You Could Be Home by Now Read Online Free PDF Page A

rolled onto her stomach, checked that the per-vet had retreated into his lair, and unhooked her bikini. She surveyed the neighborhood. The house next door had a hot tub in its courtyard. Gran’s just had a grill and patio furniture, herbs in terracotta pots. I keep thinking I should set up a pink flamingo there, she'd told Per-vet Ben on their walk. Just because the HOA won’t be able to see it. They’d laughed and raised an imaginary glass to the Flamingo Police. It was possible, but not probable, that to outsiders her and Sierra’s inside jokes were just as dumb.
    Sierra. Le sigh. If Sierra were here, she’d probably talk Lily into sneaking next door for a midnight soak, because Sierra always brought the fun. Last year had been twelve times less boring than the sum of the fourteen preceding it, and Sierra pinky-swore that junior year would be even better.
    And it would, even though Sierra-like-the-mountains-not-the-truck had gotten together with Rocky-like-the-mountains-not-the-boxer over Winter Break, which, by the way, was an absolute violation of the Laws of Cheese.
    â€œDon’t sulk,” Sierra’d said. They were studying in her room, which smelled of the incense she lit because it made her stepdad paranoid that she was doing it to mask the smell of pot. “You knew I liked the boys.”
    â€œI’m not sulking.”
    â€œAnd if I was going to experiment, I wouldn’t with you. You’re too good a friend to mess with like that.”
    â€œFine. But Sierra and Rocky? Kill me now.”
    â€œJust wait till we find you a nice femme named Rose.”
    And it was fine; it was, though even an amateur cheeseologist could anticipate the insane degree to which Sierra’s heart was going to get shredded.
    Lily stretched then resettled, contorting to resecure her bikini straps. She took a swig from her water bottle and watched a woman jog along one of the winding cart paths. A woman-woman, not an old woman, with a long ponytail and breasts that jostled about as a single entity. Sierra would have something to say about that. Ponytails were lazy and generally uncute, and Sierra had a thing about proper bra fittage.
    Urgh.
    Just thinking about it triggered utter depression, because Sierra plus bra issues equaled a surefire candidate for a Fixit. Lily used to post them each Friday—a makeover in three easy steps. They’d been Lipstick Lillian ’s biggest draw and Sierra could even be relied upon to shut up about Rocky long enough to help draft them.
    Down below, the runner veered off the path and ran through the sprinkler. She stopped, resecured her ponytail, then made for a prickly clump of succulents. She’d probably appreciate the Fixit. Everyone did (well, everyone minus one). They were funny, yeah, but they were meant to help. Look better, feel better, be better. It was as simple as that. Like Sierra said: the most noble and magnanimous Headmistress Brecken should have given her community service credit instead of summoning her parents. But no one would listen that day in la Brecken’s office. Lily wasn’t picking on anyone. She didn’t go around looking for Fixits. Girls sent in their own pictures. And she was careful. She’d listened to the bajillion assemblies on Internet predators. The policy was right there on her blog. She’d only consider photos with the heads cropped off.
    Another Visiting Grandchild, a little-kid version, had appeared in the hot tub courtyard. They should exchange cards. He walked robot style, knees locked. Between the goosesteps and his bowl cut he kind of looked like a mini Hitler. He found a stick and brandished it at his reflection in the sliding glass door. He poked it at something on the ground. He tapped it against the hot tub.
    Lily reached for her bag. She still had one airport magazine left.
    Down in his courtyard, Der Führer stood on a picnic bench and jumped.
    Lily flipped through a couple of pages