Float

Original Edition: Chapter Eleven

Lena Fletcher stormed into Holden's only bookstore like a tornado with anger management issues.

I'd meant to read a good book while I was waiting for her—something classic and arduously wordy—but instead I'd found Alissa's stash of fashion magazines behind the register. Alissa hadn't indicated that she was going to show up to work that day, seeing as she was still on an emotional hiatus, so I had taken it upon myself to rummage through some of the junk she kept stashed in her workspace. She had four packs of bubblegum, two bars of chocolate, and about a hundred different issues of Seventeen Magazine. The chocolate bars had only lasted me about five minutes, and now I had moved on to the bubblegum.

Upon hearing Lena stomp in, I glanced up over the top of my magazine. Lena's face was scrunched up like she'd just been forced to smell Jesse's armpit, which may have very well been what happened.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Jesse dyed my pants purple."

I shifted my magazine a few inches lower and saw that Lena's skinny jeans were, indeed, purple.

I managed to keep a straight face for all of two seconds before I began laughing.

"Don't laugh!"

"I-I'm so s-sorry!" I told her between gasps.

Lena folded her freckled arms over her chest and narrowed her pretty hazel eyes at me until my belly laughs had subsided to simple chuckles. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and sighed.

"I'm so glad I'm an only child," I told her.

"Well, some of us aren't so lucky."

"Couldn't you have worn another pair of pants?" I asked her.

"He stole them all! Every. Last. Pair."

I started to laugh again.

Lena shot me a look so frightening that I immediately grabbed my magazine and hid my face behind it. I found myself staring at a ridiculous article about how to pick out a shade of lip-gloss that will match every outfit you ever plan on wearing. I sighed and flipped to the next page, hoping for an article with a little more intellectual worth. Unfortunately, all I found were tips on how to avoid those dreaded gladiator-sandal suntans. 

Right, because I totally had that problem.

I set the magazine back down on the cashier's desk and looked over to where Lena appeared to be taking her frustrations out on some un-alphabetized nonfiction books.

"I'm so going to get him back," Lena mumbled, more to herself than to me.

"How?" I asked.

"I don't know. I'm terrible at this. Jesse's always been the evil mastermind when it comes to practical jokes."

"Well," I said, picking up the magazine again, "Let's brainstorm."

"Okay," Lena agreed.

Both of us were silent for several minutes. The only sound in the shop was the constant hum of the air conditioning and the faint rumble of the waves crashing against the shore outside. I flipped the page of my magazine and sighed, then sat upright.

"What is it?" Lena asked.

I didn't say a word. I simply set the magazine down on the cashier's desk so Lena could see the title of the article I had just stumbled upon. Her eyebrows knit together.

"One hundred and one pranks to pull," she read aloud. "Your guide to a summer filled with unexpected water balloons, fake facial hair, and embarrassing stories that you'll end up telling your grandkids."