Catch of the Day

by Whitney Lyles

  Where was Claire?

  “Oh, Greece is fabulous, but nothing like backpacking around Thailand,” another replied.

  “Hi, everyone,” Meg said. She wasn’t sure why she hid her Coach tote behind her calves. “I’m Meg.” She felt as if she would have something to add to this conversation, as she had done some traveling back in college. But not one of them looked up. Instead they all looked at her red flip-flops.

  “I’ve heard so much about all you guys, and I’ve been waiting to meet you—”

  She heard the sound of a toilet flush and was relieved when the bathroom door swung open and Claire emerged. “Meg! Yeah! You’re here.” She greeted her with a hug. “Let me introduce you to everyone. You guys, this is Meg!”

  There was Joss and Cassie and Allie and Sagie, who apparently had been named after her birth sign, Sagittarius, and went by Sagie for short. She lost track after that. She’d heard all about most of them, and they were probably nice once you got to know them. She was just so surprised by how different they were from Claire. Joss, a tall, muscular brunette with long hair and freckles covering her nose, bounced a volleyball on her knees. Her sandals top-fastened with Velcro straps and looked as if they could safely ski over nails. Backpacks in natural shades of pine green and granite rested around the couch, and their jean shorts were faded and slightly outdated. She noticed a couple Grateful Dead patches on a dirt brown backpack. Meg wondered if Claire had been spinning to Jerry Garcia at one point.

  “Now we’re just waiting for Cynthia and then we can go,” Claire said. “She doesn’t know anyone either, so I’ve put you two in the same hotel room together. Oh, but you do know someone! Avril. I practically forgot. She’s staying in your room too, and you guys can ride down together.”

  “Great.”

  She was relieved when Cynthia arrived. A tiny little thing, she looked as if she could probably fit into a child’s size 6X. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled into a wispy French twist and she had an eye for summer pastels in her lavender shorts and white sandals. She was a coworker of Claire’s who’d missed the engagement party because she was visiting relatives.

  Meg rode in Avril’s Honda with Cynthia and Sagie to Mexico. Driving in Tijuana was like driving among a bunch of blind people. Drivers paid little attention to lanes, or even center dividers for that matter. Everyone herded together in one mass and sped toward the same direction. It was a little nerve-racking to know that Avril was shepherding them through this, and she felt much better once they were out of Tijuana and heading down the coast.

  Cynthia talked for most of the two-hour drive, speaking mostly of herself. She rambled on about her boyfriend who played for a minor league baseball team and how she was getting promoted at her job.

  “What do you do?” Cynthia asked Meg.

  “I’m a movie critic and entertainment writer for San Diego Weekly.”

  “Hmmm. So, you go to lots of movies?”

  “All the time.”

  “Oh.” Cynthia looked out the window and commented on all the dead dogs they’d passed on the side of the highway. Road kill was part of the scenery in Mexico, and Meg had never been sure why.

  There was a wedding at the hotel. A bride and groom were taking photos on a veranda overlooking the ocean, the wind blowing her veil in a loose billowy cloud behind them. It was a nice place for a wedding, emerald lawns and sprawling cliffs overlooking turquoise waves. Modern and spacious; Meg thought she could really get used to this place. When she heard there was a spa, she decided she might have to splurge on a massage, or something more budget-friendly like a pedicure.

  She could hardly wait to get to the pool but faced a minor set-back when they had to check in. Claire’s maid of honor, Cassie, had already assigned people to rooms, and it felt a little like summer camp, bunking up with strangers. A problem arose when Cassie informed them that someone had to put down a credit card for each room. She’d made the reservation with her credit card, but - didn’t want to be responsible for the rest of the weekend.

  “I thought we were paying in cash,” Cynthia piped up.

  “We are. But we have to put down a credit card for a deposit and then we can pay in cash when we leave and they won’t charge the card,” Claire said. “I promise.”

  Naturally, volunteers were scarce. No one jumped at the opportunity to be financially responsible. Avril pretended to look at a Mexican tour booklet, and Cynthia said she didn’t have a credit card on her.

  The other girl, Sagie, who was staying in their room was too busy chatting with her pals to notice.

  “I’ll put mine down for our room and then everyone can just pay cash when we check out,” Meg said. Someone had to do it.

  All she wanted to do was get to the pool. She waited for the other girls to change into their suits before heading there with the whole group. She ordered a piña colada from a waitress and sprawled on a lounge chair. There were no mariachi singers, but they could hear plenty of brassy Mexican music from the wedding reception several yards away.

  Chilly breezes made it difficult to warm up, but she figured if she sat long enough beneath the sun she’d eventually heat up. She was barely starting to get comfortable when Sagie came over spinning a volleyball on her fingertip. The sun was bright and the light revealed a fuzzy patch of dark hair above Sagie’s lip. “Does anyone want to play volleyball?”

  “I would totally be into that!” Cynthia screeched.

  Meg looked around and prayed some of the other girls would say no. She remembered the time in eighth grade when she’d been forced to play volleyball in PE. When the ball came hurtling toward her she had struggled to hit it with the inside of her wrists. She hadn’t even hit it that hard, but it was enough to break blood vessels; the memory made her shudder every time she saw Gabrielle Reece on television. But she couldn’t let them know this. She had to be a good sport. She wanted to click with them. She wanted them to like her and she wished she was athletic, but the truth was that she sucked at sports.

  She ended up on the same team as her roommates and a few other girls, including Claire. She felt self-conscious standing in the sand wearing only a bikini. The last time she’d felt comfortable playing sports in a bathing suit was in the third grade.

  She prayed that no one would hit the ball in her direction. All the girls were so tall, she wondered if she could hide behind someone. She was doing a pretty good job using Sagie as a barricade until they decided to rotate positions. She figured the best way to handle the situation was to stay put, and maybe no one would notice.

  “What are you doing?” Avril asked. “You’re in the front row now.”

  “Oh.” She slowly moved to her position. Every time the ball came over the net she thought her heart was going to spring into her throat. The one time it did come spinning straight toward her she attempted to hit it, but missed and sliced the air with her arms. Sagie, however, came to the rescue; she jumped in front of Meg and whacked the ball over the net before sliding onto the ground. When she popped back up she had a sand burn on her right thigh.

  “Way to go, Sagie!” Whoever yelled sounded like a man. “Way to take one for the team!” It was Cynthia.

  Meg said a silent prayer that they would rotate again. Her prayer was answered sooner than she thought. They rotated all right. This time, Meg’s position was front row, dead center. She prayed that the ball would sail over her head, all the while wondering how long volleyball games lasted. She’d always skipped watching this event during the summer Olympics and had tuned into gymnastics and diving. She was wondering whatever happened to Greg Louganis when the ball came flying toward her. She assumed the position just as she had been taught in P.E. and hit the thing as hard as she could. She was so happy she’d made contact that it took her a minute to realize she’d hit the ball in the wrong direction. Her victory dance ended as soon as she noticed the ball heading straight for the Mexican wedding reception.

  Someone catch it! Please someone catch it! God, someone catch it!
No one caught it. She could hear the shrieks over the seagulls. What she assumed were Spanish swearwords fell like grenades over the hotel grounds. It was hard to tell what kind of damage she’d done. However, it only took a few seconds for the groom to come storming toward them, holding their volleyball like a weapon. She didn’t need to speak Spanish to know the guy was pissed.

  Claire covered her mouth, and they all watched as the tuxedo-clad man hurled their ball on the ground. He was backed by the hotel concierge, who pointed out in broken English the white and pink frosting on Sagie’s ball. “You destroy wedding cake.” They all looked at Meg.

  She wanted to bury herself in the sand. She could only think of one thing to say. “I’m so sorry. I am sooooo sorry.”

  Volleyball ended after that. The concierge took their ball and told them they could pick it up at the front desk after the wedding was over. No one said much to make Meg feel better. Instead they all went to their rooms to shower. Claire was the only one who - didn’t act as if Meg should be tossed into the rough waters below.

  “I feel like the biggest asshole in the world,” Meg said, thinking of the way the white cake had looked on the ball.

  “Forget about it. Any one of us could’ve done the same thing. It was an accident.” Then Claire began to chuckle. “Did you see how pissed that guy was?”

  “Oh, my God. I thought he was gonna kill me.” They burst into laughter.

  During dinner Meg was seated between Cynthia and Joss. “What do you do?” Meg asked Joss.

  “I’m the assistant to the assistant director for a movie coming out next year starring Keanu Reeves.”

  “Oh!” Cynthia shrieked. “I have totally been wanting to talk to someone who is into movies all month because there are so many good movies out right now, and I’ve been dying to know which ones to go see. What’s good? What do you recommend?”

  Um, hello? Am I the invisible, imaginary movie critic and entertainment reporter, or do I look like my opinion is worthless? Just because I like to paint my toenails and wax my upper lip - doesn’t mean I’m a complete airhead, Meg wanted to shout.

  She listened as Joss answered. Her suggestions were decent ones, but Meg could think of better movies. When she spoke they looked at her.

  “Thanks, Meg,” Cynthia said. “I’ll keep it in mind.” Then she smiled and looked around the table. “So everyone tells me I look like Nicole Kidman. I get that all the time.”

  Nicole Kidman with a gummy smile and huge nostrils, Meg thought.

  “I could see that.” Cassie nodded.

  “You totally do,” Joss chimed in.

  The rest of the table nodded in unison.

  After dinner they hung out in the hotel bar. Some of the girls flirted with a group of guys who looked as if they had come to Mexico on a military leave of absence so they could legally drink. They couldn’t be older than twenty and were as red as hot sauce. Their sunburns looked painful.

  It seemed like an eternity before everyone was ready to retire. Meg had been dying to go to bed all night, but once under the covers she couldn’t sleep. She had bunked up with Cynthia, and it felt awkward sharing a double bed with a stranger. It seemed as if there were some kind of imaginary line through the mattress that separated her side of the bed from Cynthia’s. If crossed, she would be electrocuted or scratched by one of Cynthia’s toenails.

  She lay on her side, facing away from Cynthia. She couldn’t sleep with their noses practically touching. She needed to adjust her body, but she had already rolled around three times and she was afraid that if she moved again she’d keep the other three girls awake with all her shuffling around. The more she thought about the need to roll onto her stomach, the more uncomfortable she became. So she lay as rigid as a curtain rod.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The following morning she woke with a stiff neck, and a long strawberry blond hair stuck to her cheek. The other girls were still sleeping, so she decided to get up and head to Claire’s suite early. Cassie had made a trip to Costco before they’d left and stocked up on breakfast for the weekend. Some of the L.A. girls were already sitting around the room, eating granola and playing a card game. No one said hello to her.

  “Good morning,” Meg said cheerily.

  Each grunted without looking up from their cards. She wondered why they were so rude. Had Claire said something about her to them? Not an option. Claire was one of her closest friends, not a backstabber. Did they not like her clothes? Her hair? She felt like she was in junior high again. She sat down at a small table by the window and ate a piece of peanut butter toast by herself.

  “What are you guys playing?” she finally asked with a hint of enthusiasm in her voice.

  “Poker.”

  “I love poker!” Her brother-in-law had taught her to play a couple Christmases ago. It had taken her a few games to catch on, but now she was a regular Kenny Rogers.

  “We might play volleyball later this afternoon,” Allie said. “Are you in?”

  “I’m definitely in!” Cynthia shouted as she banged her way into the room. “I love volleyball!”

  “Awesome. You can be on my team,” Joss said.

  Meg secretly hoped there would be a group going into town to do some shopping.

  After eating her toast she strolled back to the room alone, and was totally overjoyed when she felt a drop on her face. Rain! No volleyball. However, this meant that she would probably be stranded inside with them for the rest of the afternoon. She suddenly felt homesick. She thought of Katie at her parents’ house and wondered if she was waiting by the front door for her as she sometimes did when Meg went away.

  Then she thought of Mason, only minutes away, and how much she wished she was with him at the moment. He was probably having a blast.

  After she returned to her room she watched a snowy CNN on television and mentally calculated how many hours she had left here.

  Their phone rang and Avril answered it. “That was Claire,” she said. “Since it’s raining she wants us all to come to her room to play Jenga.” Yes! “Then when it clears up we’ll go to the pool.”

  Meg could handle Jenga. It was the game where a tower was built from dozens of blocks and each player took a turn pulling a block from the stack. The object was to prevent the whole stack from falling over. She could keep a tower from crashing, no problem.

  Rain was coming down heavily as they headed to the suite, and the girls had to run to keep from getting wet. She wondered how Mason was doing in the rain—if his tent was waterproof. Perhaps they would call the camping trip off and join them at the hotel for a coed bachelor/bachelorette weekend. She knew this fantasy was far-fetched, but she couldn’t help but imagine.

  When they got to the room all the seats around the coffee table were taken, so Meg made herself comfortable on the floor.

  Allie handed her a pen. “Make some blocks.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Write something on the blocks. You know. Something funny.” She handed her a block. “Like this.” Meg looked down at the block and read the scrawled handwriting: Run to the balcony and shout I love big dicks. “Whoever pulls that block from the stack has to do that. So make some of your own up. Or you can just write ‘drink ten drinks,’ or something like that.”

  “What if they don’t do it?”

  “They have to do a shot of tequila.”

  She looked through the pile. Snort like a pig while crawling on the ground. Sit on someone’s lap and sing something by Air Supply while bouncing up and down. As she held a block between her fingers she wanted revenge. She’d make them all do things that would embarrass the living crap out of them. But then she remembered she ran the risk of pulling out embarrassing blocks too. There was only one solution.

  She’d have to mark the blocks. She’d put a tiny black dot on the side of the ones that were intended for them, and a minuscule X on the side of the ones that were intended for her.

  She glanced at her red flip-flops. Bow down and kiss the fee
t of anyone wearing red, she wrote on her first block. Two other girls were wearing red. They’d never know who wrote it.

  Suddenly, she felt as if she couldn’t get her hands on enough blocks. She wrote on them as if she were being timed. Dotted ones said things like, Go make refreshments for the entire group, and pound two beers while you’re at it. She’d get them all hammered too.

  Starred ones said things like, Choose four people who must only refer to you with Queen before your name for the rest of the day. There were already quite a few that had been filled out by the girls, and she managed to sneak some dots on those as well.

  She hadn’t realized she was laughing out loud while writing Do three shots of tequila, then remain mute for the duration of the game until Sagie elbowed her.

  “What’s so funny? Did you put something really twisted on there?” The twinkle in her eye was alarming.

  Meg winked. “You bet.” She decided she better start disguising her handwriting.

  “Look at mine,” Sagie said gleefully. Squeeze your tits five times while mooing like a cow!

  Who the hell were these people?

  Claire pulled the first block and was forced to howl like a dog while moving around the room like a belly dancer. Meg had not come up with this idea, but recalled marking it with a dot. Cynthia went next. She carefully slid a block from the tower then read her task.

  “Who is wearing red?” The dread in her voice put a smile on Meg’s face.

  She watched as Cynthia kissed Cassie’s dirty toes, then moved on to Claire, who had some sand stuck on her feet. Meg was last. Cynthia’s lips felt dry.

  Sagie’s turn was next and she jumped at the chance to flash her breasts at the Mexican bartender by the pool below the balcony.

  When it was Avril’s turn Meg felt triumphant. “I have to make snacks for everyone?” Avril asked, her voice heavy with disappointment. “And pound two beers?”

  “That’s brilliant! Who wrote that one?” Cynthia asked.