So why did it bother me now, when I so needed the consolation of touch?

I'll tell you about Heather. She's not my first, but she tops the list.

Heather? Lesbians had names like Bobbi or Jo, didn't they?

"Heather" belonged to a model or cheerleader.

She's a cheerleader. Well, a song leader, and pretty much perfect.

Leigh was almost perfect herself.

If she were taller, she could be a model. Picture-perfect lesbians. I had to laugh.

What are you laughing about? Didn't know cheerleaders were my type?

Didn't know cheerleaders could be that type. Which got me thinking.

What else might those peppy cheerleaders do?

I Tucked That Away

and tried to focus on my sister going on and on about being in love with a girl: their meeting, touching accidentally, connecting immediately, interwoven hand in hand, heart-to-heart.

And even though I loved my sister had accepted her eccentricities I found it hard to listen to detailed descriptions, abstract ambitions, relevant observations, hers and mine.

Wild Waters Day Dawned

Mom and Scott

wandered over to the group picnic area to join the company brownnosers and nibble.

Leigh and Jake went off together, racing to see who could reach the top of Black Widow first.

Trent hit the wave pool.

Sarah hit the bathroom-she always showered before entering the pool.

I opted for an inner-tube float along the Lazy River, mostly because of this very cute lifeguard, perched overhead.

And there was Bree, smiling seductively, and I swear that poster boy lifeguard smiled right back.

And in that righteous moment, complete clarity. Bree was not an invention, not a stranger.

Bree was the essence of me.

Whether That's Good or Bad

I can't say. I just know it's true.

Bree opens doors Kristina wouldn't dare knock on, like that cute lifeguard's- not to mention Adam's, even if that one had recently slammed in her face.

But Bree insists on having things all her way.

So when Trent and Sarah came trucking up, bickering and t.i.ttering and doing all those little cutesy friend-type things, Kristina never minded.

Bree wanted to tell them to shut the h.e.l.l up, go away. Let her play.

For a while, without the monster whispering sweet and terrible nothings, Kristina was still in charge.

But Bree was watching.

Rather Than Face

total embarra.s.sment, I told Trent and Sarah I'd meet them at Black Widow.

They looked at me, looked at what I was looking at, hard-bodied and tan on his tall tower.

Trent gave me a thumbs-up.

Sarah broke out in giggles.

Then they graciously provided s.p.a.ce.

I invited Bree to take over while Kristina took cover. She bent forward from the waist, shook her dripping hair, straightened, flipped it backward, and without a single thought to the puffy pink heart on her thigh (let alone its artist), she marched right over to that lifeguard tower, looked up and, without drooling at all, asked, "Do you get a lunch break?"

Before Bree

that would never have happened.

Whatever she'd done to me, for me, and basically in spite of me, she'd given me a whole new sense of self.

I never knew I could play the vamp, do it so well, flirt with total aplomb, and not only that, but look good doing it.

Before Bree I never knew such sheer, depraved forwardness could be so much fun.

So I went with it, jumped right into the role of shameless flirt.

Girls responded with pointed whispers, haughty laughter and, as I myself have often done, with evil eyes.

Bree, of course, couldn't care less. In fact she thrived on any and all attention.

Guys responded to that with solid once-overs, come-on smiles, and in Brendan the lifeguard's case, with phone numbers.

As If That Weren't Enough

I sprinted off in search of my friends and (literally) b.u.mped into Chase Wagner, Reno High's stoned bad boy.

Kristina would have offered a quick apology and scurried away.

It's not like Chase was in the running for Mr. America.

He looked like a linebacker, one who didn't play much in the sun-the freckles on his cranberry skin almost pulsed pain.

But Bree found his bedroom eyes-glacier blue-and brooding demeanor quite the turn on.

"Hey, Chase," she cooed.

He scoped me out like an old tomcat, ogling a brand-new canary.

Do I know you?

Kristina knew enough about him to think she ought to flee.

Chase Wagner could be hazardous to a person's health.

You look familiar, but not, so maybe I'm thinking of someone else.

What's your name?

Just like that, she had him.

If she wanted him. Her game was no less dangerous than his. "Call me Bree."

Right Then, Three People

shouted, "Kristina!"

Time to beat a face-saving retreat, so I smiled and told Chase I'd catch him later.

I looked around and saw Mom, waving to come and eat, Leigh, minus Jake, gesturing to come share a towel, Sarah, at the top of Black Widow, watching Trent's wet ride down.

"Not hungry yet," I shouted to Mom.

To Leigh, "Be there in a few."

Then I joined my oldest, bestest friends in the world, tried to think of something to talk about besides lifeguards, bad boys, and this person named Bree, growing stronger inside me, convincing me to be someone I never dreamed I'd want to be.

I know you should be able to share such news with best friends, but I felt pretty sure they'd never relate and maybe refuse to forgive me for trading in the tried-and-true for a test drive of the dark side.