afloat coursing through her chilled veins, Skye hip-swiveled, executed a perfect three-sixty-degree turn, and did a rocker-chic faux-headbanger dip-one-two, her arms pounding the air above her bunned hair. And then she felt it. The board began to go vertical, sliding out from under her like a tablecloth yanked out from a set table by a magician.
“
Nooo!
” Skye scream-moaned loud enough to shake the pine trees on top of Mount Olympus. She clawed desperately at the board with her toes, trying to find her center, but it plunged nose-first into the water. And a millisecond later, so did Skye.
Sputtering and choking as she surfaced, Skye swam-spun around until she spotted Triple, then grabbed the board and swam over to Her Highness. Her Dryness was more like it.
“Nice recovery,” Triple smirk-smiled. “We’ve made progress, even if it doesn’t seem like it. You stayed on a lot longer than the first five times.”
“Have you always been this sadistic, or do I bring it out in you?” Skye swam her board closer to Triple’s and was about to “accidentally” kick a mouthful of water at the dance diva, when Triple pointed a pale orange coral reef–colored fingernail across the lake.
“Check it,” Triple whisper-smiled, pulling her binoculars off and handing them to Skye, pointing over Skye’s right shoulders. “Turn around. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
“You gave me sore quads, paranoia that Mimi hates me, and now a good chance of getting pneumonia….” Skye could have extended her list for days, but when she dog-paddled her board to face east, she fell silent. The
Joan of Arc
, Shira’s yacht, was slicing a smooth path through the lake. She squinted, and through the fringe of her waterproof-mascara-coated lashes, she could make out two figures sprawled out on anchor-shaped couches on the yacht’s deck. “Who is it?”
“Binoculars, Einstein,” eye-rolled Triple.
“Ohmuhgud.” Holy toe shoes, Syd was with another girl! Skye’s heart did a joyous tour glissade. Syd and Seraphina Hernandez-Rosenblatt—a successful fashion designer and budding neuroscientist determined to bridge the gap between brain chemistry and ready-to-wear—looked cozier than a Snuggie commercial. They were passing
The Notebook
back and forth and looked like they were reading aloud. To each other. Skye focused the binoculars to sharpen her view and make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. She smiled as she saw a lone tear drip down Syd’s chiseled cheek, while Seraphina had already squeezed out several that were now streaking her Botticelli-beautiful face.
“Looks like Syd moved on after all,” Triple remarked, paddling closer to Skye.
“I cannot believe it,” Skye muttered. Sure, she was thrilled to be rid of Syd, but what about all those poems he wrote, all his talk of
undying love
for Skye? “I guess he wasn’t that into me after all.”
“No, he was definitely into you. Those emo boys give it all away up front. They’re obsessed with being in love, more than anything else. They really just need a girl around to stroke their fragile egos.”
“I
so
am not the girl for that job,” said Skye, smiling.
“Nope.” Triple shook her head. “You have major goals.”
“He didn’t even wait a day!” Skye giggled, delirious with the realization that her Syd saga was over.
Triple’s eyes crinkled up in the corners with mirth and when they met Skye’s, the two girls began to giggle uncontrollably. Their laughter soon escalated to hysterical guffaws, which quickly turned to the kind of shaking, silent laughter you only did with real friends. Skye paddled over to Triple and gave her a celebratory hug that nearly sent both of them tipping into the lake. Finally, she was free of Suffocating Syd, and Triple was the one who’d made it happen. The girl had drive, and drive meant power.
When the
Joan
passed them, Skye looked at her frenemy: With her perfect tawny complexion, her fab and
“
Nooo!
” Skye scream-moaned loud enough to shake the pine trees on top of Mount Olympus. She clawed desperately at the board with her toes, trying to find her center, but it plunged nose-first into the water. And a millisecond later, so did Skye.
Sputtering and choking as she surfaced, Skye swam-spun around until she spotted Triple, then grabbed the board and swam over to Her Highness. Her Dryness was more like it.
“Nice recovery,” Triple smirk-smiled. “We’ve made progress, even if it doesn’t seem like it. You stayed on a lot longer than the first five times.”
“Have you always been this sadistic, or do I bring it out in you?” Skye swam her board closer to Triple’s and was about to “accidentally” kick a mouthful of water at the dance diva, when Triple pointed a pale orange coral reef–colored fingernail across the lake.
“Check it,” Triple whisper-smiled, pulling her binoculars off and handing them to Skye, pointing over Skye’s right shoulders. “Turn around. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
“You gave me sore quads, paranoia that Mimi hates me, and now a good chance of getting pneumonia….” Skye could have extended her list for days, but when she dog-paddled her board to face east, she fell silent. The
Joan of Arc
, Shira’s yacht, was slicing a smooth path through the lake. She squinted, and through the fringe of her waterproof-mascara-coated lashes, she could make out two figures sprawled out on anchor-shaped couches on the yacht’s deck. “Who is it?”
“Binoculars, Einstein,” eye-rolled Triple.
“Ohmuhgud.” Holy toe shoes, Syd was with another girl! Skye’s heart did a joyous tour glissade. Syd and Seraphina Hernandez-Rosenblatt—a successful fashion designer and budding neuroscientist determined to bridge the gap between brain chemistry and ready-to-wear—looked cozier than a Snuggie commercial. They were passing
The Notebook
back and forth and looked like they were reading aloud. To each other. Skye focused the binoculars to sharpen her view and make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. She smiled as she saw a lone tear drip down Syd’s chiseled cheek, while Seraphina had already squeezed out several that were now streaking her Botticelli-beautiful face.
“Looks like Syd moved on after all,” Triple remarked, paddling closer to Skye.
“I cannot believe it,” Skye muttered. Sure, she was thrilled to be rid of Syd, but what about all those poems he wrote, all his talk of
undying love
for Skye? “I guess he wasn’t that into me after all.”
“No, he was definitely into you. Those emo boys give it all away up front. They’re obsessed with being in love, more than anything else. They really just need a girl around to stroke their fragile egos.”
“I
so
am not the girl for that job,” said Skye, smiling.
“Nope.” Triple shook her head. “You have major goals.”
“He didn’t even wait a day!” Skye giggled, delirious with the realization that her Syd saga was over.
Triple’s eyes crinkled up in the corners with mirth and when they met Skye’s, the two girls began to giggle uncontrollably. Their laughter soon escalated to hysterical guffaws, which quickly turned to the kind of shaking, silent laughter you only did with real friends. Skye paddled over to Triple and gave her a celebratory hug that nearly sent both of them tipping into the lake. Finally, she was free of Suffocating Syd, and Triple was the one who’d made it happen. The girl had drive, and drive meant power.
When the
Joan
passed them, Skye looked at her frenemy: With her perfect tawny complexion, her fab and
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