Page 53 of Girls Will Be Girls
I still find it hard to believe girls want to be my friend sometimes. I’m used to the mindset that we’re all in competition from my pick-me girl youth, and I’m still working on rewiring my brain. Surrounding myself with girl’s girls is the best way to do it, and Casey is a girl’s girl.
“Definitely.” She pats her bag. “I have magazines.”
I laugh at her effort to entice me. “I’d love to.” I say.
“Okay, gimme your number, go change, and I’ll drop a pin for where I am.” She hands me her phone.
I tap my number in and wave Casey off as she runs off, shouting over her shoulder that she can’t lose out on the best spot. “We’re bothTwilightpale, we need the dappled shade of the trees more than anyone else.” She cries out like a woman on a mission.
I run back to my lodge, change into my lilac bikini again, and put on the same cutoffs, white t-shirt, and Birkenstocks I had on before, and then head back to the cafe I never managed to get inside of to stock up on two iced drinks and some pastries.
As I’m waiting for my order, I check the three notifications I have from a new number.
Unknown number:
Hello beach buddy!
It’s Casey. Duh.
PIN DROPPED
I save Casey’s number, slightly in love with how easygoing and unserious she is. That she has the confidence to just invite a relative stranger to the beach with her because she wants to.
I strive to be like Casey one day.
Committing the spot where Casey dropped the pin to memory, I slot the four bags of pastries — I may have gone overboard — in my tote bag next to my sunscreen, then grab our drinks and head out the door.
I find Casey lounging under the dappled shade of the nearby pine trees on a large blue and white blanket, her towel on top as extra padding. Scattered around her she has a small cooler bag, a box filled to the brim with strawberries, a large slab of chocolate melting in the sun, and a bag of potato chips.
It’s the ultimate setup.
She lifts her sunglasses off her eyes for a second when she spots me walking over and waves at me.
“Hey beach pal!” She calls over to me.
“Hey beach friend!” I answer.
She stands up, straightening her emerald-green swimsuit as she takes a couple of steps towards me.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I have two options,” I say, lifting the first drink in my right hand. “The mango and pineapple lemonade.” I lift my other hand. “Or the mint chocolate frappuccino.”
Her eyes light up with her smile. “Ah! Officially the best beach buddy.” She looks between the drinks. “Can I have the lemonade?”
“Of course.” I hand it over to her, and she instantly takes a sip, her eyes rolling back in her head while she moans.
I can’t help but giggle at her reaction.
She reminds me of Frida. So unapologetically herself.
She clearly had no problem asking for what she wanted, no issue with moaning loudly in public. I always wonder how people like Frida and Casey see the world, see other people, themselves.
I bet it’s so freeing. Just living for yourself.
“Okay, c’mon. Get settled.” Casey ushers me over to the empty spot on her blanket, motioning for me to place my towel there.
I tend to overthink social interactions a lot, especially with other girls. I feel myself overanalyzing everything I say, seeing if there’s a hidden meaning in something they say, and worrying that I’m not being nice or excited enough when on the inside I am, but I worry that it’s not coming across how I want it to. It makes me feel like a hint of a sociopath because I can’t just have a normal interaction without dissecting it into pieces while it’s happening.
I wonder what it’s going to take to not still see myself as thepick-mewho doesn’t know how to be friends with other girls, and instead just see myself as someone who fits in.
