b l o o d o n t h e b e a c h
21
I’d never carried a purse, and I always wondered what other
girls kept in them. Wallet, phone, keys, tampons? You didn’t
need a bag the size of a microwave oven for that.
“Feeling all right now?” Claire asked. Like it wasn’t
totally obvious that the last thing Imogen wanted was to
have extra attention drawn to her puking.
Ignoring Claire, Imogen reapplied a slick coat of blood-
red lipstick. Perfectly, without a mirror. I don’t do makeup—
it makes me look like a little kid who got into her mom’s
cosmetics bag—but I had to admit, there was something
impressive about it.
I’d spent most of the bus ride listening to her tell one
exaggerated story after another. At least, I hoped for her
sake they were exaggerated, because to be honest, some of
them were more than a bit shocking. I’d tried to act cool, but
I could practically feel my eyes getting bigger and rounder
the longer she talked. And I’m a cop’s kid, so it’s not like I’m
a total innocent.
“Well,” Claire said. “Let’s have a quick round of
intro-
ductions, and then we’ll give you some time to unpack
and settle in before we start on the afternoon’s activities.
How about we go first, Warren? Rahim?”
“Great idea, Claire,” Rahim said. He sounded exces-
sively enthusiastic, like he was her co-host on a talk show.
The Claire and Rahim Show
. I wondered how Warren felt
about that.
As if he’d read my mind, Warren jumped in. “Works for
me. Why don’t you start us off, Claire?”
