The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares Page B

eyes.
    â€œBefore I read out the teams, let me introduce the rest of the staff—coaches, assistant coaches, and trainers.” Connie went through all of them, giving their names and a little bit about their backgrounds, and finishing with Eric. Did Eric get an extraloud cheer, or did Bridget imagine it?
    Connie explained there were six teams, distinct from the cabin assignments. Each team had its own color, and they would each be given team shirts when their names were called. For the moment they'd be called one through six, and then the teams could have the honor of naming themselves. Blah blah. Connie assigned each of the six teams a head coach, an assistant, and a trainer. Eric was with team four.
    Please let me be on his team,
Bridget silently begged.
    Connie consulted the ubiquitous clipboard.
    â€œAaron, Susanna, team five.”
    Time to calm down; the list was alphabetical. Bridget found herself hating every girl chosen for team four.
    At last, the
V
s. “Vreeland, Bridget, team three.”
    She was disappointed. But when she strode forward to collect her three identical green T-shirts, she was gratified to see that Eric, whatever else he was, was not immune to her hair.
    Carma,
    Leave it to me to fall in love at an all-girls' camp. I haven't even spoken to him. His name is Eric. He is beyooootiful. I want him.
    I wish you could see him. You would love him. But you can't have him. He's mine! Mine!
    I'm insane. I'm going swimming. This is a very romantic place.
    â€”Bee

I
'm dying a slow death at Wallman's
, Tibby decided the next afternoon under the whirring fluorescent lights. This job probably wouldn't cause death any sooner than the normal time. But it would be very painful.
    Why don't stores like this ever have any windows?
she wondered. Did they imagine one glimpse of sunshine might cause their caged, pasty employees to bolt?
    Today she was back in aisle two, this time restocking geriatric diapers. What was it about her and personal hygiene? Last night her mother had asked her to use her special discount to get diapers for her brother and sister. She didn't confess that she'd already lost her discount.
    As she stacked packages of Depends, her body and brain functions seemed to slow to their lowest setting. She could imagine her brainwaves flat-lining on one of those hospital machines. Just dying here at Wallman's.
    Suddenly she heard a crash, and she snapped her head around. In fascination she watched her entire pyramid of roll-on antiperspirants collapse under the weight of a falling girl. The falling girl didn't catch herself, as Tibby expected, but dropped right to the ground, her head making a hollow
thwonk
on the linoleum.
    Oh, God,
Tibby thought, running over to the girl. Tibby had the sensation that she was watching it happen on TV rather than actually experiencing it. Antiperspirant rolled in all directions. The girl was maybe ten or so. Her eyes were closed. Her blond hair fanned out over the floor. Was she dead? Tibby wondered in a panic. She remembered her headset. “Hello! Hello!” she shouted into it, pressing various buttons, wishing she knew how to work it.
    She sprinted toward the front checkout. “Emergency! There's an emergency in aisle two! Call 911!” she ordered. It was rare she spoke so many words in a row without a hint of sarcasm. “A girl is lying unconscious in aisle two!”
    Satisfied that Brianna was making the call, Tibby ran back to the girl. She was still lying there, not moving. Tibby took her hand. She searched for a pulse, feeling like she'd suddenly landed on an emergency room show. A pulse was pulsing away. She reached for the girl's wallet in her purse, then she stopped herself. Weren't you not supposed to touch anything until the police got there? Or, no, that was if it was a murder. She was mixing up her cop shows and her doctor shows. She went ahead and got the wallet. Whoever this girl's parents were would certainly want to know