Page 58 of Beach Bodies

‘N-not m-me,’ says Skylar, sniffing again. ‘My mom says I have n-no self-control.’

‘That was probably hard to hear,’ says Serena. ‘But listen… you don’t have to do this alone! Sometimes we all need a little help! Actually, we’re working with this amazing company now. It’s called CleanSlim, and I’ll give you a complimentary package. Would you like that?’

‘Really?’ Skylar’s tone is so sweet, so grateful. ‘What is it?’

‘You just mix it into your smoothie, and all the baby fat will fall right off. Promise!’

Oh. My. God. Serena is giving a laxative to a teenager.

‘Can I have some now?’ says Skylar.

Serena laughs. ‘Actually, I do have some on me…’ There’s the sound of a zipper, then the crinkling of plastic. ‘I keep this with me to give to prospective customers. How lucky that we ran into each other! Now, don’t tell your mom. Just surprise her with the results! Wouldn’t that be fun?’

‘Yeah,’ says Skylar. ‘Will it work that fast?’

‘You do have to keep at it, but you’ll start seeing a difference within the week, promise.’

‘Wow. Thank you!’

I hear Skylar leave the bathroom, and then Serena humming to herself and washing her hands.

For a minute, I brace my hands against the sides of the stall and push as hard as I can, feeling the blood throb in my body. I don’t even have to try to conjure up the violent scenarios. I see myself killing Serena in six different ways within as many seconds.

One thing is sure: I’ve got my mark. This is it. Now I have to calm down and bide my time and do it smart, like I always do.

When I emerge from the stall, Serena is tweaking her make-up at the mirror.

‘Lily! Oh my god, I didn’t realize you were in here!’ She does a bit of a double take. ‘Rough night?’

‘I locked myself out of the room,’ I say with a wry smile, as I imagine killing her in two more ways. The faucets have sharp edges. ‘Not ideal.’ I take in Serena’s sweat-drenched athletic top and flushed face. ‘But you look like you’ve had a workout already.’

‘Oh, it’s just my morning hike. It’s important to build those habits in, you know?’ She uncaps a highlighter and sweeps it over her cheekbones, turning her face from side to side.

Morning hike. My heart pounds.

‘Where do you hike around here?’ I say innocently. Or do I sound guilty? Shit, I have to play this right. Thankfully, however I sound, her focus is on her mascara now, so she takes it in her stride.

‘I have this whole circuit that goes around the hotel and ends on the rocks by the ocean, you know that gorgeous jetty? It’s the perfect spot for a post-hike meditation session. No one is up that early, so it’s just the sky and the water and…’ She laughs and pops the mascara wand back into its tube. ‘Little old me!’

I feign a laugh. ‘Wow, you must get up really early, then.’ I make some attempt at redoing my ponytail, even though it’s useless. I need a full shower and change of clothes.

‘Five thirty,’ she chirps, smacking her freshly moisturized lips. ‘It’s perfect, because then I’m hitting the rocks just as the sun rises. Soooo pretty! Well– see you around, Lily.’ She hesitates at the bathroom door. ‘Hey, do you happen to know if that journalist is single?’

I give her a wide-eyed ‘what journalist?’ expression, but follow it up quickly with an, ‘Oh, yeah, him… no, I think he has someone back home.’

‘It figures,’ she says with an exaggerated pout. ‘All the good ones are taken.’

‘Yeah. Pity. But there’s always that other guy… Kyle?’

She screws up her face like she’s having trouble remembering, then visibly flinches. ‘Yeah, ew. Too old. Tooneedy. But hey, great talk!’

She swishes out of the bathroom, leaving me momentarily alone.

I look at myself in the mirror. My hair is wild, frizzed from sleeping outside. My polka-dot shorts look extra ratty and faded in the daylight, and my tank top has fresh sweat stains. But no matter how dishevelled my outward appearance may be, inwardly, things are sliding into place.

It’s the same sweeping feeling of certainty like all the other years, when I realized it had to be Michael Johnson. Brett Teubler. Sophie Coste. Carlos Dulatre. A gut-level feeling that’s almost like a déjà vu– as if I had already made this decision in some previous, parallel life, and I’m just remembering,That’s right, it’s this one.

Serena. On the jetty. At sunrise.

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