South beach by Aimee Friedman

chattering in an array of languages. From a nearby restaurant came the jangly beat of a live merengue band. Shiny, candy-colored cars cruised down the streets, their tops rolled down to reveal svelte, tanned drivers. Alexa stared across the street at the shimmery blue Atlantic and shivered with anticipation.
    "Don't you want to dive right in?" she murmured.
    "First I want to drop off these bags," Holly said,
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    hoisting up her duffle. She still felt uneasy about this new turn of events. On the short ride over from Ida's, she'd called home again, to tell her mother they were settling in at Grandma's house. Her mom had bought every word. Little did she know Holly and Alexa were now walking under a hot-pink arch into the Flamingo, a dingy-looking, three-story motel that was nestled between two gigantic hotels on Ocean Drive. A passerby might never even notice it.
    The motel's lobby floor was covered in bright yellow carpeting, and the retro, squiggle-shaped orange armchairs made Holly think of The Jetsons. The walls were painted with murals depicting flamingos on a beach.
    Kind of kitschy cool, Alexa thought, raising an eyebrow. They headed for the front desk, where a rotund elderly man in a sun visor stood flipping through a guest book.
    Suddenly, a shrieking girl streaked down the stairs and into the lobby, her curvy body wrapped in only a short beach towel. Hot on her heels came a buff, floppy-haired boy, adjusting a towel around his waist. They both dashed toward a back exit, and Holly heard the boy yell, "Last one in the shower buys the first round tonight!"
    "There's a shower outside?" Holly asked Alexa, who grinned in return.
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    "Two, actually,'" the man behind the desk spoke. "Right by the pool. They're just for rinsing off, but the guests sometimes use them to wash up." He smiled at the girls. "You must be Alexa and Holly. I'm Seymour, Ida's friend. Welcome to the Flamingo."
    After they'd checked in, Seymour showed the girls upstairs to their room -- Number 7. It was tiny, with two narrow beds, a minuscule window, one dresser, and no bathroom. Even with the window closed, the sounds of Ocean Drive drifted into the room -- Latin music, car engines, and flirty laughter. The floor had the same yellow carpeting as the lobby, and the bedspreads were orange.
    Okay, ew, Alexa thought, making her way across the room. What kind of hole had Ida sent them to? No wonder there were vacancies! When Alexa traveled, whether it was with her dad or with friends, she was used to staying in much more luxe accommodations. But as she peered out the window to the beach across the street, Alexa shrugged off her worries. So, the place was slightly declassé. She wasn't planning on spending a lot of time here, anyway.
    "It's kind of gross, huh?" Holly asked guiltily.
    "Who cares?" Alexa threw her massive suitcase onto the bed closest to the window definitely the better-situated one. "We just need a place to rest
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    our bodies after we're exhausted from too much partying!"
    "Yeah," Holly said. Partying. "Like what kind of partying?" she asked tentatively as she placed her bags on the other bed. The two beds were practically crammed together, and there was hardly any space to navigate around them.
    "Oh you know, Holly. Going to bars and stuff." Alexa rolled her eyes, unzipping one of her bags.
    Holly watched with growing concern as Alexa began to unpack, removing heaps of clothing and tossing them onto the bed. The more clothes Alexa pulled out, the smaller the already-cramped room felt.
    "Where are you going to put all that?" Holly asked.
    "In the dresser," Alexa answered curtly, refolding a glittery black cardigan. She skirted around Holly and walked to the dresser across from Holly's bed. She began stuffing her things into the tight drawers.
    Great. So where would Holly squeeze in her clothes? Holly remembered Alexa's words from earlier that afternoon: There's nothing like sharing a small space to make people despise each other. She and