Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares Page A

expert testimony about guys,” Tibby said snottily.
    “No offense taken,” Bailey said, obviously enjoying herself. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll find a worthwhile guy sometime, and you tell me if you don’t agree.”
    “Fine,” Tibby said, sure she wouldn’t be spending enough time with Bailey to give her the chance to identify that worthwhile guy.
     
    “Uh-oh.” Diana looked up from her book. “Bee has on her pirate face.”
    “I do not,” Bridget protested, though she completely did.
    Ollie was sitting cross-legged on her bed. A lot of girls in the cabin had already put on their nightshirts and stuff. “You want to raid the coaches’ cabin?” Ollie asked.
    Bridget raised her eyebrows in interest. “Actually, that sounds nice, but that’s not what I was thinking.”
    “What were you thinking?” Diana asked like a know-it-all.
    “Two words. Hotel Hacienda.” It was the one bar in all of Mulegé, the place where she’d heard the coaches went at night.
    “I don’t think we’re supposed to,” Emily said.
    “Why not?” Bridget demanded. “Ollie is seventeen. Sarah Snell is eighteen. Practically half the people here are going to college in the fall.” She wasn’t one of them, but she didn’t feel the need to mention it. “This isn’t Camp Kitchee where you turn off your flashlights at nine. I mean, come on. There’s not even a drinking age in Mexico.” She didn’t actually know whether that was true or not.
    “The first scrimmage is tomorrow,” Rosie pointed out.
    “So? Partying makes you play better,” Bridget said blithely. There was a statement that belonged with “Drinking makes you drive better,” or “Getting stoned makes you good at physics,” but who cared? She was in one of her impulsive moods.
    “How do we go?” Diana asked. She was practical, but she wasn’t a coward.
    Bridget considered. “We could either steal a van or take bikes. I think it’s about half an hour on bikes if you ride fast.” Bridget didn’t want to volunteer the fact that she didn’t have a driver’s license yet.
    “Let’s take bikes,” Ollie said.
    Bridget felt that slightly reckless fizz in her veins she always got when she was doing something she shouldn’t.
    Diana, Ollie, and Rosie were in. The rest were out.
    They quickly changed their clothes. Bridget borrowed a skirt from Diana, who was almost as tall as she was. It was annoying that Bridget hadn’t thought to bring clothes that didn’t make her look like a boy.
    Four of them flew along the Baja Highway, whizzing past snail-like RVs. Bridget kept bumping against Diana’s back tire and making her scream. The placid bay was to their left and the hills were to their right, and the full moon sat on Bridget’s shoulder.
    They could hear the music throbbing from the hotel before it came into sight. “Wahooo!” Bridget yelled. They made a quick huddle at the door.
    “Listen,” Ollie said. “If Connie’s there, we leave. I don’t think anyone else will care. We went a couple times at the end of last year, and none of the coaches said anything.”
    Ollie elected herself the one to check. She ducked in and came right back out. “It’s packed, but I didn’t see her. If she shows, we leave.” She looked at Bridget dubiously. “Okay?”
    “Okay,” Bridget agreed.
    “Whether or not Eric is there.”
    “I said okay.”
    Bridget hadn’t been to many clubs, but each time was the same. All eyes, at least all male eyes, followed her hair. Maybe it was the combination of bar light and alcohol that made it glow extra bright.
    They made for the dance floor. Bridget was indifferent to drinking, but she loved to dance. She grabbed Diana’s hand and pulled her onto the crowded dance floor. Dancing was like soccer or miniature golf or gin rummy. It was just one of those things she was good at.
    The salsa music pounded through her body. There were shouts and stares and catcalls that she suspected were aimed at her—or her hair, anyway.