(A/N) This fic is actually based on Ann Brashares' original plot line in the third book. However, me being the big Bridget/Eric fan that I am, I thought that their story should have been the entire book. Yeah, who really wanted to read about Lena, Carmen, and Tibby? (; Haha, I'm just kidding; I love them too. But I thought I would go a little more in-depth into Bridget's side of the story. Throughout my fic, I plan to cover the unanswered mysteries (How exactly did Bridget get sick? What exactly did Eric do in New York?). I also will include Eric's point-of-view of each event. I apologize in advance if anyone is miffed by me using Ann Brashares' original plot line; I just really wanted to elaborate on hers. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy reading!
Disclaimer: Characters, names, and some quotes belong to Ann Brashares.
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"Pennsylvania," Bridget exhaled to herself, beaming. She took another look around the crowded sidewalk for the camp bus and sighed. Bridget hadn't particularly enjoyed the tearful goodbye she had shared with Lena, Carmen, and Tibby a few hours earlier, but all that evaporated the minute she'd stepped off the plane.
Granted, though, she still missed them. After all, it was the sisterhood's last summer before they all went off to different colleges…their last real summer together as high school students…
Bridget made a move to wipe a stray tear off her face, but the pesky droplet vanished just as a faded yellow bus drove around the corner. It pulled up to Bridget's curb and the door creaked open. A chubby, bespectacled driver stared down at Bridget and smiled. Bridget grinned back at her and stepped in.
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The air at the Prynne Valley Soccer Academy smelled of fresh cut grass and soccer. Just… that soccer smell. Bridget couldn't explain exactly what it smelled of, but she knew that it filled her heart with that familiar longing. As she made the long trek to her cabin, she took the time to admire the freshly painted boundary lines and newly strung goals. I am going to have a lot of fun coaching this summer, Bridget thought, picking up her pace excitedly.
She reached for the door of her cabin, number 7, at the same time it swung open from the inside.
"Bridget!"
"Diana!"
The two girls screamed for what seemed like an hour and embraced. "I haven't seen you since Baja!" Diana cried, letting Bridget into the small cabin. "You look absolutely stunning, as usual! I think you grew taller, too."
Bridget tossed her huge duffel bag (the extent of her belongings) onto a bunk and turned to grin at her brown-haired friend. "Nope, I'm still 5'9. Maybe you shrunk." She winked for good measure.
Diana threw a pillow at her and grinned. "Haha, very funny."
Bridget skillfully dodged the attack and laughed, "I'm just kidding! But seriously, you look fabulous." She plopped onto her bed, watching dust fly up from the mattress.
The two girls continued to chat endlessly about school, boys and soccer, simply enjoying each other's company.
"So, anyone else we know coaching here?" Bridget asked.
Diana averted her gaze and stammered, "Um, no, I don't think so."
Bridget cast a suspicious look in Diana's direction. "You were always a terrible liar, Diana. Come on, who's here?" An innocent thought flitted into Bridget's head, but she waved it away like an annoying fly. Bridget rolled over onto her back and stared into Diana's reddening face, long blond locks fanning out onto the wooden floor. "Who is it?" she sang. "Jessica? Samantha? Maybe Andrea?"
Throughout Bridget's incessant singing, Diana's eyes continued to stay stubbornly fixated on the floor. Finally, Bridget gave up and, instead, grabbed Diana's wrist to read the time. "We have a staff meeting in eight minutes." Bridget rolled over, sat up and stuffed her feet into a pair of sneakers. "I'm going to find out who you're talking about."
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Bridget entered the dining hall with her nerves on end. Do I really want to think it? She didn't want to think it, in fear of jinxing it. But she also didn't want not to think it, in fear of disregarding it too soon. She was confused. She didn't know what she wanted. Bridget sighed and fidgeted with her silky, blond hair for the millionth time, eliciting approving glances from some of the male coaches sitting around her. Marly's hair, Bridget thought, as she smiled faintly back at the guys. I've always had my mom's hair. I hope that's all I've inherited.
Bridget's legendary hair warranted all-capitals: The Hair. The Hair that caused guys everywhere to melt into putty into Bridget's long, slender arms. The Hair that had instigated a thousand appreciative looks and whistles. The Hair that had consumed Eric whole, two summers ago. Am I sorry? Bridget thought. Is he?
Suddenly, as though someone had turned on a fan behind her, Bridget felt an imposing change in the atmosphere. Her nerves were tingling again, as they always did when she knew something huge was about to happen. Do I want to think it? Could it really be -?
"Bridget?"
Bridget turned slowly in her seat, heart thudding (was it in anticipation or dread?).
Her eyes went in and out of focus as she struggled to identify the face of the voice. Is it him? It definitely was him.
Eric Richman stood before her, hands stuffed in his pockets. He was wearing a tattered Manchester United jersey and long soccer shorts. He looks like he just went running, Bridget thought enviously. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to jump from her seat and sprint out into the Pennsylvania wilderness, never once looking back.
Eric's voice brought her back to reality. "How are you?" His dark, inquisitive eyes smiled at her. His kindness was genuine, Bridget could tell. She raked her eyes over him, the very person that she had spent two years dreaming about. The very person that changed her life forever. For the good or the bad, though, she had yet to decide.
Bridget abandoned all sense of manners and stammered, "I-I didn't know you would be here, Eric."
He grinned that lopsided grinned and waved a sheet of paper in her face. "They mailed us the staff list about three weeks ago."
Bridget bit her lip. "Oh I didn't read it."
"Typical Bridget." He smiled.
Bridget's eyes didn't know where to land. They fixed themselves on the floor, then on him, then on the space behind him. She felt incredibly awkward. After a painful silence, she finally opened her mouth to ask him about Columbia. Thankfully, at that exact moment, the head of the camp, Joe, decided to call all the coaches to order. Bridget cast another glance at Eric and scrambled to sit down, body just a bit shaky.
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Eric had expected Bridget to be there, just as he expected her not to have read the staff list. Am I expecting anything else? he thought to himself, then shook his head at once, ashamed of himself.
He had spent many days imagining their first encounter at Prynne. He imagined Bridget throwing a tantrum or throwing herself into his arms. (Eric had shamelessly hoped for the latter.) Either way, the actual encounter surprised him. Bridget seemed tamed, no longer "single-minded to the point of recklessness." She seemed more mature, more pensive, and more aware of the consequences of her actions. Is she sorry? he wondered. Am I?
But one thing about Bridget had not changed – her breathtaking beauty. Eric remembered her blond hair to perfect detail: the way it moved from side to side when she played soccer, the way it fell down her shoulders when she wrapped her arms around her knees, the way it fanned against the sands of Baja. As he sat behind her at the coaches' table, he studied her long, tan limbs. She seems taller.
Joe kept talking, but Eric didn't hear a word.
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(A/N) How was it? I hope you liked it. If you have any questions/comments, please feel free to leave a review - they are always appreciated. (: thanks!
