Chasing Crazy - Kelly Siskind Page 0,17

them on my bed. Her thick blond braid bumps against her shoulder. “They’re yours if you want ’em. Now get up. Where’s your pack?” She chews her gum with her mouth half open.

The second I gesture to the blue nylon bag against the wall, she dives into its depths. Like a deep-sea fisherman, she tugs out my bathing suit, dangling it for all to see. She scrunches her face and turns toward me. “Really, Nina? This is what you packed? Were you, like, a competitive swimmer or something?”

My one-piece Speedo hangs midair, a neon billboard that screams: YOU ARE SO NOT COOL. “That? No. It’s not mine. Don’t be ridiculous. My little sister’s a total freak. I packed in a rush. Must’ve grabbed it accidentally. I mean, who’d wear that, right?”

I twitch my nose to make sure it hasn’t grown.

Leigh, now fully dressed in cutoff jeans and a black tank, her knobby shoulders as jagged as the rest of her, appears at Reese’s side and folds her arms. “Looks like my mom’s suit. But way more…matronly. Are there granny pants in there, too?” She reaches for my pack, but Reese slaps her hand.

A blast of a snore explodes from Brianne. The room quiets briefly, then everyone goes back to business. Reese rolls her eyes.

Still holding the offending suit by two fingers, Reese grabs Leigh’s tank top and peeks down the front. “This green would look great on Nina. Go on, Leigh, change. Put on the blue bikini with the white stripes.” She flips back to me, smacks her gum, and smiles. “The green’s better on you. Come, let’s dress you up.”

So this is how Barbie feels. Or Chucky before he knifes unsuspecting kids.

She drops my Speedo on the floor, tugs my wrist, and pulls me past a fuming Leigh, who would sooner ingest live bugs than lend me her clothing.

“Now!” Reese calls to Leigh over her shoulder. “And wake Brianne. I swear that girl could sleep through a hurricane.”

Leigh, of course, does her bidding.

* * *

This is a bad idea. Like cheese-in-a-can bad. Leigh has smaller boobs than me, so the triangles of her bikini top are holding on for dear life. I never dress this skimpy. Ever. Skimpy clothes mean people stare, which negates my intended life goal: to blend in.

Reese shushes my nervous protests and shoots me a look, daring me to defy her orders. “You’re wearing it, Nina. It looks hot. The guys’ll fucking love it.”

I’ve already done my usual thing where each compliment received is followed by three things I hate about myself. I excel at self-deprecation.

Reese: “The green rocks with your eyes.”

Me: “What? No. It makes my skin look paler. My freckles darker. And my eyes are more muddy-green, like rainstorm-green.”

Reese: “It totally flaunts your curves.”

Me: “Curves? God, no. My boobs look too big. The bottom’s so small my hips look gigantic. And my bum’s spilling out the sides. It gives me double bum.”

Reese waves at my face to shut me up.

I cover my barely-there bikini with the (now washed) floral skirt I wore on the airplane and my light blue tank top. I pop some Tylenol and hurry out to join Reese’s mission: Sunglasses. Now.

Twenty minutes later, Brianne buzzes through the store sifting through glasses as Reese studies herself in the full-length mirror. Hands planted on her hips, Reese sucks in her cheeks and tilts her face from side to side. “Nina? What do you think? The last pair was better, right?” She adjusts the frames on her face.

Brianne hurries to her side with a new pair dangling from her fingers. “Okay. These are it. Seriously. You’re gonna love ’em.” She waves the shades around.

Reese ignores her and turns to face me. “Nina? The last pair? Better, right?”

“Oh, sorry. Way better. Definitely the last ones.” Which ones? It’s been a blur of black sunglasses, a parade of varying frames. I nod my head repeatedly. “Yeah, definitely the other pair.” I’m not what you’d call a shopper. My patience usually lasts ten minutes before I’m practically narcoleptic, nodding off on my feet. Reese, however, could go all day. I pinch my arm to get my head back in the act-like-I’m-not-a-freak game.

A throaty sound comes from Leigh, who’s browsing clothes at the back of the shop.

Still not convinced she’s found that pair, Reese takes the frames from Brianne’s hand. Reese puckers her lips and does her modeling thing.

Brianne squeals and claps. “Oh, my God, yes! Those are so them. You look stunning.”

“Nina?” Reese says. She lifts