“Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. Starts with indoctrination, and then there are three phases. Eight weeks of physical conditioning, eight weeks on diving and water skills, nine weeks of land warfare. Then you graduate and the real training starts. Assuming, that is, that you make it.”

“You will,” Sierra said. “I know you, Will. You’d never give up.”

“I hope you’re right. I used to watch the training on a courtyard in Coronado called the Grinder. I saw bigger, stronger guys than me reduced to tears.”

“So let me get this straight,” Caroline said. “You’re going to spend seven months learning to be part frog, part trained killer, and then go to the most dangerous places in the world, fighting and rescuing people.”

“You’re oversimplifying, but okay, it’s kind of like that.”

“Well, it all sounds completely terrifying and hard,” she said.

“That’s how moving to New York and being a designer sounds to me,” he joked.

“I wish you were coming to San Diego with me, Caroline,” Sierra said. “We’d never have to break up the band. There are design schools all over Southern California.”

“Aw.” Caroline gave her a nudge. “That’s tempting. It would be . . . safe, wouldn’t it? Like, too safe. I’m ready for something totally different.”

“I’m ready to take a swim.” Will peeled off his shirt and dropped it on the sand, then ran into the surf. He was chiseled to the last inch of his shadow, and already tan from California.

“God, he’s amazing,” Sierra said, untying the wrap skirt she wore over her bikini.

Caroline didn’t answer. She took her time shrugging out of the oversize baseball shirt that belonged to one of her brothers. The whole world knew Will Jensen was amazing, for chrissake.

“Let’s go, you.” Sierra grabbed her hand. “Let’s run. Let’s run so fast we can’t stop.”

Both girls let out loud whoops as they raced into the curling waves. Their whoops turned to screams as they hit the cold, heavy surf, but they persevered, as they did each summer, knowing the only way to deal with the chilly water was total immersion.

They surfaced in a circle of three, shuddering from the cold and laughing. “I’m dying,” Sierra said through chattering teeth. “Literally, dying.”

“I don’t think you mean literally,” Caroline said. “It feels good.”

“Summer never felt so good,” Will agreed.

Caroline dove beneath the surface, hearing with preternatural sharpness the shifting sand and the shush of the waves. When she emerged, Sierra was already swimming for shore.

“She didn’t last long,” Will observed.

“Nobody does.”

“You do,” he pointed out.

“I’m a freak. Just ask my brothers and sisters.”

“So we’re both freaks.” He held her gaze for a few seconds, then backstroked away.

Every once in a while, Caroline’s imagination played tricks on her. She’d see him looking at her in a certain way, maybe studying her mouth or her eyes and holding her gaze for a few seconds too long. Just for a moment, she thought about confessing that she had feelings for him, romantic feelings, but the moment passed, and she chickened out. Did he ever wonder about what would have happened if he hadn’t gone crazy over Sierra, if he’d chosen Caroline instead? It was the silliest of notions, and she was always quick to thrust it aside.

Sierra was his perfect match, not only in looks, but in temperament. Unlike Caroline, Sierra didn’t have some grand plan for her life that would send her haring off to New York City. Sierra was all about being in a relationship. Being a couple. Making a life that revolved around family. No wonder Will preferred her.

Caroline contented herself with being the third wheel. Boyfriends came and went, mainly to balance things out so she didn’t feel abandoned. Also to hide her yearning.

Summer ended, and with it, the days of their childhood. It was time for a new chapter for all of them. Will was leaving, and on their last night together, they made a bonfire on the beach, sharing bottles of beer illicitly acquired from the restaurant.

“On the last night of the last summer before the real world starts, I propose a toast,” said Caroline. “Wherever we go, we’ll stay friends.”

“Just like we are now,” Sierra agreed, taking a sip of her beer.

They all came in for a group hug. Will’s arms were strong as they pulled her and Sierra close. He smelled of salt air, and warm sand clung to his skin. She felt the craziest mixture of happy and sad, excited and scared, anxious and determined all at once.

“Friends, no matter what,” Sierra reiterated.

“Yes,” Caroline agreed. “No matter what.”

Like continental drift, their movement away from one another was both imperceptible and inevitable. There was a reason for the term drifted apart, Caroline learned. One of these days turned into none of these days. Let’s get together for sure actually meant never—how does never work for you?

Will went into the service, completing the grueling training to join the elite Navy SEALs, like his father before him. Sierra got her degree and moved from San Diego to the L.A. area. Caroline finished school and turned her tiny apartment into a crowded atelier, the entire space dominated by the tools of her trade—her prized single-needle machine, rolls of pattern paper and muslin, racks of samples and experimental garments. She made the rare visit home to Oysterville, but it never seemed to coincide with a visit from Sierra. Their friendship still existed, but it lay in the background, like their old snapshots preserved in albums they never looked at.

The drift was a natural progression, and as the seasons and then the years passed, the busyness of life simply took over. They were linked together on social media, but no one seemed to have time to spend bonding online.

When Sierra’s number appeared on Caroline’s phone one day, she did a double take. She was in the middle of a fitting for a piece from a major designer. His design director had hired her to do some patternmaking and sample sewing. Caroline wanted to perfect the piece, because if the director was happy with Caroline’s work, she’d likely hire her to do some actual design.

Although ignoring the call was agony, she let it go to voice mail. Fit models charged a hundred bucks an hour or more, and she didn’t want to get in trouble for keeping her model too long. The moment the fitting was over, though, she rushed outside and returned the call.

“Caroline!” Sierra sounded slightly breathless. “I need you.”

“What?”

“We need to get the band back together, that’s what.” She spoke as if no time at all had passed.

“Where are you?”

“In L.A. I have news. I’m getting married.”

Married.

Lots of her friends had been getting married, the news trickling in through online and family networks. And now this. Now Sierra.

“Wow,” she said. “Um, congratulations!”

“I want you to make my dress. And be my maid of honor,” Sierra said.

“Of course.” There was no hesitation. And it wasn’t until the call ended that Caroline realized she’d never even asked if the groom was Will.