Sierra eagerly shucked her skirt and blouse. Underneath, she wore a bikini bra and panties that would probably send her folks into a dead faint if they knew she had ordered them in secret from a lingerie catalog. She had an amazing figure, with perfect boobs—not melons so big they made her selfconscious, just the right size for her tall, slender frame. Her abs were defined by the yoga she rigorously practiced, and her hips had just the right amount of curve. She was obsessed with an Australian TV show, Search for a Supermodel. She recorded the show on the VCR and watched each episode again and again, practicing her signature walk and fierce expressions.

Though only six months younger than Sierra, Caroline was light-years behind. Her boobs had barely sprouted and her hips were so straight she could easily fit into her little brother’s jeans. The only thing that marked her as a budding teenager was the least attractive thing about being a teenager—pimples. Yuck. Sierra, who was a genius with makeup, showed her how to cover up the spots, but Caroline was totally selfconscious, not even wanting to look in the mirror some days. Why couldn’t she have been blessed, like Sierra was, with pretty, unblemished skin? And silky long hair, for that matter? Instead, she had an unruly mane scraped into a messy bun that did her no favors at all. Worse yet, she got braces this year. It was a trifecta of ugly.

She wasn’t jealous of Sierra’s looks, though. She was grateful to have a friend who loved fashion and looked like a model and had patience for fittings.

She helped Sierra slip the dress over her head. “Okay, lift your arms.” She reached for a pincushion. “I need to fix the bodice.”

“It feels amazing,” Sierra said. She gamely raised her arms while Caroline made the adjustments. “I can’t believe you designed this yourself, Caroline.”

“Hold still,” Caroline said around the pins in her mouth. She used them to make a tuck in the dress so it would mold perfectly to her body. Seeing the garment on her friend, she was totally excited, because she was pretty sure it was going to be the best thing she’d ever designed. “Okay,” she said, “don’t scratch yourself on these pins.”

“It’s cool you get to use all of Mrs. Bloom’s gear,” Sierra said, looking around the well-organized space: a wall of spools in every color of thread, original patterns hanging from clips, drawers of notions, jars of buttons and embellishments.

“Totally cool. My parents freaked out when I told them I want to work here for the summer again instead of the restaurant. They just don’t get why I’m not obsessed with the restaurant the way my sisters are.” She spoke in a joking tone, but the truth was, it bugged her that her parents didn’t even try to understand how much she wanted to learn to design and make things. They seemed to think it was some passing fancy, like the time Virginia was dead set on getting a horse of her own. They had cured Virginia of the desire by having her work at Beachside Stables, taking care of the horses for tourists to ride on the beach. The plan worked. After a few weeks of cleaning stalls, picking hooves, and scraping horse sweat, Virginia was ready to hang up her spurs.

In Caroline’s case, the plan backfired. Even though she started out working at the lowest level in Lindy Bloom’s shop, sweeping the floor, shelving bolts of fabric, and filing patterns, she couldn’t wait to get to the shop each day. Instead of getting sick of the chores, Caroline only wanted to do more. She felt happy every minute she was making things.

She finished marking the back seams of the dress with a flat piece of tailor’s chalk. “Okay, I’ll finish it up for you real quick.”

“Cool.” Sierra peeled off the dress and handed it over. Still in her underwear, she browsed through the samples hanging on a rolling rack. She was totally unselfconscious. Totally poised. Caroline had no idea what that must feel like.

She sat down at Mrs. Bloom’s machine, which she coveted with every fiber of her being. This was the real deal. Not a home crafting machine like most women had stashed away in a closet somewhere, but an industrial wonder. She was saving up for one of her own, though even a secondhand machine cost the moon.

Feeling herself vibrate along with the hum of the motor, she finished altering the dress and then Sierra put it back on, smoothing her hands down the sheer cotton fabric, an unusual print of hand-drawn arrows. “It feels great,” she said.

“The fit is just right,” Caroline declared, positioning her in front of the cheval mirror. “Check it out.”

Sierra put on her wedge sandals, which made her even taller, and studied her reflection. “Oh, Caroline . . .”

“Let’s see,” said Mrs. Bloom, joining them. “Oh, Caroline,” she echoed, “that’s really something. What a lovely, unusual dress. So beautifully cut and sewn. I thought the fabric choice was risky, but with that tonal wash and the lining . . . Wow. Good job.”

“Thanks.” Caroline beamed with pride.

“Is that a Vogue pattern?”

Caroline and Sierra exchanged a glance. Sierra twirled in front of the mirror and said, “No, ma’am. This is a Caroline Shelby original.”

Mrs. Bloom inspected it further. “Wonderful work. Who knew I had a designer and a fit model right here in my shop?”

The girls couldn’t stop grinning as they looked at each other. “Thanks, Mrs. Bloom,” Caroline said.

Sierra fanned herself. “It’s still really hot out. We should hit the beach.”

Caroline glanced at Mrs. Bloom. “I need to stay and help close up.”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Bloom made a shooing motion with her hands. “I’ll close.”

“Well, thank you.” Caroline hesitated. “Um, would you like to come out to the beach for a bit?” Sometimes Mrs. Bloom seemed lonely, like she could use some fun in her life.

“It’s nice of you to ask, but no. I need to run along and fix dinner for Mr. Bloom.” She always called her husband Mr. Bloom, like he was her boss or something. He was a VIP at the bank, so maybe he liked being called Mr. Bloom.

“See you later, then,” said Caroline.

“I imagine the two of you are looking forward to wearing your new things to the clambake tomorrow,” she said.

“You bet,” Caroline said. She’d made a cool outfit for herself, too. It was another original design—a wraparound utiliskirt with pockets and grommets for everything. She needed a lot of pockets because according to her mom, she was a magpie, collecting every shiny thing that caught her eye. It wasn’t as dramatic as Sierra’s dress, but it suited Caroline and would do just fine for the clambake.

The clambake was the official kickoff to summer, one of many celebrations that took place each year on the peninsula. There would be food and music and games on the beach—pure heaven. Some people said, only half joking, that if not for all the festivals, nothing would ever happen here. This one was sponsored by a coalition of local churches to benefit youth services.

When she thought of summer, Caroline’s mind flitted automatically to Will Jensen. It seemed like forever since she’d seen him. It was forever. An entire school year had passed. She assumed he was coming to spend another summer with his grandparents, but she wasn’t sure. The two of them didn’t stay in touch during the school year. She didn’t know why. Probably because they were summer best friends, and the rest of the time they lived totally different lives. She sometimes saw his grandparents in church, but she never asked them about Will. She didn’t want to seem too eager. Or like she cared too much, which she totally did.

She was still amazed that he’d kissed her goodbye—a real, actual kiss, which was pretty much the best thing that had ever happened to her in her entire life. She thought about it all the time. So when she and Sierra ran into Mrs. Jensen walking Duffy on the boardwalk that day, she felt a guilty start, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Oh,” she said, flustered. “Hi there, Mrs. J.!” She hastily introduced Sierra to Will’s grandmother.

Mrs. Jensen offered a smile. “It’s nice to see you, Caroline. I was just thinking of you.”

Whoa. “You were?”

“We’re going down to Portland to get Will from the airport tomorrow,” she said.

Caroline’s heart stuttered. Tomorrow.

“Um, that’s, um, that’s great, Mrs. J.”

“I’m sure he’s eager to see you again.” Mrs. Jensen winked. “The two of you always have such a wonderful time when he comes for the summer.”

We do? She swallowed hard. Oh my God, what had he told her?

“He’ll be at the clambake, I imagine. He wouldn’t want to miss that.”

“Also great.” Caroline was sure her face had turned a dozen shades of scarlet. “Well, see you around, Mrs. J.!” She scuttled away, veering off the boardwalk to the beach path through the abundant fountains of dune grasses.

“Who’s Will?” Sierra followed close behind her.

Only the most important person in my life, thought Caroline. In the world, maybe. “Oh, just a kid I know,” she said, adopting a casual tone. “That’s his grandmother I just spoke to.”

“So does he go to our school?” Sierra persisted.

“Nope. Comes here for the summer. You heard her say he’s flying into Portland.”

“How come you never mentioned him before?”

Good question, thought Caroline. She shrugged. “Dunno. His grandparents have a place up the road, and he doesn’t really know anybody around here, so when he comes for the summer, we hang out sometimes.”