Family + Camp (working title)

Chapter 20 part 1: Water Sports Team

The gate opened, and Morrie led a boy and a girl a little older than Nell inside.

"Your troops have arrived," Nell's dad said with a flourish of his hand.

Sybil smiled. "Well, greetings and salutations!"

Nell's breath caught a little at the Charlotte's Web reference. It was a good thing, and made her even more happy that Sybil was her boss.

"Hi Sybil!" The girl said with an excited little wave. She was a tall light-complected African American girl with freckles across her nose.

"This is Isabel," Sybil said. She turned to the young man. "You must be Seth."

Seth had to have been in his twenties. He was pale with long sideburns stretching down from his brown hair, and wasn't as tall as Isabel. Nell herself was of average height. For the longest time, she had not "blossomed" as her mom called it in a totally ironic way that made Nell do an over-exaggerated yucky dance. They were mocking each other, of course. It was all in good fun. Nell's dad was not super tall—maybe five ten—and Sandra Wu was about five three but seemed much taller. That's because she didn't take shit from anyone and could stare you down every single time. Nell was around five-five. She hoped to add another couple of inches, but at seventeen, her growing up days were most likely over.

Isabel—"call me Izzy"—had to be six feet tall.

"Five eleven, actually," when Nell voiced this rather impudent observation out loud.

"I am so sorry," Nell said, even though she really was not. "That was rude of me to blurt."

Izzy sighed, long suffering. "I'm used to it."

"Are you used to people asking you if you like basketball or modeling?"

Isabel laughed in delight. "Oh my god. How did you know?"

Nell was puzzled. "Know what? That people would ask you about basketball?"

"No. Well, yes, people do ask me that. I mean about the modeling?"

Nell did a quick micro-study of her new colleague. Yup, Izzy was cute, like a button. Beautiful? Well, with some pancake makeup and some smokey eye shadow, yes—she could be a man eater. Her skin was pretty flawless—a couple bumps here and there on her forehead—and she had the legs going on for the proverbial miles. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail like Sybil, but Nell could tell it would be a wild, gorgeous mane of curls that would send Nell into a paroxysm of jealously. Nell's own hair was stick straight, shiny black like her mom's. Impossible to French braid unless done by a professional hair braider or when it was kind of dirty because, when freshly shampooed and dried, it was oh so slippery. Did not take to hot curling irons—Farrah Fawcett feathers? Forget it. That's why Nell opted for going au naturel: straight with thick bangs over her forehead—to hide the pimples that liked to gather there in evil, angry, ugly, painful clusters.

"Oh...you are a model," Nell said, catching on reluctantly. "Yes? Am I right?"

Izzy played at modesty falsely. "I am. I just got signed with an agency based in LA. I'm going to Paris in the fall for the runways."

"For the runways," Nell murmured, trying it out.