“Um…” Abby raised her brows, giving me a once-over.
“She’s right. Look at me!” I was wearing an old one-piece with one of Jane’s long-sleeved 5K shirts on top, covered by the mildewy standard-issue life jacket. My hair was piled in a messy bun on top of my head, my makeup-less face was—thankfully—mostly covered by my sunglasses, and the crowning jewel of this ensemble was my pale, unshaven legs sticking straight out in front of me. This thought made me realize that my equally unshaven bikini line was probably also on full display. I struggled with the hem of my wet shirt, tugging it down as far as it would go.
“Spin me, spin me.” I reached my hands out to Jane and Owen. They pulled my tube around so I was facing the riverbank, my back toward the middle of the river and anyone who might happen to pass us by. “Thank you,” I whispered, feeling safely incognito.
“Hi, Christopher!” the twins shouted, waving their hands above their heads.
“What the hell?!” I hissed.
“Hey, it’s the Weisses,” said a friendly voice very close behind me.
I gave a tiny nod and wave over my shoulder and then turnedmy head back around, feigning great interest in the rocks and tree branches of the riverbank.
There was a general chorus of hellos from the rest of the Butkuses. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. and Mrs. Butkus float on ahead, and I’d just thought I was home free when I felt a gentle bump against my tube.
“Ride any bikes lately?” Christopher’s voice asked softly in my ear.
I jerked around to face him. “Excuse me?”
He had grabbed the handle on the side of my tube. His eyes glinted with laughter; he wasn’t wearing sunglasses, and I could see every fleck of green and brown in his eyes, every fold of skin at their corners as he struggled not to laugh.
“You look good in pink.” He let go of the handle.
I mouthed angrily, unable to form words as he floated off.
“You know I live in Fremont.” He was laughing openly now. “Is it so surprising that I would watch the parade?”
I flipped over and plunged my face into the water. When I sat up again, he had drifted away to join his family, his single tube moving rapidly with the current. My blood seemed to be pounding in my veins, hot with embarrassment. The idea of Christopher on the sidelines, watching as I pedaled my bike with joyful abandon, my breasts flopping in the wind, my face pink and grinning like a deranged Pixar character’s…
“Give me some of that Gatorade,” I snapped at the twins.
“No! You have your own water.”
“GIVE IT TO ME.”
I took a swill and smacked my lips. It was more vodka than Gatorade. Ollie held out her hand, expecting to get the drink back, but I waved her off.
“You can share the other one. That alone would be enoughto knock both of you out cold. Where did you even get vodka?”
“Shh.” They cast nervous looks at Jane. But she was reclining in her tube, not paying us the slightest attention.
Reader, I should have known. If it was something Jane would have disapproved of, I should have taken a leaf out of her responsible-older-sister handbook. And yet… and yet. They don’t call me Rachel Weiss for nothing.
An hour later, I was pleasantly tingly, the thought of Christopher Butkus banished from my mind. (Okay, nearly banished. Every so often I would replay those words—Ride any bikes lately?—at which point I’d take a swig.) The twins were a bit past tingly, if I had to guess. They hadn’t stopped laughing like hyenas for so long I wondered when they would come up for air. After a solid ten minutes of cackling, Jane and Owen gave them a bemused look but seemed to write it off as teenage twin weirdness—a phenomenon that can explain away most of the twins’ personalities.
“—has to be at least forty.”(Deranged giggle.)
“He can still get it!”(Snort. Shriek.)
“I dare you to send him a nude.”
“No, I DARE YOU.”(Snicker.)
“Okay, but I’ll just say it’s you.”(Scream of mirth.)
“You know,” I said lazily, “just thinking out loud here, but I don’t think either of you should send nudes to your history teacher.”
“What?” Jane yelled, sitting upright.
