Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin Page A

expression
    and tone make it clear what she thinks of Claire's view on
    swimwear.
    "I don't think there are precise age limits on bikinis," I say. Claire
    is full of exhausting rules; she once told me that black ink should
    only be used for sympathy notes.
    "Ex-act-ly! That's what I told her Besides, she's probably just
    saying that because she looks kind of bad in a bikini, don't you
    think?"
    I nod. Claire works out religiously and hasn't touched fried food in
    years, but she is destined to be lumpy. She is redeemed, however,
    by impeccable grooming and expensive clothing. She'll show up at
    the beach in a three-hundred-dollar one-piece with a matching
    sarong, a fancy hat, and designer glasses and it will go a long way
    toward disguising an extra roll around her waist.
    We make our way around the floor, searching the racks for
    acceptable suits. At one point, I notice that we have both selected
    a basic black Anne Klein bikini. If we both end up wanting it,
    Darcy will either insist that she found it first or she'll say that we
    can get the same one. Then she will proceed to look better in it all
    summer. No, thanks.
    I am reminded of the time that she, Annalise, and I went shopping
    for backpacks the week before we started the fourth grade. We all
    spotted the same bag right away. It was purple with silver stars on
    the outside pocket way cooler than the other bags.
    Annalise
    suggested that we get the same one and Darcy said no, that it was
    way too babyish to match. Matching was for third-graders.
    So we rock-paper-scissored for it. I went with the rock (which I
    have found to be a winner more than its share of the time). I
    pounded my jubilant fist over their extended scissor fingers and
    swept my purple book bag into our shared cart.
    Annalise balked,
    whining that we knew purple was her favorite color. "I thought
    you liked red better, Rachel!"
    Annalise was no match for me. I simply told her yes, I did prefer
    red, but as she could plainly see, there were no red bags. So
    Annalise settled for a yellow one with a smiley face on the pocket.
    Darcy agonized over the remaining choices and finally told us that
    she was going to sleep on the decision and come back with her
    mom the next day. I forgot about Darcy's bag choice until the first
    day of school. When I got to the bus stop, there stood Darcy with a
    purple bag just like mine.
    I pointed at it, incredulous. "You got my bag."
    "I know," Darcy said. "I decided I wanted it. Who cares if we
    match?"
    Hadn't she been the one to say that matching was babyish?
    "I care," I said, feeling the rage grow inside me.
    Darcy rolled her eyes and smacked her gum. "Oh, Rachel, like it
    matters. It's just a bag after all."
    Annalise was upset too, for her own reasons. "How come you two
    get to be twins and I'm left out? My bag is gay."
    Darcy and I ignored her.
    "But you said we shouldn't match," I accused Darcy, as the bus
    pulled around the corner and screeched to a stop in front of us.
    "Did I?" she said, fingering her stiff, feathered hair, freshly
    sprayed with several layers of Breck. "Well, who cares?"
    Darcy used "who cares" (later replaced by "whatever") as the
    ultimate passive-aggressive response. I didn't recognize her tactic
    as such at the time; I only knew that she always managed to get
    her way and make me feel stupid if I fought back.
    We boarded the bus, Darcy first. She sat down and I sat behind
    her, still furious. I watched Annalise hesitate and then sit with me,
    recognizing that I had right on my side. The whole purple
    backpack issue could have escalated into a full-fledged fight, but I
    refused to let Darcy's betrayal ruin the first day of school. It wasn't
    worth going to battle with her. The end result was seldom
    satisfying.
    I covertly replace the Anne Klein suit on the rack as we make our
    way to the long line for the dressing rooms. When one becomes
    available, Darcy decides that we should share a room to save time.
    She strips down to her black thong