Page 75 of The Comeback Summer

Lou’s pink lips press together, and my pulse quickens. What if she decides to drop us, right here, right now?

“Girls, what I’m seeing here isn’t unusual. You’re in the murky middle—far enough in that you feel like you’ve been doing it forever, but you still can’t see the finish line. The true challenge is maintaining your commitment even when it’s not exciting and new anymore. I promise if you do, you’ll berewarded. And that”—she glances at Libby—“includes taking the journaling seriously.”

I nod—the middle of the race is always where your mettle is tested, where you see if your weeks of training will pay off.

“We understand,” Libby tells Lou, then motions to the screen on the wall where her keynote presentation is queued up. “If you have time, we’d love to show you our preliminary thoughts for your PR plan.”

“Go ahead,” Lou says, nodding.

Libby runs through the slides, and Lou fires off questions and comments while I do my best to jot them down on my notepad. Within fifteen minutes, she’s poked holes in our carefully constructed strategy, which is going to mean hours of additional work. Better to know now than miss the mark on the final presentation.

When Libby finishes, she looks as dazed as I feel. “Thank you for the feedback. We’ll make those adjustments.”

“Keep up the good work, dolls,” Lou says, standing. “Now, remember what I said about taking my program seriously.Allof it—not just the easy parts.”

And with that, she flutters out of the room.

“Whew, that was intense,” Libby says, laughing awkwardly. “But, bright side, we only have to convince her we’re doing those damn challenges for another six weeks!”

She stands, but I put my hand on her arm and stop her. “Libs, she’s right. You’re only doing the easy part of your challenge.”

“Easy part?” Libby scoffs. “I’m busting my ass six days a week—literally! Meanwhile, you’re putting in the bare minimum effort on your dates, just checking them off your list.”

“Hey! I’m—”

“And what was that question about falling for one of the guys? You better tell me ifthathappens.”

I swallow. I was hoping Lou could give me some guidance on what to do about Josh, but I can’t tell Libby that.

She turns to go, but I don’t release her arm. “You’ve been doing the physical work,” I say, “but that’s only part of the program. The journaling has made an actual, measurable difference for me.”

“How?” Libby’s eyes spark with challenge.

I open my mouth, then realize that there isn’t much I can tell her. I’m not ready to talk about Josh yet. And the other changes I’ve seen in myself? All the tiny decisions to speak up instead of staying quiet, the infinitesimal shifts toward bravery? None of those are that impressive.

“You know that crisis with MySole?” I ask, grasping for something she’ll understand. “I know you were upset about my canceling the date, but you have to admit—I handled that crisis like a boss. There’s no way I could’ve done that a few weeks ago.”

“Okay, yes, that was great,” she says. “I’m happy that it’s working for you. But I’ve tried, and journaling just isn’t my thing.”

I study Libby, the stubborn set of her jaw, the tension in her shoulders. I have the distinct sense that beneath this resistance, my confident, badass sister is scared. Scared to face her comfort zone, to consider why it developed in the first place. Scared to take a cold, hard look at the wounds she’s trying to protect.

“Libs?” I say, tentative. “I know it’s—”

“Stop looking at me like that.” She huffs and rolls her eyes. “It’s just that I’ve been doing this stupid training for six weeks, and I haven’t made any progress—”

“What? You’ve madetonsof progress! You’re way better at those monkey bars—”

“I’m not even close to being prepared for the Down & Dirty! AndnowLou’s saying that all that work isn’t good enough? On top of everything else, I have to write in some stupid journal about my stupid feelings?”

“Yes, to understand what’s causing them—”

“What’s the point? Even if we complete the challenges, she’s not going to give us her business if she doesn’t like our ideas—and she just blew our entire PR plan to bits. What if we give this everything we’ve got and still lose everything?”

She breaks off, her eyes filling with tears. It’s a rare glimpse of vulnerability, and it makes me feel off-balance; this isn’t my role as the little sister.

“What would GiGi tell us, if she were here?” I ask.

Libby shakes her head. “She never would’ve let things get this bad.”

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