Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares Read Free Book Online Page A

without knocking. “Here we are!” he called.
    Carmen realized she was holding her breath. Who would be here?
    Within seconds a woman came into the room with a girl who appeared to be about Carmen’s age. Carmen stood baffled and stiff as the woman and then the girl each hugged her. They were quickly followed by a tall young man, about eighteen, Carmen guessed. He was blond and broad, like an athlete. She was thankful that he didn’t hug her.
    “Lydia, Krista, Paul, this is my daughter, Carmen,” her dad said. Her name sounded weird in his voice. He always called her sweetheart or baby or bun. He never called her Carmen. She thought that was because it was her Puerto Rican grandmother’s name, and Carmen Sr. had sent him several nasty letters after the divorce. Her father’s mother was dead. Her name was Mary.
    They all stared at her expectantly, smiling. She had no idea what to say or do.
    “Carmen, this is Lydia.” Pause, pause, pause. “My fiancée. And Krista and Paul, her children.”
    Carmen closed her eyes and opened them again. The soft lights around the room made floaty spots in her vision. “When did you get a fiancée?” she asked in a near whisper. She knew it wasn’t the most polite phrasing.
    Her father laughed. “April twenty-fourth, to be exact,” he said. “I moved in mid-May.”
    “And you’re getting married?” She knew that was an incredibly stupid thing to say.
    “In August,” he said. “The nineteenth.”
    “Oh,” she said.
    “Quite amazing, isn’t it?” he asked.
    “Amazing,” she echoed faintly, though her tone wasn’t the same as his.
    Lydia took one of her hands. Carmen felt as though it no longer belonged to her body. “Carmen, we are so thrilled to have you this summer. Why don’t you come inside and relax? Would you like a soda or a cup of tea? Albert will show you your room so you can get settled.”
    Albert? Who ever called her father Albert? And what was all this about getting settled? What was she doing in this house? This wasn’t where she was spending her summer.
    “Carmen?” her dad said. “Soda? Tea?”
    Carmen just turned to him, wide-eyed, not quite hearing. She nodded.
    “Which? Both?” her dad pressed.
    She looked around the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances like rich people had. There was an oriental carpet on the floor. Who had an oriental carpet in their kitchen? There was an old-fashioned southern-style fan overhead. It turned slowly. She could hear the rain beating against the window.
    “Carmen? Carmen?” Her dad was trying to mask his impatience.
    “Sorry,” she murmured. She realized Lydia was poised at the cupboard, waiting for orders. “Nothing for me. Could you please tell me where I should put my stuff?”
    Her dad looked pained. Did he see how distressed she was? Did he notice? Then the look vanished. “Yes. Come with me. I’ll show you your room, then I’ll bring your suitcase right up.”
    She followed him up carpeted stairs, past three bedrooms, to a bedroom facing the backyard with a thick peach-colored carpet, antique furniture, and two Kleenex boxes cased in Lucite—one on the bureau and one on the night table. It had curtains and a dust ruffle all right. And she would bet one billion dollars there was at least one box of baking soda in the refrigerator downstairs. “Is this the guest room?” she asked.
    “Yes,” he answered, not understanding what she meant. “You get settled,” he said, using that idiotic word again. “I’ll bring your suitcase up.”
    He started for the door. “Hey, Dad?”
    He turned. He looked wary.
    “It’s just that . . .” She trailed off. She wanted to tell him it was pretty inconsiderate not to give her any warning. It was pretty harsh walking into this house full of strangers without any preparation.
    In his eyes was a plea. She felt it more than she saw it. He just wanted it to be nice between them.
    “Nothing,” she said faintly.
    She watched him go, realizing she was like him