twenty-third.”
“What’s that?” I asked
“It raises money for kids with facial disfigurement. I definitely can’t wear makeup there. Right? That would be weird?”
“Um, yeah, that would be weird,” I answered.
“Wearing makeup is never weird,” Eve pronounced.
Were these two kidding? I was buying that Cisco didn’t care about the way he looked about as much as I bought that Jessica Biel was “awkward” in high school and that everyone made fun of her. Please. I hate celebrities. And BTW: I saw those pictures of Eve taking out the trash in OK! and it was so not poison ivy. Pimple face. If I had to listen to this conversation for five more seconds I was gonna lose it.
“Do you guys think maybe we should do something useful while we wait?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Like what?” Eve yawned, leaning against Cisco’s shoulder. Yuck.
“I don’t know, maybe we should write SOS in the dirt really big in case a plane comes by? I saw a documentary on the History Channel where some people were stranded in North Carolina a long time ago, and I think they did something like that.” This may have been a totally lame suggestion, but it sounded more productive than listening to these two discuss the fine points of good skin care.
“North Carolina?” Eve squawked.
“That’s a good idea, Francesca,” Cisco said, clapping his big hands together and standing up. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. He had the arrogance of somebody who was used to being worshipped and could treat the less blessed like used tissue paper. Not that it detracted from his utter gorgeousness in any way. And besides, my plan got Eve off his lap, so that was something.
“Let’s do it!” Cisco cried enthusiastically. “Good thinking.” He brushed Eve Larkin and the dirt off his jeans.
Although I was trying to stay focused, his body was unreal. I’ll never forget the way the sun trickled off the bleached hair on his muscular arms. It was just too much. And his wavy dark hair was so damn shiny it looked like it was still wet. I desperately wanted to touch it. That the wires growing out of my head were also called hair is a testament to the inequality of all things.
“Oh, come on! Please. SOS? Are you serious?” Eve asked us from the ground, shielding her eyes from the sun. “We’ll be here another few hours, max.”
“How do you know, Eve? We could be here for a week. Jonah Baron seems to think we are here for the night at the very least.”
“Jonah Baron is a dramatist,” Eve said.
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” Cisco laughed.
“What does that mean?” she whined, sticking out her lower lip like a little girl. I would have liked to kick her back over the cliff. I loathe girly girls.
Cisco didn’t answer but turned to me and asked what we should do, like I was the camp counselor or something. Again, I tried not to notice that his tone was a little patronizing. It was almost as if he thought I was suggesting a fun role-playing game. I couldn’t tell if his puppy dog enthusiasm was charming or annoying, sort of like Owen Wilson. In any event, I was starting to get that Jonah and I were the only ones taking this whole “our plane landed in the water and nobody seems to be coming forus” thing seriously.
“OK,” I said patiently, like I was talking to slow children, “Why don’t you and I go find some sticks to write with,” I said to Eve, “and you start laying out the letter points with these rocks,” I told Cisco, pointing to some stones along the runway. “The letters will have to be big when we start working on it, so make sure the points are at least twenty feet from top to bottom. We’ll have to push the sticks into the dirt so the sign doesn’t wash away if it rains.”
“Rains?” Eve asked, looking up at the cloudless sky.
“Just in case,” I said. Eve rolled her eyes.
“OK?” I asked Cisco, pointing to the stones. He looked at me like I was
“What’s that?” I asked
“It raises money for kids with facial disfigurement. I definitely can’t wear makeup there. Right? That would be weird?”
“Um, yeah, that would be weird,” I answered.
“Wearing makeup is never weird,” Eve pronounced.
Were these two kidding? I was buying that Cisco didn’t care about the way he looked about as much as I bought that Jessica Biel was “awkward” in high school and that everyone made fun of her. Please. I hate celebrities. And BTW: I saw those pictures of Eve taking out the trash in OK! and it was so not poison ivy. Pimple face. If I had to listen to this conversation for five more seconds I was gonna lose it.
“Do you guys think maybe we should do something useful while we wait?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Like what?” Eve yawned, leaning against Cisco’s shoulder. Yuck.
“I don’t know, maybe we should write SOS in the dirt really big in case a plane comes by? I saw a documentary on the History Channel where some people were stranded in North Carolina a long time ago, and I think they did something like that.” This may have been a totally lame suggestion, but it sounded more productive than listening to these two discuss the fine points of good skin care.
“North Carolina?” Eve squawked.
“That’s a good idea, Francesca,” Cisco said, clapping his big hands together and standing up. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. He had the arrogance of somebody who was used to being worshipped and could treat the less blessed like used tissue paper. Not that it detracted from his utter gorgeousness in any way. And besides, my plan got Eve off his lap, so that was something.
“Let’s do it!” Cisco cried enthusiastically. “Good thinking.” He brushed Eve Larkin and the dirt off his jeans.
Although I was trying to stay focused, his body was unreal. I’ll never forget the way the sun trickled off the bleached hair on his muscular arms. It was just too much. And his wavy dark hair was so damn shiny it looked like it was still wet. I desperately wanted to touch it. That the wires growing out of my head were also called hair is a testament to the inequality of all things.
“Oh, come on! Please. SOS? Are you serious?” Eve asked us from the ground, shielding her eyes from the sun. “We’ll be here another few hours, max.”
“How do you know, Eve? We could be here for a week. Jonah Baron seems to think we are here for the night at the very least.”
“Jonah Baron is a dramatist,” Eve said.
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” Cisco laughed.
“What does that mean?” she whined, sticking out her lower lip like a little girl. I would have liked to kick her back over the cliff. I loathe girly girls.
Cisco didn’t answer but turned to me and asked what we should do, like I was the camp counselor or something. Again, I tried not to notice that his tone was a little patronizing. It was almost as if he thought I was suggesting a fun role-playing game. I couldn’t tell if his puppy dog enthusiasm was charming or annoying, sort of like Owen Wilson. In any event, I was starting to get that Jonah and I were the only ones taking this whole “our plane landed in the water and nobody seems to be coming forus” thing seriously.
“OK,” I said patiently, like I was talking to slow children, “Why don’t you and I go find some sticks to write with,” I said to Eve, “and you start laying out the letter points with these rocks,” I told Cisco, pointing to some stones along the runway. “The letters will have to be big when we start working on it, so make sure the points are at least twenty feet from top to bottom. We’ll have to push the sticks into the dirt so the sign doesn’t wash away if it rains.”
“Rains?” Eve asked, looking up at the cloudless sky.
“Just in case,” I said. Eve rolled her eyes.
“OK?” I asked Cisco, pointing to the stones. He looked at me like I was
Similar Books
