The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

by Ann Brashares

  “Okay,” he said, still sitting.

  “I’ve been meaning to since . . . since . . . that day when . . .” How to put this? she wondered frantically. “. . . We, uh, ran into each other at the pond.”

  He nodded. Was there the tiniest suggestion of a smile at the corner of his mouth?

  “So. Well. That day. Well.” She started pacing again. Her father’s lawyerly quickness on his feet was just another of the things she hadn’t inherited from him. “There was some confusion and maybe, you know, mistaken ideas about what happened. And that was probably my fault. But I didn’t realize it was happening until it had already happened and then . . .” She trailed off. She glanced at the blaze. The flames of damnation weren’t the most comforting sight.

  Kostos sat patiently.

  When Lena started rambling like this, she counted on people to interrupt her and put her out of her misery, but Kostos didn’t do that. He just waited.

  She tried to get back on track, but she forgot what the track was. “After it happened, it was too late, and everything was even more confused, and I wanted to talk about it, but I couldn’t really find the way to talk about it, because I was too much of a coward to make them talk about the thing they thought had happened, and explain that what they thought had happened hadn’t really happened, so I didn’t do it even though I meant to and I know I should have.” She suddenly wished she were in a soap opera, and that somebody would slap her across the face the way they did to people who blathered and raved on daytime TV.

  She was now fairly sure she saw the hint of a smile on Kostos’s face. That wasn’t a good sign, was it?

  With the back of her hand she wiped the sweat from her upper lip. She looked down at the Pants, and remembering that they were the Pants, she tried to imagine she was Bridget.

  “What I’m really trying to say is that I . . . that I made a huge mistake and that whole crazy fight between our grandfathers was all my fault and I should never have accused you of spying on me, because I know now that you weren’t.” There, that was better. Oh. But she’d forgotten something. “And I’m sorry,” she burst out. “I’m very, very sorry.”

  He gave her another moment to make sure she was finished. “I accept your apology,” he said with a little bow of his head. His manners did the grandmothers in Oia proud.

  Lena let out a long breath. Thank the Lord the apology part was done. She could just pack it up and get back home with some small sliver of her pride intact. It was awfully tempting. God, it was tempting.

  “There’s something else,” she told him. She was both appalled and impressed that the words actually came out of her mouth.

  “What is it?” he asked. Was his voice more tender now? Did she just wish it were?

  She tried to think of good words to say. She looked to the ceiling for assistance.

  “Would you like to sit?” he invited again.

  “I don’t think I can,” she answered honestly, wringing her hands.

  The expression in his eyes told her he accepted that.

  “Well, I know I was not very friendly when I first got here.” Lena started in on round two. “You were nice to me, and I was not nice back. And that probably maybe made you think that I didn’t . . . that I wasn’t . . .” Lena paced in a tight circle and then came back to face him.

  Big sweat circles spread from under her arms nearly down to her waist. Sweat covered her upper lip and trickled from her hairline. The combination of extreme heat and extreme nervousness caused red patches to sprout all over her skin.

  She’d never trusted a boy to like her for something other than how she looked, but if Kostos did her the unimaginable honor of showing that he cared about her today, she would know it wasn’t because she looked good.

  “You maybe thought that I didn’t like you, but the thing is . . .”

  Oh, God. She was going to drown in her own perspiration. Was that possible?

  “But the thing is maybe it didn’t really mean that at all. Maybe it turned out to mean . . . the completely opposite thing.” Was she still speaking English? Were there any sentences coming together?

  “So what I’m saying is, I wish I hadn’t acted that way to you. I wish I hadn’t acted like I didn’t like you or didn’t care, because I really do . . . I really do . . . not feel like how I maybe seemed like I might feel.”

  She looked at him with pleading eyes. She had tried, she really had. She was afraid it was the best she could do.

  His eyes were as full as hers were. “Oh, Lena,” he said. He took both her sweaty hands in his. He seemed to understand that it was the best she could do.

  He pulled her close to him. With him perched on the wall and her standing, they were almost the same height. Her legs touched his. She could smell his slightly ashy boy smell. She felt like she might faint.

  His face was right there, beautiful and shadowy in the flickering light. His lips were right there. With a courage possessed somewhere not within her body, she leaned forward ever so slightly and kissed his lips. It was a kiss and a question.

  He answered the question by pulling her into him, pressing her body tightly against his with both arms, and his kiss was long and deep.

  She had one last thought before she left off thinking and gave herself over to feeling. I never imagined heaven would be so hot.

  As they had the past two nights, the nurses kicked Tibby out of Bailey’s room when visiting hours ended at eight. She wasn’t ready to go home yet. She called her mom and told her she was going to a movie. Her mom sounded relieved. Even she’d noticed that Tibby hadn’t been having a lot of fun.

  Tibby saw the lights of the 7-Eleven in the distance, and they beckoned to her. Inside she was glad to see Brian McBrian hunched over Dragon Master.

  When he turned around and saw her watching him, he smiled broadly. “Hi, Tibby,” he said shyly. He took not even the slightest notice of her pajamas or her horrifying appearance.

  “What level?” she asked.

  He didn’t try to mask his pride. “Twenty-five.”

  “No way!” she said appreciatively.

  She watched with tingly suspense his long heroic battle through the volcano of level twenty-six, until he got sizzled in lava.

  “Awww,” she said.

  He shrugged happily. “That was a good one. You wouldn’t want to win all the time.”

  She nodded. She thought for a while. “Hey, Brian?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you teach me how to play Dragon Master?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  With the patience and enthusiasm of a true teacher, Brian coached her all the way up to level seven, the first dragon. Even as her curvaceous heroine perished with a sword through her belly, he beamed with pride. “You’re a natural dragon slayer,” he praised her.

  “Thank you,” she said, feeling truly grateful for the compliment.

  “How’s Bailey?” he asked her, his face going grave.

  “She’s in the hospital,” Tibby told him.

  He nodded. “I know. I’ve been visiting her at lunchtime.” He suddenly had an idea. “Wait a second; I want to show you something.” He retrieved a dilapidated backpack. “I got this for her.”

  Tibby looked. It was a Sega Dreamcast machine and a copy of Dragon Warrior, the home version of Dragon Master. “It’s not as good as the real thing,” he explained. “But it will keep her in practice.”

  Tibby felt tears spring into her eyes. “She’ll love it,” she said.

  Later, as Tibby walked down Old Georgetown Road, she carried a leftover high from her game of Dragon Master. She was already thinking about level eight. It was the first time in days she had felt that particular feeling of looking forward to something.

  Maybe, she thought as she walked, Brian McBrian was onto something important. Maybe happiness didn’t have to be about the big, sweeping circumstances, about having everything in your life in place. Maybe it was about stringing together a bunch of small pleasures. Wearing slip
pers and watching the Miss Universe contest. Eating a brownie with vanilla ice cream. Getting to level seven in Dragon Master and knowing there were twenty levels to go.

  Maybe happiness was just a matter of the little upticks—the traffic signal that said “Walk” the second you got there—and downticks—the itchy tag at the back of your collar—that happened to every person in the course of a day. Maybe everybody had the same allotted measure of happiness within each day.

  Maybe it didn’t matter if you were a world-famous heartthrob or a painful geek. Maybe it didn’t matter if your friend was possibly dying.

  Maybe you just got through it. Maybe that was all you could ask for.

  It was her last breakfast with Bapi, her last morning in Greece. In her frenetic bliss that kept her up till dawn, she’d scripted a whole conversation in Greek for her and Bapi to have as their grand finale of the summer. Now she looked at him contentedly munching on his Rice Krispies, waiting for the right juncture for launch time.

  He looked up at her briefly and smiled, and she realized something important. This was how it was supposed to be. This was how they both liked it. Though most people felt bonded and comforted by conversation, Lena and Bapi were two of the kind who didn’t. They bonded by the routine of just eating cereal together.

  She promptly forgot her script and went back to her cereal.

  At one point, when she was down to just milk, Bapi reached over and put his hand on hers. “You’re my girl,” he said.

  And Lena knew she was.

  Tibby sat in her usual spot on Bailey’s bed two days later, and she knew Bailey was getting worse. Bailey didn’t look scared or solemn, but the nurses and nurses’ aides did. They dropped their eyes every time Tibby looked directly at one of them.

  Bailey was playing Dragon Warrior as her dad snoozed in a chair by the window. She tipped her head back on the pillow, clearly needing a rest. “Will you play for me?” she asked Tibby.

  Tibby nodded and took over the controls.

  “When are your friends getting back?” Bailey asked in a sleepy voice.

  “Carmen is home again. Lena and Bridget will be back next week.”

  “That’s nice,” Bailey said. Her eyes were closing for longer and longer periods of time.

  Tibby noticed there were two more beeping monitors in the room today.

  “How’s Brian?” Bailey asked.

  “He’s great. He got me to level ten,” Tibby said.

  Bailey smiled. She left her eyes closed. “He’s a worthwhile guy,” she murmured.

  Tibby laughed, remembering the phrase. “He is. You were right and I was wrong. Like always.”

  “Not true,” Bailey said. Her face was as white as an angel’s.

  “It is too true. I judge people without knowing them,” Tibby said.

  “But you change your mind,” Bailey said, her voice slow and drifting.

  Tibby paused at the controls of Dragon Warrior, thinking Bailey was asleep.

  “Keep playing,” Bailey ordered in a whisper.

  Tibby kept playing until eight o’clock, when the nurses kicked her out.

  Lena,

  Something happened. It isn’t how I imagined. I need to talk to you, but I can’t say it here. I’m just . . . strange. I’m strange to myself.

  Bee

  Lena,

  I can’t sleep. I’m scared. I wish I could talk to you.

  Lena read Bridget’s letters on the flight from Athens. Both the ones she’d been getting throughout the summer, and the ones she’d picked up at the post office on the way to the airport. The plane cruised through time zones, and Lena’s heart made the painful journey from the forge in Oia, where she wanted it to be, to a girls’ soccer camp in Baja, where she felt it was needed.

  Lena had known Bee well enough and long enough to be worried. She knew Bee’s life had been remade at one time. There were fault lines from then. Bee sprinted along in a torrent of activity, but once in a while something unexpected slammed her hard. It left Bee slow and uncertain. She fretted. She wasn’t good at putting herself back together. Bridget was like a toddler sometimes. She grasped for power. She demanded it. But when she got her way, she was left only with herself, and that terrified her. Her mom was gone, and her dad was timid and out of touch. She needed to know someone was looking out for her. She needed someone to promise her that the world wasn’t empty.

  Effie snored next to her. Lena turned and pushed her sister’s shoulder. “Hey, Eff? Eff?”

  Effie smiled in her sleep. Lena suspected she was thinking about the waiter. She pushed her shoulder harder. “Effie. Wake up a minute.”

  Grudgingly, Effie opened her eyes. “I’m sleeping,” she complained, like it was a sacrament or something.

  “You’re good at sleeping, Effie, I’m sure you’ll do more.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “Listen, I think I need to change my travel plan, okay? I’m going to leave you in New York, and try to get a flight to Los Angeles.”

  Effie wasn’t a happy flier. Lena knew it was only fair to give her warning. “New York to D.C. is a really short flight, Ef. You’ll be fine.”

  Effie looked stunned. “Why, though?”

  “Because I’m worried about Bee.” Effie knew Bridget well enough to know that there came low times when worrying about her wasn’t frivolous.

  “What did she do?” Effie asked, worried herself.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Do you have money?” Effie asked.

  “I still have what Mom and Dad gave us,” Lena said. Their parents had given them each $500 for spending money for the summer, and Lena had spent hardly any of it.

  “I have two hundred dollars left. You can have it,” Effie said.

  Lena hugged her. “I’ll bring her back home tomorrow. I’ll call Mom and Dad from the airport, but will you explain it to them too?”

  Effie nodded. “You go be her mother.”

  “If she needs one,” Lena said.

  She was glad she’d thought to pack the Traveling Pants in her carry-on bag.

  When the phone rang at ten o’clock the next morning, Tibby knew what it was. She picked up the phone and heard sobbing.

  “Mrs. Graffman, I know what happened. You don’t have to say.” Tibby put her hand to her eyes.

  The funeral was two days later, on a Monday. There was a graveside service and burial. Tibby stood with Angela and Brian and Duncan and Margaret. Carmen was home from South Carolina. She stood at the back. They all cried quietly.

  That night, Tibby couldn’t sleep. She watched Steel Magnolias on the Movie Channel from one to three A.M.

  She was actually happy to hear Katherine yelping at three fifteen. Quietly, before either of her exhausted parents woke up, she went into the nursery and plucked the baby out of her crib and walked her down to the kitchen. She clamped Katherine around her small middle and rested the baby against her shoulder. With the other arm she warmed her bottle. Katherine made singing noises that tickled her ear.

  She tucked Katherine into bed with her and watched her fall asleep halfway through her milk. She snuggled around her sister and cried. The tears soaked into Katherine’s fuzzy, soft hair.

  When Katherine reached the stage of deep baby sleep that could withstand even loud explosions, Tibby put her back into her crib.

  Now it was four A.M. Tibby went down to the kitchen. She opened the freezer door and found the brown paper bag that held Mimi. Feeling like she belonged to another world, she walked out to the garage in her pajamas and slippers. She wrapped the top of the bag around the handlebar of her bike, held on tightly, and rode the several miles to the cemetery, frozen Mimi swinging under her wrist.

  The ground over Bailey’s coffin was still soft. Tibby pushed aside the carpet of grass and dug into the soil with both hands. She kissed the paper bag and planted Mimi in the hole. Then she covered her over and put the grass back in place. She sat down on the grass over the two of them. She saw how pretty the moon looked,
falling low on the horizon. A big part of her wanted to just stay here with them. She wanted to curl up into the smallest, simplest possible existence and let the world rush along without her.

  She lay down. She curled up. And then she changed her mind.

  She was alive, and they were dead. She had to try to make her life big. As big as she could. She promised Bailey she would keep playing.

  Lena’s sense of time and space was hopelessly scrambled by the time she arrived in Mulege. She had to hire a second cab to take her to the camp. The sun had set, but the air was still hot and thick. She was thousands of miles from Oia, but she breathed the same air.

  Lena knew Bridget was scheduled to leave tomorrow, and she needed to be there in time to help get her home—whatever that would entail. She found her way to the administrative office, and from there got directions to Bridget’s cabin.

  Entering the dimly lit cabin, her eyes immediately found Bridget. Just a yellow head and a dark sleeping bag.

  Bridget sat up. Lena took in her tragic face. Her fairy-tale hair. “Hey, Bee,” she said, rushing to hug her.

  Bridget was having trouble understanding what was going on. She blinked at Lena. She squinted. She hugged her back like she wasn’t sure whom she was hugging.

  “How did you get here?” Bridget asked in astonishment.

  “On a plane.”

  “I thought you were in Greece.”

  “I was. Yesterday. I got your letters,” she explained.

  Bridget nodded. “You really did.”

  Suddenly Lena took note of the fact that dozens of eyes gazed at them curiously. “Do you want to take a walk?”

  Bridget got out of her sleeping bag. She led the way out of the cabin in her oversized T-shirt and her bare feet. Bee never did care much about how she looked.

  “This is beautiful,” Lena said. “I’ve watched the same moon all summer.”

  “I can’t believe you came all the way here,” Bridget said. “Why did you come?”

  Lena dug her toes into the sand. “I wanted you to know that you weren’t alone.”