“Guess I’ll see you when you come back next summer, right?” she asked Will, unclipping her helmet and hanging it on the handlebar. Her stomach was in knots. She already missed him.

“Right,” he said. “I love coming here. Wish I could stay year-round.”

“It’s really different in the winter. Super dark. Storms nearly every day.”

He hesitated, staring down at her, the moonlight soft on his face. “I can handle storms,” he said quietly. Then he, too, took off his bike helmet.

She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth. “Okay,” she said, her voice soft with uncertainty.

“Okay,” he repeated. “Guess it’s goodbye for now.” Then his hand touched hers and took hold. His other hand brushed the hair from her cheek.

She was startled into motionless shock. In a flash of movement, he bent and touched his lips to hers. It was brief and sweet and a bit clumsy, the way their heads didn’t quite tilt at the same time. And the fireworks inside nearly knocked her over.

“Bye,” he said, taking a step back. He took another step back and stumbled a little, then laughed at himself. “See you next year.”

She was too dumbstruck to reply, so she just stood there like a statue as he put his helmet on and rode away into the night. She watched until the shadows swallowed him and the glow from his headlight disappeared.

Then she floated to the house, not feeling the ground beneath her feet.

Will Jensen had kissed her.

Will Jensen had kissed her.

Will Jensen had kissed her.

The world would never be the same.

And in that moment she knew, she just knew, that he would always be a part of her life, no matter what. They would always be friends, sharing everything, even if they were apart when he went away during the school year. He promised he would always come back, every summer. Their friendship would never change. Nothing—and no one—would come between them.

Chapter 17

At the start of the school year, while Caroline was fidgeting in church and contemplating the perils of the next grade, a miracle occurred. Not that kind of miracle, but the kind that made going back to school bearable.

Oceanside Congregational Church got a new pastor. He wasn’t the miracle, either. His daughter, Sierra, was. Caroline took one look at Sierra Moore and knew they were going to be best friends. They were the same age, and according to the church bulletin that had arrived in the mail with a story about the new pastor and his family, Sierra was in her grade.

When Sierra and her parents stood to be introduced to the congregation, a palpable murmur rippled like a gust of fresh air through the rows of pews. Sierra was what Caroline’s sisters would call drop-dead gorgeous. She had incredible red hair, pale skin, and ruby red lips. She had poise, too, regarding the sanctuary with a calm gaze and a slight smile. She was really tall, too, with model-perfect proportions—narrow hips and straight posture—and an actual sense of style. This was rare among the girls Caroline knew. Most of them stuck to cheap, trendy stuff from the discount stores. By contrast, Sierra was wearing a designer dress, low-heeled sandals that matched her belt—but not too perfectly—and a touch of makeup. Makeup. In church. It was like seeing a unicorn—thrilling and rare.

They were going to be best friends. Caroline just knew it.

She wasted no time getting to know the new girl. The moment services ended, she made a beeline to Sierra’s side. Mr. and Mrs. Moore were standing near the coffee service, greeting parishioners like a pair of royals, which in a small town they kind of were. Sierra stood slightly apart, one hand resting on a perfect little clutch bag on a gold chain, the other holding a bottle of water. A few of the boys were already edging close, checking her out, but in that dorky boy way, shoving and punching one another and snickering. Like that was going to impress her.

“I’m Caroline,” she said, elbowing past Kevin Pilcher, who was rolling up his shirt to demonstrate an armpit fart. “Don’t mind those guys. They’re idiots. I’m not. And we’re going to be in the same grade. Probably even the same homeroom—M through Z. I really like your outfit.” Stop babbling, Caroline told herself. Take a breath.

Sierra’s gaze was guarded for about two seconds. Then she smiled. “Thanks. I like yours, too. That’s a really cool skirt.”

Caroline stood up a little straighter. “I made it.”

A frown quirked Sierra’s brow. “You mean, like, you sewed it?”

“Yep. I sew all the time, all kinds of things, mostly my own designs.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

“That is seriously impressive. I love clothes so much, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about making them.”

“I’m still learning myself. Maybe one of these days we could design something together.”

Sierra beamed, her expression brighter than the sun. “How about we do everything together?”

Caroline grinned at her. “It’s a deal.”

That was pretty much what they did, starting that very day. Caroline introduced Sierra to her friends and family, showing her the charms and foibles of small-town life. Sierra had grown up in Southern California, so moving to the Washington coast was a big change for her. Caroline was intrigued by Sierra’s life—the only child, adored and indulged by attentive parents.

“Being a one-and-done is not all it’s cracked up to be,” Sierra often declared when Caroline expressed envy. “When I get in trouble, there’s never anyone else to blame.”

“If you don’t have brothers and sisters,” Caroline would point out, “there are fewer ways to get in trouble.”

“But more people to blame,” Sierra countered.

The first week of school was a whirlwind of trying to figure out schedules and lockers and extracurricular activities. Caroline, of course, picked Sewing Circle, which Lindy Bloom had organized. Rona Stevens tried to convince Sierra to try out for JV cheerleading. Apparently it was clear even to Rona that Sierra was the most important new student in school that year. Caroline held her breath, praying Sierra wouldn’t go for it.

“I’m not really any good at jumps and gymnastics,” Sierra confessed.

“There are tons of cheers that are mostly clapping and rhythm,” Rona assured her.

“I don’t know . . .”

“The bus trips are super fun. All the cutest boys are on the football team, too.”

“I’ll let you know,” Sierra said, as smooth and diplomatic as her father at a Sunday social. “The outfits are really cute.”

When Rona was out of earshot, Sierra muttered, “And by really cute, I mean yikes.”

Caroline was delighted. “So it’s a no on the cheerleading.”

“I’m kind of into cute boys, though,” Sierra said. And she didn’t even blush when she said it.

“Well,” said Caroline, “who isn’t?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Sierra asked.

“What?” Caroline was taken aback. She thought about last summer’s kiss—the moonlight, the hand brushing her hair from her cheek, the touch of his lips against hers . . . The whole thing had lasted maybe a few seconds, but ever since, she’d spent hours thinking about it. Too many hours.