Beach Bodies: Part Two. Ross Armstrong

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      The first one inside the Sex on the Beach villa, Dawn skips past the pool, giggling as she dips her fingers in the chlorinated water, aware that cameras are watching her close, and imbuing her performance with all the day-glo colours of excitement they would expect.

      ‘Oh – my – god – this – is – flames,’ she says, in a kind of chant. ‘I hope that I look okay.’ And as she leans back over the pool like a latter-day narcissus, to catch her reflection, she hears another pair of heels enter the villa. She turns, glances over her left shoulder, feeling particularly grounded and statuesque, and looks up to see another pair of eyes meet hers so perfectly on cue it was as if the whole thing had been staged.

      ‘Oh – my – god!’ says Summer. Her blonde waves of hair look like she’s sitting on the back of a speedboat in front of a sun-soaked ocean.

      ‘You look amaze,’ Dawn says, running over to give her a hug.

      ‘Aw, you too, my love. That neon bikini is TD.’

      ‘Ha – is that good?’

      ‘TD? To die.’

      Dawn squeals and internally berates herself for not getting that sooner.

      ‘What’s your name, darl?’ says Summer.

      A pause. A hint of concealed disappointment. Of course, Dawn realises…Summer doesn’t know who Dawn is. Dawn is just one of five hundred thousand to Summer.

      But Dawn rallies quickly. ‘Dawn. Like the early morning,’ she says. A hand clasp. Summer pulls her in. Bare right shoulder meeting bare left. Dawn squeezes back.

      ‘Summer. Like… what it is now,’ Summer says.

      And she kisses Dawn on both cheeks. Summer smells just like Dawn thought she might. It’s such a coincidence, her being here, but Summer doesn’t think so. Summer doesn’t realise at all, as she runs her hand along the outdoor furniture, the sheen of the hot tub, the kitchen island counter.

      Dawn watches her, recalling those girls she used to admire from sports outings. So competitive on the day. Then with a brush of hair across their reddened faces, they became fast friends. The Maynard School: Summer Charles. How can she forget? She used to stare at those pictures before bed. Just an idol, just a role model, no harm in it.

      ‘Hey,’ Summer says, running back to her to take Dawn’s hands. Is that an embarrassed look on her face? A remembrance, at last?

      ‘When do you think the boys get here?’ Summer says.

      Dawn shakes her head in silence, blowing a curl of flame hair out of her eyes.

      ‘We’ve got the rest of the girls to come first,’ Dawn says.

      ‘Yes!’ Summer says, extracting enthusiasm from every surrounding atom. ‘Oh. Dawn?’

      ‘Yeah?’

      ‘I’m really looking forward to us becoming best friends.’

      And Dawn feels the glow within her again.