“Pass the bottle,” she told the nearest mom, Monica or Jessica or Nicole. “And a shot glass.”
She didn’t need the lime or the salt; she didn’t need anything at all. She did one shot, then two, then a third, all the while looking Monica or Jessica or Nicole right in the eyes.
It felt good. She felt like herself again. She was reminded of what it felt like to have a roomful—in this case a yard full—of people’s attention on her.
Then she gave a businesslike nod, a nod that said, Time to get started here. And she got ready to say all of the things she’d been holding back since that first day of surf camp, all those weeks ago.