There was a splotch of red from the mosquito Hilda slapped against her thigh. She wiped the remains on the edge of her shorts. It was still cool, cool enough in the humidity and the slowly rising sun.
Bianca was still spraying herself with repellent and was on her third coat. “Stupid things will find me anywhere,” she mumbled. It was true; despite her layers, there was a giant welt swelling at the base of her neck.
“That’s because you eat too many sweets,” said Gretchen. She was pushing around the oars, getting ready to launch them into the calm waters that lazily lapped at the shore.
“‘That’s because you eat too many sweets,’” said Bianca in a high-pitched pantomime. “You know that’s una mentira, right? An old wives’ tale.”
That’s because you eat too many sweets,’“All we are doing is
