Confessions of the Sullivan Sisters Read Free

girls from Jane’s class. Bibi had snagged the prime spot, Eliza Bowie’s tombstone. When the sun hits it just right it’s like lying on a warm stone table. Bibi used to be Jane’s best friend but they had some kind of feud, I forget about what. I’m sure it was all Jane’s fault.
    A few Radnor girls were splayed out at my feet, with Lily Hargrove at the center. I’m not friends with Lily, but everybodyknows who she is. She’s effortlessly skinny with long, glossy chestnut hair and mysterious almond eyes, but mostly she has that thing —I can’t say exactly what it is but it’s like knowing you’re hot makes you even hotter.
    I do not have that thing. I have a feeling there’s something old-fashioned about my looks, not in a good way. There are boys who think I’m cute, but old ladies flip over me. Not you, but every other old lady in the universe. They’re always coming up to me to say how beautiful I am. It’s my skin; they love my pale, rosy skin. Boys don’t notice skin. I’ve never heard a boy say, “Hey, check that girl’s foxy skin.” There’s a girl at our pool named Kelsey Mathers who practically has acne but all the boys drool over her anyway. Once, I pointed out Kelsey’s pimples to Sully and he said he didn’t know what I was talking about. “Acne? Check out her ass!” (I was going to write “bottom” instead of “ass” in deference to your delicate sensibilities, but then it wouldn’t sound like Sully talking, would it?) I guess a good ass blinds boys to other deficits.
    Sorry if you think this is vulgar, Almighty, but I decided if I’m going to confess to you I’m going to be completely honest and tell everything, even things you might not like to hear about.
    I said hi to the Radnor girls. They squinted up at me, shading their eyes from the sun.
    “Oh, hi,” said Phoebe Fernandez-Ruiz. She tugged her red scarf out of her hair. Lily Hargrove turned her face toward the swimmers in the water.
    Brooks and his friend Davis Smith climbed out of the reservoir and walked over to us, dripping. I felt Claire tense up besideme. I have a feeling she likes Brooks. Lots of girls like Brooks. I had a huge secret crush on him myself. At least I thought I did. I used to like playing with him when we were little, at family picnics or Easter egg hunts, until we were about ten and he didn’t want to play with girls anymore. That’s when I started missing him a little bit, and thinking about him. It didn’t help that you and Ginger always talked about him as if he and I were going to get married someday.
    He’s not that cute if you really look at him, you know, but nobody really looks at him. I mean, maybe if you showed a picture of him to a girl who never met him, she might shrug and say, “Yeah, so?” But anybody who’s met him knows. I can already kind of see where his bald spot is going to be in twenty years, maybe ten. I can picture him as an old man: He’ll be charming and everyone’s favorite uncle or dad, the kind of guy who still wears his tweed suit from college and sails and writes poetry for special occasions, like the rehearsal dinner for his daughter’s wedding or the baptism of his first grandchild. I don’t know why that is so appealing, but it is. You can look at Brooks Overbeck and see the future, and that future is bright and comfortable, full of parties and travel and glittery Ivy League people. A lot like your life, and my parents’ life, and his parents’ life. I guess that’s why so many girls like him. Who wouldn’t want that?
    Davis kissed Lily and she said, “Ew, Dave, you’re getting me all wet.” Brooks shook his hair like a Labrador and spattered us with water. We all screamed happily except for Jane, who put on her sunglasses and rolled over onto her stomach with an exasperated sigh.
    “What d’ya know, girls?” Brooks said. “Nice to see the Sullivan clan out and about.”
    Brooks’s father always says “What d’ya know?” and now Brooks