Этимология китайских иероглифов. Сто самых важных китайских иероглифов, которые должен знать каждый. Хуэй Сюй

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СКАЧАТЬ so be it.

      “You know what? I think the root juice sounds amazing,” I said.

      Coop looked at the menu. “Carrot, beet, yam and ginger?” He eyed me skeptically. “You sure?”

      “Mmm, hmm,” I said. “It sounds…cleansing.”

      “Okay,” he said. “If you say so. I think I saw a bakery next door, though. Little mocha, chocolate croissant…” His offer was tempting and I was touched at how accurately he’d assessed my cravings, but I was determined to out-vegan the vegan, even if it killed me.

      “No, really,” I said, “this is perfect.”

      Dannika pretended not to be listening. She did some pretentious, show-offy upper body stretches as we waited for the anemic-looking woman in front of us to finish ordering. “The protein bar doesn’t contain any wheat, does it?” the lady asked, dabbing at her nose with a crumpled Kleenex. The bronzed surf God behind the counter assured her for the third time that everything they served was wheat and gluten-free.

      When it was our turn, Dannika stepped forward gracefully, leaned one hip against the counter and said airily, “I’ll take a double shot of wheatgrass, one banana and a small soy yogurt, please.”

      The guy’s face went from bored to astonished so quickly, it was like watching a flower bloom using time-lapse photography. “Are you—?” He blushed under his tan. “I’m sorry, but aren’t you Dannika Winters?”

      Her smile was radiant. “That’s me.”

      “Wow, this is so cool. My roommate has all your DVDs. God, she’s going to die when I tell her I met you. Would you mind—” he fumbled behind the counter and produced a napkin, then a pen “—signing this? It would mean a lot to her.”

      “No problem.” Dannika bent over and the surf God eyed the cleavage revealed artfully beneath her tank top. “What’s her name?”

      “Huh?” He looked dazed.

      “Your roommate’s name?”

      “Oh. Kyra,” he said, “K-Y-R-A.”

      She wrote something on the napkin and signed it with a flourish, then pushed it across the counter.

      He picked it up reverently. “She’s really going to lose her shit. I mean—sorry—you just made my day, is all.”

      “You’re too sweet.” Dannika graced him with another celebrity smile.

      Coop stepped forward. “Mind if we order?”

      The kid folded the napkin carefully and put it in his pocket. He managed to concentrate long enough to jot down Coop’s request for an extra-large granola with vanilla yogurt and a protein smoothie. When it was my turn, I ordered my disgusting root concoction and tried smiling at the bronzed groupie with my own brand of electric charisma. He didn’t even notice. He just looked over my shoulder at Dannika, who was by the window, now, performing some kind of elaborate leg stretch against one of the stools.

      You’ll be proud to hear that I managed to choke down my root juice without gagging. It tasted like something you’d scrape off the bottom of a lawn mower. Delish.

      So now I’m in the backseat again, wedged between the surfboards and my trunk of shoes, with my self-esteem ankle-high. Plus, I’m starving. Apparently, this is where she wants me. I’m the backseat spectator, forced to watch as my nemesis undermines my relationship a little more with each mile.

      All I can say is, she’d better watch her back. I may have lost the first couple rounds, but I’m not going down without a fight.

      Thursday, September 18

      11:20 a.m.

      Dear Marla,

      Warning: we’ve entered the epicenter of Coop-and-Dannikaland. This is ground zero for college memories, which most likely include the pornographic trysts of their late teens and early twenties, when their flesh was no doubt even more supple and alluring than it is now.

      Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.

      Our stop? Santa Barbara, where even the meter maids look like Pilates instructors.

      Thursday, September 18

      12:45 p.m.

      Dear, dear Marla,

      Psychotic jealousy, be gone. Coop’s just filled me in on the Tragic Tale of Dannika’s Past, which makes it completely unnecessary to continue fantasizing about gouging her eyes out with my kitten heels. Seriously. Our entire trip (not to mention our relationship) has been saved!

      Here’s how it went down.

      We stopped at the beach in Santa Barbara. It was this secret little tucked-away point break they used to surf all the time in college. I always wondered if anyone at UCSB actually studied; from the sound of it, the answer is not much. I still couldn’t hear more than a few random exchanges from the backseat, but once we got off the freeway, I could tell they were reliving a long string of surfing memories from the good ole days.

      I thought we were just stopping to stretch our legs and take in the vista. I really wasn’t dressed for a romp on the beach—you know how I hate getting sand in my shoes. The engine hadn’t even sputtered into silence, though, before Dannika was leaping out of the car and shaking out the golden flag of her hair in the cool ocean breeze.

      “God, it’s so beautiful! I’m not even going to wear a wet suit. I want to feel the water.” Her eyes were shining as she watched a big wave curve in on itself, crash explosively, then unfurl a long carpet of foam.

      For a second, the three of us stared out at the water. Coop turned to smile at me. “How you doing back there, kitten?”

      It was nice hearing him use my pet name. His hand reached back and squeezed my knee and the warmth of his fingers on my skin sent cool shivers up my thigh.

      “I’m okay.” At that very moment, it wasn’t a lie. “You?”

      Before he could answer, Dannika surprised us both by yanking her shirt up over her head and conversation became suddenly impossible. There she was, standing not three feet from us, pulling her tank top off like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her pale breasts, once freed from the tight-fitting tank, were fuller and more buoyant than I would have thought possible on such a skinny girl. Her brown belly was shockingly flat—a stretch of smooth interrupted only by the subtle indentations of her six-pack abs. It was one thing to be a size two, but to be that well-defined was something else—the mark of the physically elite.

      My root juice threatened to resurface. I swallowed hard and fought it back down.

      Of course I looked away, embarrassed. So did Coop, but not before I caught his eyes lingering just a second too long. When he looked at me again, he was blushing.

      I’ve never seen Coop blush.

      “Last one in’s a rotten egg!” In a matter of minutes, Dannika had her turquoise bikini on, and СКАЧАТЬ