Ridley was something else.
None of it was easy with her. None of it was ever what it looked like at first. That’s what Link usually loved about Ridley. She’d claw your eyes out and then weep over the scratch marks. She was her own worst enemy and her own best friend. She made life so damn hard for herself, and everyone around her, that it was like a miracle, only in reverse.
But she’s not anything like any other girl I’ve ever met.
Link watched her from across the swimming pool. They had started the day at Ravenwood, but then he had Ripped them all to a new location after Ridley’s hissy fit this morning, when she had decided it was too hot not to swim.
When Rid got these ideas in her head, she was too stubborn to let them go. Then it was up to Link or Lena to bail her out, every time.
Lena had called the community center and found out that the pool was closed on account of a wayward diaper incident, so Ridley had insisted they find another place to swim.
“What’s wrong with hanging out by the lake?” he’d asked.
“The lake isn’t Saint-Tropez,” Ridley had said.
“I’m a country boy,” Link had said.
“Saint-Tropez is in a country,” Ridley had countered. “And that country happens to be France.”
“Well, you can Santa Toupee yourself somewhere else, ’cause I don’t like it.” After that Ridley had pouted, and Link had given in. Of course he had. That’s all he ever did lately. He was your basic slave to love—but the girl he loved wouldn’t even admit she loved him back. Guys had written songs about less.
Link turned over in his lounge chair, pulling his towel halfway over his face. An Incubus working on his tan. This whole thing is ridiculous.
Link didn’t like it—except for how the girls’ bathing suits were smaller, when they were there at all. The guys were in Speedos, which revealed too much to make anyone comfortable, as far as he was concerned.
If I had my own country, guys would swim in long pants. Girls would just, you know… swim. Link grinned at the thought.
“Hey, Shrinky Dink.”
He opened one eye. Ethan and Lena were splashing in the shallow end while John and Liv shared a towel. Ridley was “fanning herself,” which meant that two pool boys were fanning her as she sipped what looked like lemonade out of a tall glass.
“Citron pressé,” she called over to him, holding up her drink. “Want one? I have a whole pitcher.”
“No thanks. I’ll stick with lemonade.”
“That’s what this is, Hot Rod.”
Lena pulled herself out of the pool and grabbed a towel. Ethan only let go of her hand long enough to grab his own.
Like I said, whipped. They’d probably even pee holding hands underneath the stalls if you let them. Maybe you can do that in France.
“What are we going to do tonight, kids?” Ridley looked at her cousin. “And don’t try to tell me book club is a real thing again.”
Lena rolled her eyes. “I didn’t make that up. Google it or something.”
“Google? Yeah, right. Stupid word. You probably made that up, too.” Ridley sniffed. She liked to pretend she was above Mortal technology.
Ethan laughed. “Let’s get out of here. I have to start my job at the library tomorrow.”
“Job?” Ridley sounded annoyed.
Lena smiled. “Ethan’s helping Liv and Marian in the stacks. Just until we leave in September. I told him I’d go hang out with him tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry,” Ridley said.
“Thank you?” Ethan looked amused.
“What about John Boy? Can’t he help read things?” Ridley never said anything positive about John Breed. She never said anything positive about anyone, come to think of it.