Good Girls

by Sarah Freligh

Summer a long time ago, before everything changed, when all we did all day was show up at the pool and claim the corner farthest from the lifeguard and the bratty kids so we could pass around the thermos of margaritas heavy on the tequila that Penny filched from her father and when we got too high or too hot, we’d wade into the pool until we were turquoise with water and stay there until we were cool again and only then would we walk back up the stairs, slowly so all the boys could see the little slices of us, give them a taste of what we might be in a dark car before we yanked down our bikini bottoms and became good girls again.

Sarah Freligh is the author of Sad Math, winner of the 2014 Moon City Press Poetry Prize and the 2015 Whirling Prize from the University of Indianapolis; A Brief Natural History of an American Girl (Accents Publishing, 2012), and Sort of Gone (Turning Point Books, 2008). Recent work has appeared in the Cincinnati Review, SmokeLong Quarterly, diode, wigleaf and in the anthologies New Micro: Exceptionally Short Fiction (Norton 2018) and Best Microfiction 2019 and 2020 Among her awards are a 2009 poetry fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts and a grant from the Constance Saltonstall Foundation in 2006. 

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