Pretty Girls Read Online Free PDF Page B

belong!”
    Lydia took a millisecond to process the statement. “Thirty-one? As in exactly thirty-one?”
    “I know.” Penelope took her shock at face value. “The Harris twins just got into preschool. They’re legacies.” She lowered her voice. “Lice-carrying legacies, if you believe the rumor.”
    Lydia opened her mouth, then closed it.
    “Anyway.” Penelope blasted another smile as she stood up. “Just run the recipes by me first, okay? I know you like Dee to take on special skills projects. You’re so lucky. Mom and daughter cooking together in the kitchen. Fun-fun!”
    Lydia held her tongue. The only thing she and Dee did together in the kitchen was argue about when a mayonnaise jar was empty enough to be thrown away.
    “Thanks for volunteering!” Penelope jogged up the bleachers, pumping her arms with Olympic vigor.
    Lydia wondered how long it would take for Penelope to tell the other Mothers about the tragic death of Lloyd Delgado. Her father always said that the price for hearing gossip was having someone else gossip about you. She wished that he were still alive so she could tell him about the Mothers. He would’ve wet himself with laughter.
    Coach Henley blew his whistle, indicating the girls should wind down their warm-up drills. The words “special skills projects” kept rolling around in Lydia’s head. So, here was confirmation that the Mothers had noticed.
    Lydia would not feel bad for making her daughter take a basic car maintenance class so that she would know how to change a flat tire. Nor did she regret making Dee enroll in a self-defense course over the summer, even if it meant that she missed basketball camp. Or insisting that Dee practice how to scream when she was scared, because Dee had a habit of freezing up when she was frightened and being silent was the worst thing you could possibly do if there was a man in front of you who meant to do you harm.
    Lydia bet that right now, Anna Kilpatrick’s mother was wishing she’d taught her daughter how to change a flat tire. The girl’s car was found in the mall parking lot with a nail in the front tire. It wasn’t a big leap to think that the person who’d driven in the nail was the same person who had abducted her.
    Coach Henley gave his whistle two short blasts to get the team moving. The Westerly Women ambled over and formed a half-circle. The Mothers stamped their feet on the bleachers, trying to build excitement for a game that would unfold with the same drama as a mime’s funeral. The opposing team hadn’t even bothered to warm up. Their shortest player was six feet tall and had hands the size of dinner plates.
    The gym doors opened. Lydia saw Rick scan the crowd. And then he saw her. And then he looked at the opposing side’s empty bleachers. She held her breath as he considered. Then she let it out as he made his way toward her. He slowly climbed the bleachers. People who worked for a living didn’t tend to sprint up bleachers.
    He sat down beside Lydia with a groan.
    She said, “Hey.”
    Rick picked up the empty bag of chips, leaned back his head, and let the crumbs fall into his mouth. Most of them went down his shirt into his collar.
    Lydia laughed because it was hard to hate someone who was laughing.
    He gave her a wary look. He knew her tactics.
    Rick Butler was nothing like the fathers at Westerly. For one, he worked with his hands. He was a mechanic at a gas station that still pumped gas for some of their elderly customers. The muscles in his arms and chest came from lifting tires onto rims. The ponytail down his back came from not listening to the two women in his life who desperately wanted it gone. He was either a redneck or a hippie, depending on what kind of mood he was in. That she loved him in both incarnations had been the surprise of Lydia Delgado’s life.
    He handed back the empty bag. There were specks of potato chips in his beard. “Nice ’stache.”
    She touched her fingers to her raw upper lip. “Are