it’s the best resort i’ve ever stayed in, beautiful sand and beautiful sun and beautiful people and, apparently, a trip from israel full of attractive men. my sister and i escape the hotel room because our mother has just lost her job and is in a continual state of depression and pissiness, and head down to the pool. it’s late, and the only others in the pool are a group of guys who ask me when the activities close, a question which i realize only later was meant as a conversation starter. we don’t talk much, however, because it’s hard to flirt when you have a middle-schooler as your wingman.
later, mom comes down to the poolside in a sort of unspoken apology, and the guys leave. “they were flirting with you,” my mom says, and my sister ducks her head in embarrassment, but my mom just looks at me a little sadly; i am growing up.
