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weird and all, but that’s why they’re awesome.

I watch Bri carefully folding clothes, just

to stuff them into a backpack. Talk about

obsessive. “Are you OCD or something?

All that stuff is gonna get messed up.”

She smiles.
I know. But at least it won’t

be wrinkled when it gets messed up.

“Don’t forget sunscreen. It’s gonna be

hot at Prosser. Hopefully Gramps found

a campsite in the trees. Closer to the water

there isn’t any shade.” Bri nods, goes to

the bathroom, returns with SPF 30.

Hope this is strong enough. And I also

hope there will be boys at the lake.

My new swimsuit is really cute. See?

She holds up a flouncy bikini,

in a tropical print. “Really cute,”

I agree. “I’m waiting to lose a few

more pounds before I get a new one.”

I’ve been meaning to tell you how

great you look. Is it hard? Dieting?

“Only when I smell french fries.

It’s harder for Mom. She sneaks

M&Ms and thinks I don’t notice.

But she walks with me every morning.”

Pretty soon you’ll be running, like

my mom. Just don’t get crazy about it.

“Don’t worry. That’s not gonna happen

in a million years. Running is not my style.”

Hey, you guys!
It’s Trace, calling

down the hall.
Time to hit the road!

Mom Plays Chauffeur

For the hour drive to Truckee

and beyond, to Prosser Reservoir.

Bri and I sit in back, watching

the landscape morph from high desert

scrub to mountain evergreen.

When I start talking about Chad,

I notice how Mom turns up

the volume on her soft rock station.

I don’t care. That way she doesn’t

hear me tell Bri, “I think he really

likes me. At least, a little. I mean,

he doesn’t completely ignore me.

That’s a good sign, right?” Like

either of us would have a clue.

She shrugs.
I think I’d have to

see how he acts around you.

“You could tell? How?” Maybe

I’ll have to invite her over to Dad’s.

Bri shrugs.
I know how ridiculous

Trace looks when he’s all hung

up on a girl. And Mikki? When

she even talks about Dylan,

she goes zombie-eyed.
Mom

chuckles at that, so I guess she’s

been listening after all.
I have

to make a quick Starbucks stop,

she says.
I promised Gramps

I’d bring him some real coffee.

No drive-through here, she runs

inside, and I take the opportunity

to tell Bri, “Next time I go to Dad’s,

I’ll ask Cassie if you can come, too.”

No use upsetting Mom. And no use

asking Dad when Cassie’s in charge.

Prosser Reservoir

Is an exposed expanse of water—

snowmelt, run down the Truckee River

from Tahoe, then stored for Reno use.

This being a holiday weekend, its shores

are crowded with RVs and tents and boats.

And people. Gramps was lucky to have

found a spot beneath the big trees.

Their shade, and the breeze whispers

disturbing it, make the heat tolerable.

It is midafternoon by the time we arrive

and manage to track down my grandparents,

who live a nomadic life in the big fifth-wheel

trailer they tow around the country. Bri

has been my friend since we were still

in diapers, so she’s met them before.

Good thing, or she might just disown

me, seeing Gram in her mini muumuu,

and Gramps, with his long gray braid

hanging most of the way down his naked

back. Remnants of their hippie days.

Mom doesn’t talk about it much, but

before moving to Reno, she grew up on

an Oregon commune. Not sure exactly

what that is except a lot of people living

together and pooling their stuff.
Commie-

style,
Dad told me once,
with plenty

of sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll tossed in.

Don’t know how accurate that was,

and don’t really care. Gram and Gramps

are awesome. We get out of the car

and I run to give them hugs.
It’s so

good to see you!
says Gram. Then

she stands back.
Let me look at you.

Gramps actually whistles.
Wowzers.

What happened to you? Grew up

and slimmed down. What a beauty!

Beauty?

Whatever, Gramps. Lots of gossip

and settling in later, Bri and I slip

on our swimsuits and sunscreen up.

“We’re gonna take a dip before dinner,”

I tell Mom. She’s busy yakking with

Gram, but warns us to be careful,

and back in an hour. The sun starts

a slow slide behind the western hills.

Guess we didn’t need to worry

about the sunscreen,
says Bri.
Oh,

well. At least we smell really good.

True. Like coconut. But we’re also

greasy. We hit a little beach covered

with people. It’s a diverse crowd—too

young to walk. Too old to swim.

Too shy to take off their cover-ups.

Too proud of their assets to hide

them. I mean, some of these girls

are showing off just about everything.

So why are guys checking out Bri?

Brianna

Showing Off

Is so not my style. Maybe

that comes from too many

years watching my sister

exposing

more than she should, all

to win the attention of guys

I wouldn’t want to look at me.

Her taste leans way

too much

toward creepy. And then,

there’s my mom, who loses

weight and all of a sudden

flaunts

her assets like no mother

should. I mean, she’s almost

forty! Even if she has

the inner

desire to stay youthful

and feel attractive, why

must she dress less like

a mom and more like a

slut?

Shane

Three-Day Weekends Suck

At least, summer three-day weekends.

I like the ones that get me out of school

for an extended period. But the long

July Fourth weekend means two things.

One—Alex has to work extra hours.

And Dad doesn’t. He’s home, which

is pretty much keeping me sequestered

in my bedroom. I don’t even want to

go to the kitchen. Running into Dad

almost always leads to an argument.