and Al had made pancakes for everyone. Now he cooked too! Lydia had even set the table with her special floral china. What a treat.

Paul didn't answer right away.

“Did you think I was too dumb to do it myself?” Krista demanded.

Probably
, Carmen was tempted to say.

“I didn't,” Paul answered with his usual economy.

Krista sat up straight in her chair. “Do the work or think I was dumb?”

“Either,” he said.

“So who did?” Krista demanded.

Carmen waited for Paul's eyes to land on her. They didn't. He didn't say anything, just shrugged.

If Paul wasn't going to bust her, should she implicate herself? Carmen wondered.

“I better go,” Paul said. “Thanks for the pancakes, Albert.”

He exited the kitchen and scooped up a duffel bag sitting by the front door before leaving the house.

“Where's he going?” Carmen asked, though it was no business of hers.

Lydia and Krista exchanged a glance. Lydia opened her mouth, then closed it again. “He's going to . . . see . . . a friend,” she finally said.

“Oh.” Carmen wasn't sure why this was such a difficult question.

“So guess what?” Lydia changed the subject chattily. “We've come up with a backup plan for the reception.”

She was talking to Carmen. Carmen realized that was because she was the only one who didn't know about it already.

“Oh,” Carmen said again. She knew she was supposed to ask what it was.

“It's going to be in our own backyard. We've rented a giant tent! Doesn't that sound like fun?”