Page 13 of Harper's Holiday Romance
“Christina what are you doing fishing in the pool? You’re going to get us kicked out,” Tracy joked.
I’m not entirely sure where Christina acquired the fishing rod, but she fast reached the centre of the pool with a real-life fishing rod. Sarah could barely hold back the snorting as she watched Christina pretend to catch an older gentleman and reel him in.
“Not my type. I’ll unhook him.” She flicked the rod back.
“She goes ice fishing back home,” Tracy explained.
I knew nothing about ice fishing, but I would be terrified to do it. I used to have a poster as a child which involved Winnie the Pooh and Piglet ice fishing with nothing but a stick and some sardines. They looked happy on the picture, but I remember being petrified that they’d either fall into the hole or burn their bare bum cheeks on the freezing cold ice. My mum thought it went splendidly with the colour theme in my bedroom.
“Where did she get the rod?” I asked.
“She took it from the guy over there. He’s gone for lunch; she’ll replace it before he returns—I hope,” Tracy said, crossing her fingers tightly. She tiptoed over to the pool and began wading from one end of the shallow water to the other trying to achieve the perfect photo angle for Christina. She called out directions like aveteran camera woman on the red carpet at an event. I was impressed. Tracy was a good friend.
“Would you do that for me?” I turned to ask Billie.
“Absolutely not, one attempt is all you get with me.”
Billie was the complete opposite to me. I think that’s why our friendship blossomed with ease. Despite our differences there was a certain higher level of banter that, coupled with the right comedic timing, brought us to a common ground where nothing was off limits. We spent much of our time poking fun at each other, but I loved her even more for it.
“I’m joining in.” I jumped up.
“You’re what?” Sarah half choked on her freshly poured Mojito.
“I’m getting in. I want to see where Christina is going.” I adjusted my bikini bottoms, pulling high on the sides to compliment my figure. There was nothing I hated more than a bikini brief that refused to lift higher than my pelvic bone. I navigated the three steps down to the pool—carefully. I’d already seen three different people slip; one didn’t recover and is probably icing her coccyx. I delicately placed one foot in front of the other. I didn’t need to assist my clumsy self by running.
I spent the next ten minutes laughing uncontrollably as Christina crossed from one section of the pool to the next with the fishing rod she’d taken from a random man’s sun bed. Then she army rolled; she actually army rolled out of the pool onto the wooden decking with the rod intact and managed not to get the hook tangled in her hair or visibly injure herself. I don’t know how she did it, but the applause from other holidaymakers clarified just how impressive it was.
It wasn’t like me to enjoy being amongst the action. When people around me became rowdy I often foundmyself fading into the background, watching, and waiting for a moment to remove myself completely. I did enjoy the Canadians’ company, but it didn’t stop me from analysing those around me as I so often did. My ex-girlfriend told me I was too observant. I cared too much about what people thought of me. It got to the point where I assumed every glance or muffled conversation through gritted teeth was a bad thing.
There was only one person who caught my eye as I scanned the sparsely occupied sun loungers, and that was a girl not paying any attention to Christina, or to me, or to anyone in the pool area.
Was she alone? I couldn’t be sure.
The sun bed directly to her left wasn’t occupied. The umbrella shaded every part of her body bar her feet.
I’d watched her briefly look up from her book once. It was hard to make out the cover, it looked like a Colleen Hoover novel, but I couldn’t be sure.
In one swift movement she spun her green cap backwards, adjusting it on her head. She had long blonde perfectly plaited pigtails. I admired her forward thinking; the Mexican wind was strong, and my hair was starting to loosely resemble a tumble weed. I knocked my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose discreetly to observe her better.
She almost looked familiar.
The rainbow floral bikini somewhat matched her hat and her crotchet beach bag. It was hard to distinguish her facial features; the aviator sunglasses covered her eyes. The teardrop shape suited her face. Her long slender arms reached for the tall clear glass to her right. The perspiration from the glass must’ve dripped onto her torso; I couldn’t be sure, but she jolted and proceeded topat at her chest and then her stomach with her now book-free hand.
Stop staring
She sat upright. The sun beat down on her chest as she edged forwards shuffling her body to the corner of the sun lounger. Her face strained, and her overall poise seemed standoffish and pompous. The way she flicked her hair over her shoulder and her expression as she dead-eyed the gentleman bellowing in the pool was almost—recognisable.
Did I know this girl?
Stop staring.
When she stood up, she covered her body in a long-oversized vest. She slid her feet into her flip-flops and immediately regretted it. There was a moment of severe discomfort etched on her face as she flicked them back off and quickly ran them along the edge of the pool. There are numerous levels of bad decisions that we can make in life, leaving black flip-flops in thirty-degree heat was one of the small but deplorable ones.
“Harper—”
I watched her pack her things into the crochet beach bag, then curl the towel in one swift motion tucking it under her arm. There was one last sense check before she seemingly retired from sunbathing for the day. Maybe she was going to meet her boyfriend? Sister? Best friend?
“Harper—”
