one
"I am about to fall madly in love," Sam Bridges 
announced meaningfully over the phone to her 
two best friends, Emma Cresswell and Carrie 
Alden.
"Who?" Emma asked with surprise.
"Yeah, who?" Carrie echoed.
It was a natural question. The last time the 
three of them had been together was Christmas 
vacation, three months earlier. Emma, Sam, and 
Carrie had taken a trip to Miami. And although 
Sam had had an almost serious encounter with a 
hot young rock star, to Emma and Carrie's 
knowledge all that was in the past. So who had 
Sam met, they wondered, that she hadn't even 
mentioned in all their long-distance conference 
calls between Towson, Maryland (where Emma 
was a freshman at elite Goucher College), Or-
lando, Florida (where Sam was a dancer at 
Disney World), and New Haven, Connecticut 
(where Carrie was a freshman at Yale)?
"Is it Goofy?" Carrie asked, referring to Sam's
friend Danny Franklin, who played Goofy at 
Disney World.
"Hey, he may be Goofy, but he's my Goofy," 
Sam quipped. "Anyway, it isn't Danny. Goofy and I 
are, as the saying goes, just friends," she said.
"So who then?" Emma asked.
"Details are not important," Sam replied breez-
ily. "It's the intent that counts."
"Yes, but who is the intended?" Carrie pressed.
"I don't exactly know," Sam admitted, "but 
that's the best part!"
"I think the translation of that is that she isn't 
exactly seeing anyone," Emma told Carrie with a 
laugh.
"Hey, that only applies to right now," Sam 
pointed out. "I could meet the guy of my dreams 
during the Rockin' Fifties Revue this afternoon. 
He could be watching me from the front row, 
thinking I'm the most gorgeous and talented babe 
he's ever seen. We'd make eye contact right 
before I go into my cartwheel. Fifteen minutes 
later we could be swapping spit right under 
Mickey and Minnie's noses."
"As long as it's not Goofy's nose," Carrie said. 
"I have a feeling he'd like to be much more to you 
than just a friend."
"No, Danny's okay about it," Sam said. "He'd 
be happy to shake hands with my Romeo Man."
"Romeo Man?" Emma laughed.
"I like to throw in the occasional quaint expres-
sion," Sam said.
"Oh, it's quaint, all right," Carrie agreed.
"Hey, my motto is, live on the edge of possibil-
ity," Sam decreed blithely. "Knowing Mr. Tall, 
Dark, and Rich could walk into my life at any 
moment sort of keeps me going through my ten 
zillionth high kick at the Wonderful World of 
Disney. Sometimes I don't think I can stand it 
another millisecond," Sam said.
"It was your choice," Carrie pointed out. "You're 
the one who wanted to drop out of college to take a 
job dancing there."
"Right," Emma agreed. "You could quit if you 
wanted to, and go back to school."
"Pardonnez-moi, but some of us have to work 
to pay the bills," Sam told Emma huffily, "though I 
realize this is not a concept to which you can 
relate."
Emma's money was a sore point with Sam, and 
sometimes Sam pounced on Emma's most inno-
cent remarks. Emma was rich. Sam was not. 
Actually, different as all three of them were in 
background and personality, it still amazed them 
that they had become friends at all, much less 
best friends.
Emma was a Cresswell of the Boston Cress-
wells, one of the wealthiest families in the country. 
She had never had to do a day of work in her life. 
In fact, she'd shocked her parents the summer 
before, when she'd taken a job as an au pair on 
Sunset Island. Emma had been educated in 
Europe, spoke five languages, and was on a 
first-name basis with royalty. She longed to 
escape from the hypocritical, narrow confines, of
the life prescribed for her—maybe even to join 
the Peace Corps one day—but so far she hadn't 
been able to get up the nerve to confront her 
overbearing mother with her decision. Instead 
she just continued along as a French major at her 
mother's alma mater, snooty Goucher College, 
trying to decide what she really wanted to do and 
hoping that she hadn't been a pampered rich girl 
for so long that she no longer had what it would 
take to follow through with her dreams.
Carrie Alden came from an upper-middle-class 
family in New Jersey, where both her parents 
were pediatricians. Level-headed Carrie, who had 
always been an excellent student, was thrilled to 
be at Yale studying photography. If anything, 
Carrie tended to be too perfect, trying too hard 
to be everything to everyone.
And then there was Sam—irrepressible, one-
of-a-kind Samantha Bridges. Much to Sam's cha-
grin, up until a few months ago she had lived her 
entire life in the tiny town of Junction, Kansas. It 
was home, she said, to a few cows and acres and 
acres of cornfields. A few weeks after starting 
college on a dance scholarship at Kansas State, 
Sam had auditioned for a job dancing at Disney 
World. She'd gotten it and had dropped out of 
college without even telling her parents. Of course 
they had had a fit when they found out. But Sam 
felt certain that college was not for her, and 
dancing at Disney World was just a step to bigger 
and better things. She aspired to fame and for-
tune, with the emphasis on fortune. How she
would achieve it, she didn't know. All she knew 
was that she wished she could be there already.
"Hey, I thought this phone call was to talk 
about the party," Carrie reminded them, smoothly 
changing subjects. She was used to being a buffer 
between Sam and Emma.
"It's going to be fabulous, incredible, and out-
rageous," Sam enthused, already forgetting her 
momentary pique with Emma. "It is so nice of 
Graham and Claudia to offer their house for a 
spring-break bash."
"I agree," Emma said, willing to forget Sam's 
barbed comment. "Can you believe it's been over 
seven months since we were on Sunset Island?"
Sunset Island was where the three girls had 
become best friends the previous summer, and it 
was to Sunset Island they were about to return 
over spring break for the party of the year.
All three of them thought back to the past 
spring, when they had met at the National Au 
Pair Society convention in New York City. They'd 
come to like one another during the three days 
of classes and interviews, and had been really 
happy to find out they'd all been hired to work for 
the summer on fabulous Sunset Island, a resort 
island off the coast of Maine. Each girl had lived 
with the family that hired her, taking care of 
their kids and being a general helper, in return 
for room, and board, and a small salary. The best 
part was that Sunset Island was famous not only 
for its spectacular beaches and breathtaking sun-
sets, but for its parties with the rich, wild, and
sometimes famous. All three girls had been ready 
for a summer of adventure before the realities of 
college took over their lives, and all three of them 
had found it.
"What you mean, Emma, is can we believe that 
it's been over seven months since you've seen 
Kurt?" Carrie teased.
The Kurt Carrie referred to was Kurt Acker-
man, the first guy Emma had ever fallen in love 
with. Kurt had grown up on Sunset Island, and 
Emma had met him when she'd taken her three-
year-old charge, Katie, for swimming lessons at 
the Sunset Country Club. Kurt was the head 
swimming instructor. Between that summer job 
and driving a taxi at night, he was putting 
himself through college at the University of 
Maine. Emma and Kurt had vowed that her being 
rich and his being poor wouldn't affect their 
relationship, but it had anyway. There had been 
so many misunderstandings and recriminations 
that Emma had finally broken up with Kurt at 
the end of the summer. The final straw had come 
when Kurt had started dating Emma's worst 
enemy, Diana De Witt. Their relationship had not 
been platonic. Emma had felt as if she'd been 
stabbed in the back—she didn't feel that she 
could ever trust Kurt again.
And yet she couldn't seem to change what was 
in her heart. She knew she'd made mistakes, too, 
and perhaps they both had rushed into a relation-
ship they weren't really ready for. After a couple 
of months, Emma had written a letter to Kurt,
but Kurt had never answered it. Then, just when 
Emma had begun to tell herself she had to give 
up on Kurt, even if it broke her heart, she'd 
received a long, heartfelt response. Emma's tears 
had fallen on the pages as she read that Kurt, too, 
couldn't stop thinking about her, that he still 
loved her, that the only reason he hadn't an-
swered sooner was that it was so important to 
him to get down on paper exactly how he felt. 
He'd said he was scared, but more than anything 
else he wanted a second chance. Emma had 
written back that she felt the same way, that 
they both would learn from their mistakes of the 
summer. Now that the girls were planning this 
reunion party, Emma would soon see Kurt again. 
Just the thought of being with him again, of being 
wrapped in his arms, made Emma shiver all over. It 
definitely made concentrating on French literature 
difficult, if not impossible.
"I always told you the guy loves you," Sam 
said. "I'm really glad you're going to get back 
together."
"We're going to try, anyway," Emma said 
cautiously.
"Oh, please," Sam scoffed. "Five minutes after 
we hit Sunset Island you two will be in the dunes 
teaming off each other's clothes."
"Oh well, I guess that means I don't need to 
help plan this party, then, since I wont be there," 
Emma said with a laugh.
"Hey, this is a team effort, remember?" Sam 
reminded her.
"I know we decided to meet up before the 
party," Carrie said, "but we didn't decide where. 
How about if you guys come to Yale, and we hang 
out here, and then fly up to Sunset Island?"
"Sounds like fun," Emma said. "I love New 
Haven."
"And Yale guys are seriously cute," Carrie 
added.
"Forget seriously cute, let's talk about seri-
ously rich," Sam remarked.
"Never fear, Sam," Carrie said with a laugh, 
"some of them are seriously both."
"In that case, I'm there!" Sam giggled.
"You won't have any trouble taking so much 
time off from your job?" Emma asked Sam.
"Like I told you last time you asked," Sam said, 
"they love me at Disney World. Besides, there 
are understudies who are just dying to get on the 
stage instead of watching from the wings, so not 
to worry."
"As long as you're absolutely sure—" Carrie 
began.
"Hey, you two," Sam interrupted, "I have a 
mother, so chill out."
"Speaking of mothers," Carrie said, "my mom 
came up to New Haven last week for a medical 
conference. I finally introduced her to Billy. The 
three of us went to a Garth Brooks concert."
Billy Sampson was one of the two guys Carrie 
was dating. He was the lead singer for Flirting 
with Danger (or the Flirts, as everyone called 
them), the hottest band in the Maine area. They
were even starting to get some national recogni-
tion. Billy and the rest of the guys in the band 
were renting an old house on Sunset Island, 
which was where Carrie had met him the previ-
ous summer. She'd been dating him ever since, 
but she still hadn't resolved her relationship with 
her longtime high school boyfriend, Josh, who 
was now going to school with her at Yale. Carrie 
thought she just wanted to be friends with Josh 
now, and he definitely wanted more. He went 
crazy every time Billy came to Yale to visit 
Carrie.
"You went to a concert with your mother and 
your boyfriend who sings rock and roll, has a 
ponytail, and has a pierced ear?" Sam asked. "My 
mother would have dragged me back to Junction 
so fast the tread marks would still be smoking on 
the highway."
Carrie laughed. "My mom was pretty cool 
about it," she told them, "although she did say 
that it was weird to see me with someone other 
than Josh. Anyhow, she loves Garth Brooks, so it 
was a great equalizer."
"Hey, I hate to break up the conversation, but 
I've got a one o'clock class and it's ten to one," 
Emma said.
"What's more important, your class or Carrie's 
love life?" Sam demanded.
"Carrie's love life, definitely," Emma said, "but 
unfortunately I don't get tested on that!"
"I gotta boogie, too," Sam said. "I have a 
rehearsal for a new dance number."
"And I suppose I should go to the library and 
do some research for my American history pa-
per," Carrie said with a sigh.
After deciding that they'd hold their next 
conference call two days later at the same time, 
the girls hung up. Emma grabbed her books and 
headed from her expensive one-bedroom high-
rise apartment toward campus. Carrie dialed 
Josh's dorm room to see if he wanted to go to the 
library with her. And Sam changed clothes—not 
into a leotard and tights, which is what she would 
normally wear to a rehearsal, but into black 
pants, a white shirt, and a black vest.
Sam sighed. She didn't really have a rehearsal 
for a new dance number at Disney World. One 
week earlier she had been fired. Now she was 
dressed in her uniform for her second day of work 
at Big Al's Steak House. Sam was a waitress now.
She just couldn't bear to admit it to her friends.
Life sucks. That's what Sam thought as she 
accidentally banged her long legs into the edge of 
one of the tables at Big Al's for what already 
seemed like the thousandth time. As she rubbed at 
the spot, which she knew would soon turn an 
ugly purple color just like the spot above it, tears 
came to her eyes. How could this have happened 
to me? Just days before, she had been a dancer at 
Disney World, dreaming of Vegas chorus lines, 
solos in Broadway shows, and grand entrances at 
Sardi's. Today she was a waitress on the dinner 
shift, serving tourists in polyester pantsuits. She 
was not, to be sure, a happy camper.
"Hey, waitress! I ordered a baked potato, not 
fries!" a Midwestern-accented voice called out.
"Dear, we asked for water ten minutes ago," an 
elderly woman said, tapping on Sam's arm as she 
raced by.
"Yo, girlie, can we talk menus here? My kid is 
starving."
Don't think, Sam counseled herself. You will
lose your mind if you think. She hurried around 
the restaurant, hitting her legs three more times, 
then burning her hand when she grabbed a 
heated plate too hastily.
"Sam, why don't you take your break?" the 
other waitress suggested in a kind voice. Callie 
McMartin had been a professional waitress for 
thirty years. She felt sorry for Sam, and secretly 
thought she wouldn't last in the business for 
thirty days.
"Thanks," Sam said gratefully, holding her 
burnt hand gingerly and heading for the kitchen 
area, where the employees ate.
Sam grabbed a burger and was about to ease 
her feet out of the clunky black rubber-soled 
shoes that Big Al forced the waiters and wait-
resses to wear (Big Al had gone ballistic when 
Sam came to work wearing her trademark red 
cowboy boots). She stared down at her aching 
feet, encased in the ugliest shoes ever created by 
man, and she just couldn't help it—tears swam in 
her eyes. She thought back to what was to date 
probably the stupidest thing she had ever done— 
the thing that had gotten her fired from her 
dancing job.
It came down to a personality conflict, Sam 
supposed, but she found it hard not to blame 
herself for the part her own strong will had 
played in what she now saw as a monumental 
career setback. Carrie and Emma had often 
objected to her egocentric tendencies, but they'd 
always forgiven her in the end. Now—hindsight is 
always 20/20, Sam realized—she could see that
a difference of opinion was one thing between 
friends and quite another between a boss and an 
employee, or, in this case, a dancer and a director 
of choreography.
Not that Sam hadn't been duly impressed by 
Mr. Christopher at first. At the beginning, in the 
thrill of auditioning, then winning a place with 
the Disney World dance troupe, she'd taken the 
choreographer's directions as the word of God 
and felt like a favored angel in the bargain. Her 
long legs, supple five-foot-ten frame, flaming red 
hair, and what Mr. Christopher had called her 
"presence" had soon moved her from the back 
row to center stage in the lineup, and in the 
process had resulted in a few jealousies among 
the other dancers.
So what, she'd thought as she basked in her 
own glory. I'm not here to worry about other 
people's sour grapes. Now she wondered if the 
support of her peers might have changed any-
thing.
But even when Sam had most admired him, 
Mr. Christopher had reminded her of a bug, 
specifically a June bug, one of those buzzing 
beetlelike creatures that assaulted screen doors 
under summer porch lights. For one, he was 
hyperactive and he scuttled—that was the only 
word for it. Bulbous, protruding eyes and a 
couple of stray hairs that had a way of standing 
up from his thinning crown when he was agitated 
(which was often) enhanced the image, which was 
completed by his choice of wardrobe: baggy pants
and long, shapeless cardigan sweaters or jackets.
It hadn't taken long for Sam to figure out how 
Mr. Christopher had earned the nicknames that 
made their way through the dancers' dressing 
rooms. Though no one had made fun of his sexual 
orientation (he was unabashedly gay), his affec-
tations ran from annoying to downright obnoxious. 
As Leonard, Sam's dance partner, had expressed 
it, "Gay is about sexual preference. It's not an 
excuse to be whiny, bitchy, or shrill—that only 
gives the rest of us a bad image." Mr. Christo-
pher's voice tended toward a grating, petulant 
quality during rehearsals. His pet obsession was 
crispness.
"Puh-leez, Samantha! You're absolutely wilt-
ing on me! Keep it crisp! Crisp!"
"Are we in a dance revue or a salad spinner?" 
Sam had whispered to Leonard.
A few days later, someone had altered the sign 
pointing in the direction of the dressing rooms so it 
read "Salad Dressing Rooms." The other dancers 
could barely control their laughter, and Sam had 
felt she was finally a real member of the troupe. 
Now, looking back, it might have been the point 
at which, smartswise, she became a real vegetable. 
Buoyed by the confidence of feeling she 
belonged, it wasn't long before she was 
overstepping her bounds in a rehearsal for the 
Wild West Revue.
"And reach-two, reach-two, spin-two, dip-two, 
jump-two, splits . . . and hold!" barked the 
Critter—as in Crispy Critter—which was that
week's moniker for the choreography director. 
Everyone had held. Almost immediately the 
Critter had darted from the wings and scuttled 
across the stage. "Okay, everybody up, and places, 
please. Samantha, if you don't mind telling me, 
what, exactly, was that move there at the end? It 
certainly wasn't a split."
"Well, it's, um, just a little variation I worked 
out on my own time," Sam had said, not sounding 
nearly as assured as she'd meant to. It was true 
that the move, two rapid alternating waist-high 
kicks with both feet off the ground at once, had 
required hours of practice. She'd made sure she 
could do it flawlessly before springing it on the 
troupe and her director. She had hoped it would 
lead to more recognition, maybe even a solo. She 
had anticipated applause.
"Is it your opinion that this routine needs 
variation?" the Critter had asked innocently.
Might as well go for broke, she'd thought. "To 
be honest, it does seem like this is almost the 
exact same routine we do for the Rockin' Fifties 
Revue. I mean, except for a couple do-si-dos."
Someone in the back line had tittered. Embold-
ened, Sam had continued, "I thought the kicks 
might look more cowboy, you know, more rodeo, 
more Wild West. I'm not sure a cowgirl would 
even do splits. After all, they have cactuses and 
all kinds of prickly things on the ground out 
there—it could be painful."
The suppressed laughter had erupted then, but 
Mr. Christopher hadn't cracked a smile. His eyes
had seemed to bulge out farther from their 
sockets as the last sounds died onstage.
"Thank you for that edifying lecture on the 
dance techniques of our western states," Mr. 
Christopher had said. "We're on a ten-minute 
break here. Samantha, I wonder if you'd be so 
kind as to grace my office with your presence."
Sam's heart had been thudding as she pushed 
open the door marked E. J. Christopher, Direc 
tor of Choreography. She'd tried for her most 
dazzling smile, but it had frozen before it cleared 
her teeth when she saw her employment folder in 
the hands of the director.	.,
"Come in, Samantha, and shut the door behind 
you."
"M-Mr. Crisp—I mean, Christopher, I'm really 
sorry if I disrupted rehearsal. It wasn't at all 
what I'd—"
"Don't waste my time or yours, Samantha. It 
wasn't really working out, anyway."
"Wasn't wor—what do you mean?"
"You're a stunning girl, as I'm sure you're 
aware, with a fiery personality to match that hair 
of yours. Unfortunately, individuality is not what 
we're after here."
Sam interjected, "I know, I know, and it won't 
happen again, I promise! I'll never be original 
again. I'll do everything you say, I really will! 
Now that I understand a little better ..."
Mr. Christopher had stopped Sam's babble 
with a graceful hand held upright. For the first
time she had seen something like kindness in his 
expression.
"My dear Samantha, I have a feeling the good 
Lord did not put you on this earth with the intent 
that you never be original. Frankly, you scream 
of originality. So perhaps it's my fault in thinking 
that this might have worked out."
"But it will!" Sam had interrupted. "I can—"
"No, you really can't," Mr. Christopher had 
said mildly. "I have a job to do and, if you will, a 
product to deliver. In some situations your standing 
out from the crowd would be an asset, but here 
it isn't. I realize you'll take this as a rejection, 
and I'm sorry about that. But it isn't fair to you, 
or to me, to put this off any longer. I'm 
terminating your contract as of today."
Sam had fled from his office in tears, too 
miserable even to try to retreat with dignity. 
She'd been grateful that neither of her room-
mates, two flight attendants, was home at their 
tiny, seedy excuse for an apartment. Even after 
almost six months, she hardly knew them. Usu-
ally they'd been either out of town or partying, 
and she'd always been rehearsing, performing, or 
partying herself. Now she didn't know where the 
next rent check was coming from, and she wasn't 
in the mood to discuss it with virtual strangers.
Sam hated being alone, though. She had des-
perately needed to talk with someone. Carrie and 
Emma had immediately come to mind. They were 
the only ones who would understand how abso-
lutely tragic this was.
Or maybe not, she'd thought. She could just 
hear practical Carrie telling her that getting fired 
from Disney World wasn't exactly life-threatening. 
Carrie would probably bring up their narrow 
escape from death at sea during Christmas break.
Now that had been life-threatening. At a party 
on a yacht off the coast of Miami, the three of 
them had been cut adrift on a tiny dinghy, and 
were lost at sea during a torrential storm.
And when she'd thought about it, how could 
Emma possibly relate to some stupid little dancing 
job at Disney World, when all she had ever had 
to do in her life was look perfect and decide how 
to spend money?
No, Sam had decided, she really couldn't tell 
Carrie or Emma, much as she might like to. Their 
good opinion of her simply meant too much—she 
was not willing to risk losing it.
"Better put on your skates, girl. You just got a 
party often and they want separate checks." Big 
Al's voice dropped Sam rudely back into the here 
and now. Yuck.
"Be right there," Sam sighed, lacing up the 
loathsome black shoes.
Okay, she vowed as she double-knotted the left 
lace, / can deal with this. I'll just pretend I'm an 
actress in a play, and this is only act one. By the 
end of the play I'll be a rich and incredibly 
famous dancer, and—
Hey, wait a minute, Sam thought, stopping 
before she pushed through the swinging door into 
the dining room. I'm on to something here. If I
can pretend I'm an actress, why can't I be an 
actress? Actresses are original! I didn't get fired 
for being incompetent, after all. Dancing at 
Disney World is not the only game in town, 
thank you very much!
As Sam filled the water glasses for her new 
table, her mind was buzzing. Orlando was cur-
rently booming as a center for the movie indus-
try. It was a town full of opportunities for an 
original, talented vixen such as herself. And, hey, 
lots of famous actresses had had to wait tables in 
their climb to the top.
Sam straightened her shoulders as she carried 
her tray of water glasses to the table. A mirror 
on the wall caught her eye. There she was, in that 
drab waitress outfit, her glorious hair pulled back 
into a bun. Truly a hideous sight. Sam sighed and 
set the glasses on the table with a thud. A baby 
mushed his well-gummed cookie into her stomach 
and stared up at her with a toothless grin.
Yeah, right, Sam thought. Like any producer 
is going to recognize my potential here at Big Al's 
Steak House.
"Darling, you're not busy, are you?" came 
Emma's mother's voice through the phone.
Emma was, but she knew from experience it 
wouldn't do any good to tell that to Katerina 
Cresswell.
"Go ahead, Mother, I've got a few minutes."
"Lucky you. If I get tapped for one more 
charity ball committee, I'll be down to absolute
milliseconds of free time. As it is, I'm planning a 
retreat to Glen Echo next week, just to offset the 
stress."
Glen Echo was an exclusive Colorado spa for 
the mega-rich. Emma had once made the mistake 
of referring to it—within earshot of her mother— 
as pamper-therapy for gilded heifers, but her 
New Year's resolution was to try to be nicer to 
her mother, no matter what.
"That's nice, Mother. I'm sure the change of 
pace will do you good."
"You really must start calling me Kat, Emma," 
her mother said. "You know no one believes I'm 
old enough to have a daughter your age—wouldn't it 
be much nicer?"
This was one request that Emma just couldn't 
bring herself to honor, New Year's resolution or 
no New Year's resolution, so she just kept her 
mouth shut.
"I know you'll try to remember about the name 
thing," Kat supplied. "By the way, have you 
heard from your father lately?"
Neat segue, Emma thought. Katerina Cresswell 
always did manage to get around to her point 
quickly, single-minded as she was about her 
every desire. So her mother wanted to talk to 
Emma about her father. That was the real reason 
she had called. Emma should have known her 
mother wouldn't call for permission to take a 
vacation.
Emma sighed and rubbed her temples, which 
began to throb whenever one of her parents
wanted to talk with her about the other. Her 
parents had been negotiating—if you could call it 
that—a very sticky divorce for what seemed like a 
lifetime. At this point they talked only through 
their respective lawyers, except in the instances 
when one or the other tried to pull information 
out of Emma. Another of her resolutions had 
been to stay as far as she could get from the front 
line of their battles. They hadn't ever been a real 
family, and lately not even a pretend family. 
Emma figured it was simply none of her business 
anymore.
"Somehow, Mother," she replied, "I suspect 
that you know very well I haven't heard from 
Dad." Resolution numero uno was starting to 
falter.
"What about the great mystery of your Christ-
mas present?"
Emma's father had been dropping hints since 
Christmas about a special present, that would be 
awaiting her on her next visit. Emma hadn't seen 
her father for the holidays, even though she'd 
been as close as a cab ride. He was in Palm Beach 
with his new girlfriend, Valeric, who was (much 
to Emma's embarrassment) only a few years 
older than Emma herself. Had Emma stayed in 
Florida, as she'd planned, she might have gotten 
up the nerve to storm the fortress of that little 
love nest. But the Florida vacation had ended 
early when Carrie and Sam had decided they 
wanted to be home for part of the Christmas
season after all, and Emma had ended up going 
back to Boston.
Not that there had been anything to go back 
to except her lonely apartment. Sure, there was 
the family mansion on Beacon Hill, but Emma's 
mother was so involved with trying desperately 
to hold on to her love affair with twenty-five-
year-old artist Austin Payne that she had barely 
paid any attention to Emma.
"Emma? Are you there?" Kat trilled into the 
phone.
"I'm here, Mother," Emma sighed, burrowing 
down into her plush white-on-white jacquard 
velvet chair.
"Didn't your father's Christmas telegram say 
he had a big surprise for you in the new year?"
Emma sat up quickly. "And just how do you 
happen to know that?"
"I'm redecorating, dear," Kat said smoothly. 
"You left it out in your bedroom in plain sight at 
Christmastime."
"It was in the drawer of my nightstand," 
Emma snapped. Her hand gripped the phone 
receiver and her knuckles turned white. This was 
going too far, even for her mother.
"Emma, I certainly have to clean things out 
before I can redecorate," Kat explained self-
righteously.
"Mother," Emma began, "you've never cleaned 
out anything in your life except maybe a bank 
account."
"And how fortunate for me that there's always
more money to fill it right up again!" Kat an-
swered gaily.
Emma sighed again. Her head was really be-
ginning to throb now. "Listen, Mother, I have to 
go. I have an exam in Renaissance history to 
study for."
"Oh, well, if you can't spare the time for me, I 
understand," Kat said, switching to her little-girl 
voice.
"It's just that I have to get to the library—"
"Just remember that I'm the one who called 
you, Emma, not your father, that's all I ask. 
That's fair, isn't it?"
"What are you talking about?" Emma said, 
completely confused.
"If anyone should ever ask you which parent 
cares enough to call ..." Kat began.
"Anyone who?" Emma demanded. Her irrita-
tion was now definitely greater than any resolu-
tion. Oh, her mother drove her crazy!
"Anyone like, oh, a lawyer or someone," Kat 
continued innocently. "One never knows."
"Fine," Emma said. Anything to end this con-
versation!
"I'll just toddle off now, dear," Kat sang. "Be 
sure to get your beauty sleep. Remember, college 
comes to an end, but crow's-feet last forever!"
Emma had barely hung up when the phone 
rang again.
"Hi, sweetheart. How's Daddy's princess?"
Great, thought Emma, a double-header. Still, 
she couldn't seem to have quite the same animos-
ity toward her father that she did toward her 
mother. She always felt as if he really wanted to 
be close to her, but just didn't seem to know how 
to do it.
"Hi, Dad. What's up?" Emma asked, settling 
back into the plush chair cushions.
"I was about to ask you the same thing. How's 
school?"
"Fine," Emma answered.
"You enjoy it, princess," her father said. "Col-
lege was a wonderful time in my life, you know."
"I know, Daddy," she said gently. Although 
Emma's father was one of the most successful 
multimillionaires in the country, he often seemed 
to long for his college days. Emma guessed that 
everything had seemed simpler to him back then— 
no board meetings, none of the pressure of run-
ning the family businesses, no Katerina.
"So, listen, princess," her father continued. 
"What's the world coming to when a young girl 
can hold out till March without even asking about 
her Christmas present?"
"Oh well, you know ..." Emma began lamely, 
twisting the phone cord around her fingers. How 
could she explain that her father's presence would 
have meant much more to her than any gift he 
might dream up? But she was too old to go 
begging for affection like some little kid. It was 
too late for all that, anyway.
"The point of my call is that I think you've 
waited long enough," her father's voice boomed
through the phone. "How soon can you get down 
here?"
"To Palm Beach?" Emma asked, confused. "I 
wasn't planning to come to—"
"Be spontaneous!" her father interrupted. 
"Spring break is coming up. What better time to 
head for Florida?"
Emma didn't mention that she'd just been in 
Florida a few months ago. "Actually, Daddy, I've 
already made plans for spring break."
"So how about you come to Palm Beach before 
wherever it is that you're headed?" her father 
suggested.
"Gee, Daddy, I don't think—"
"Wouldn't spring break be a lot more fun in a 
snappy new convertible?" her father coaxed her.
"You're buying me a new car?"
"You pick it out, it's yours!" Her father's voice 
boomed eagerly through the phone. "I've been 
waiting so you could pick it out yourself. Wouldn't 
that be great?"
"That's really nice of you, Daddy, but—"
"And while you're here," her father continued, 
"you could finally meet Valerie."
Valeric. Her father's girlfriend. Fiancee. What-
ever. Meeting her was not exactly Emma's idea 
of a good time. And meeting Valerie was obvi-
ously the true purpose of her father's invitation to 
Palm Beach. Emma definitely needed time to 
figure out what she was going to do.
Emma leaned forward. "Listen, Dad, I'm ex-
pecting a call from my tutor, and it's really
important. See, I was sick and missed some 
classes, and there's a test tomorrow." She paused. 
"I'll think about how I could work that out and 
get back to you, okay?"
When her dad had hung up, Emma turned the 
ringer off and set the answering machine to pick 
up. The headache that had begun with her mother's 
phone call was now pounding mercilessly 
through her skull. Her stomach was tied in knots; 
even her hands were shaking. How could she let 
her parents affect her this way? She vowed over 
and over that she'd be cool, that she wouldn't let 
them meddle in her life or hurt her anymore. But 
somehow she always found herself somewhere in 
the middle, with this horrible headache that cut 
like a knife.
Lately, only one thing seemed to help a little, 
and that was a glass of wine. At least it eased the 
worst of the tension until she could begin to think 
of what to do.
Emma padded into the kitchen and took a bottle 
of white wine out of the refrigerator. She'd been 
keeping a few bottles of good wine on hand in 
case she had company. Then she'd discovered 
that even at snooty Goucher College most of the 
kids drank beer, not wine. Besides, she hadn't 
really met anyone she wanted to have over, 
anyway.
She had, however, gone through two of the 
bottles of wine already. Lately she'd been treating 
herself to a glass of wine at bedtime. It helped her 
relax and fall asleep, and took her mind off
the hodgepodge of questions that seemed to 
creep in whenever she let down her guard: Kurt, 
the Peace Corps, school, and most of all the 
constant tension in her family. Frankly, all of it 
made her sick sometimes.
Emma opened a bottle of chardonnay she'd 
been saving for a special occasion, poured a glass, 
and took it with her to change for bed. After 
slipping into her favorite Chinese silk pajamas, 
Emma walked back over the lush oyster-shell-
colored carpet to the living room, where she flicked 
on her favorite classical station. She savored the 
wine. This is definitely helping to clear my 
thoughts, she said to herself.
She now considered her father's offer from a 
new perspective. Wouldn't spring break on Sunset 
Island and a romantic rendezvous with Kurt be 
improved by a snappy new convertible? At the 
height of the previous summer's relationship, 
Emma would have said that Kurt was way too 
down to earth to be impressed by something as 
superficial as a new car. Then Diana De Witt had 
whisked him off to New York for a dream week-
end on her bankroll, and Emma had learned a 
bitter truth: even people who insist they aren't 
influenced by money can fall prey to the lure of 
the almighty dollar.
Of course, if Kurt was still enthralled by that 
kind of display, Emma really didn't want him. 
Still, it might not hurt to make a good impres-
sion. Though she'd dated a few different guys 
since she'd begun college, no one could compare
to Kurt. Just the thought of his blue eyes and the 
memory of his arms around her made her feel 
that her heart was still imprisoned by the magic 
of the previous summer.
But it was a scary way to feel. It made her feel 
too vulnerable. And no matter what Kurt's letter 
said, there was always the possibility that she 
cared about him more than he cared about her. So if 
she showed up in an incredibly hot new car, just 
maybe it would make it seem that her life without 
him was more exciting than it really had been.
Surprised to see that she'd just about finished 
her wine, Emma went to the refrigerator for a 
touch more. She had pulled the cork and was 
lifting the bottle when she recalled hearing—or 
had she read it somewhere?—that drinking alone 
was a warning sign of alcoholism. Ridiculous, she 
thought, / hardly drink at all! Still, she was 
careful to fill the glass only halfway this time.
Her parents had never thought twice about 
ordering her a glass of wine at any of their fancy 
restaurants or resorts. And certainly it had been 
available at all of the parties they had attended. 
Screwed up as her mother and father were, Emma 
reflected, they were not alcoholics. When Emma's 
childhood companion Trent Hayden-Bishop, had 
deemed to make up for the trouble he had caused 
her on Sunset Island the summer before, sending 
her a very convincing ID stating her age as 
twenty-one, Emma hadn't hesitated to slip it into 
the inner pocket of her wallet. The fact was, 
people were generally impressed by her poise
and obvious wealth, and assumed she was of legal 
drinking age anyway. They rarely asked her for 
identification.
Savoring each sip (she'd have to remember this 
vintage, it really was good), she settled back on 
the couch to think through her travel plans. She 
could always make a very, very short visit to her 
father, pick out a car, then scoop up Sam on the 
way north through Orlando. Wouldn't Sam just 
love a road trip in a brand-new, to-die-for con-
vertible?
The thought of looking cool, rich, and carefree 
in Sam's eyes pleased Emma somehow. Sam was 
so good at grabbing the reins of her life and 
galloping ahead. Emma had to admit she envied 
her for that.
Suddenly she couldn't wait for the scheduled 
conference call with her friends. She was going to 
take up her dear daddy's offer, and she was going 
to plan the entire trip!
Emma took one more sip, set her wineglass 
carefully on one of the hand-woven coasters she'd 
bought to protect her new mahogany coffee table, 
and reached for the phone.
"It's confession time, Ms. Goody Two Shoes!"
It was early the next morning, and Emma's 
voice was teasing over the phone, but Carrie felt 
like her brain wouldn't kick in until she'd had a 
shower and two or three cups of coffee.
"Huh?" was her sterling response.
"I must have left you four messages last night!" 
Emma cried, "then I finally gave up somewhere 
past the witching hour. So was it Josh, or Billy, 
or someone new?"
Carrie cleared her throat and wiped her eyes 
blearily with the back of her hand. "As a matter 
of fact, I was in the darkroom until seven, the 
library until it closed at eleven, and downstairs in 
the study room until almost two."
"Yale's tough, huh?" Emma said compassion-
ately.
"Nothing I can't handle," Carrie assured her. 
"So what were these frantic phone calls about?"
"A great idea I wanted to run by you and Sam," 
Emma said eagerly. "I finally found Sam after 
eleven. I was bursting by that time!"
"So what is it?" Carrie asked.
"Could I interest you in a plan that would take 
us to Sunset Island in high style?"
"Sure," ventured Carrie, "let's hear it."
Quickly Emma filled Carrie in on her conver-
sation with her father. She'd planned on asking 
for some words of wisdom about her mother's 
call, too—Carrie was so level-headed—but Emma 
decided that with Carrie working so hard at 
school, it really wasn't fair to ask for free mental-
health counseling.
"A new car!" Carrie cried. "That's great! You 
mean you're going to drive it to Sunset Island?"
"We're all taking it to Sunset Island—that is, if 
you guys agree," Emma answered. "Here's the 
plan. First I'll fly to Palm Beach and pick up the 
car, then I'll drive to Orlando and get Sam."
"You mean you'll pick up the car and meet 
Valerie," Carrie corrected Emma. "You left out 
that detail." Emma had told Carrie about her 
father's girlfriend months earlier, and Carrie 
knew that the last thing Emma wanted to do was 
to actually meet the woman.
"Silly me," Emma said in a flat voice. "Did I 
forget to mention that trivial thing?"
"Maybe it won't be as bad as you think," Carrie 
said. "Maybe she's . . . nice."
"And maybe she's loathsome," Emma responded. 
"My father put her on the phone with me once. 
Carrie, she squeaked."
"Bad sign," Carrie said solemnly.
"I sort of wish Sam could come to Palm Beach
with me," Emma admitted. "I don't really want to 
face Valerie alone—but she can't get away from 
Disney World any earlier."
"Just as well," said Carrie. "Sam is not known 
for her tact, so she might just stick her foot in her 
mouth and make the whole thing worse. On the 
other hand, maybe Valerie will turn out to be a 
decent person."
"There you go," Emma quipped, "being nice 
and giving people the benefit of the doubt. You've 
got to stop that."
Carrie laughed. "But maybe she really is nor-
mal!"
"Right," Emma scoffed. "She's only a few years 
older than we are. Can you see yourself marrying 
an insecure guy old enough to be your father?"
"Not really," Carrie admitted.
"I rest my case," Emma said. "Valerie is defi-
nitely in it for the bucks, and it makes me sick."
Carrie sensed the conversation drifting into 
rough waters. Fortunately she was adept at 
steering a smoother course. "So, anyway, where 
do I fit into this travelogue of yours?"
"Of course we can pick you up in New Haven, 
but I wish you'd think about meeting us in 
Orlando. Sam thinks we should check out Day-
tona on the way up."
"I wish," said Carrie wistfully. "But I don't see 
how I'm going to meet all my deadlines as it is. 
You'll just have to give me the gory details once 
you get here. Which, by the way, will be when?"
Since Emma started spring break one week
ahead of Carrie, they agreed to meet in New 
Haven the following Friday. They decided on an 
early lunch at the Hummingbird, one of Carrie's 
favorite near-campus cafes. That would give Carrie 
the morning to tidy up loose ends, and the trio 
could still make Boston for an overnight stay at 
Emma's apartment. The following day would put 
them easily into Portland with time to catch the 
ferry to Sunset Island.
"We'll arrive in time to see the sunset on the 
island." Carrie sighed longingly. "It's hard to 
believe this is really going to happen!" She glanced 
over at her clock. Eight-thirty! She still had to 
shower, dress, and make a stop at the Yale Daily 
News office before her first class. "I've got to fly, 
Em!"
"I can't wait to see you!" Emma told Carrie.
"Me, too," Carrie added. She hung up the phone.
Carrie jumped off the bed, her usual efficient 
self, but suddenly a feeling of loneliness and 
sadness hit her in such a wave that she had to sit 
back down again. Get a grip, Carrie, she coun-
seled herself, commanding her legs to carry her 
to the showers.
As the steaming water ran over her body, 
Carrie thought about how much she missed her 
two best friends. But she also thought about how 
much they didn't know about her life. They 
simply had no concept of the intensity of the life 
she was leading now. It was a far cry from the, 
seemingly carefree existence they'd enjoyed as 
au pairs the summer before.
To all outward appearances, Carrie's freshman 
year at Yale was a complete success. Privately, 
she felt like a juggler, wondering how much 
longer she could keep this many plates in the air 
at once. Her long-distance romance with Billy 
seemed to intensify with each separation, just as 
seeing Josh almost every day on campus was 
creating new and stronger bonds. And jealousy 
was creeping in from all sides of the triangle.
While Carrie's dream of becoming a photojour-
nalist was moving along on schedule, the burden 
of success was beginning to weigh on her. Win-
ning a statewide high school photography contest 
at the end of her senior year had started opening 
doors, and her summer on Sunset Island had 
taken her to new heights in her chosen field. Her 
backstage pictures of the local band Flirting with 
Danger had been picked up by Hard Rock News. 
And the Templetons, who had hired her as an au 
pair, had turned out to be the family of legendary 
rock idol Graham Perry. Respect for Carrie's 
talents had led Graham to request her as his 
photographer for an interview in Rock On.
Now her coveted position as freshman photog-
rapher for the renowned Yale Daily News was 
making her name known around New Haven as a 
talent on the rise. Clifton Hughes, the newspaper 
editor, had even sent her to New York on two 
occasions to cover theater productions involving 
recent Yale alumni. The trips had been grueling 
and had required a couple of all-nighters in the 
study room to keep up with her coursework, but
Hughes had been highly laudatory of the resulting 
photos.
Carrie turned her face into the spray of the 
shower and let the water pulse over her head. In 
spite of studying at least as hard as anyone in her 
dorm, she was not altogether pleased with her 
academic performance. Though her first-term 
grades had been excellent, they had fallen short 
of the straight-A average she'd been able to 
maintain in high school.
"My heart jus' bleeds for ya, girl," her friend 
Mona had quipped on the day grades were posted. 
"What'd you expect, a cakewalk? This here's 
Yale, babe."
Mona lived in the room across the hall from 
Carrie's. She was a National Merit Scholar from 
Atlanta, a freshman representative on the Minority 
Council, and handled a part-time job in an off-
campus clothing boutique as well. Mona was, in 
her own words, "bi-dialectal," and could whip into 
a metropolitan black dialect at the drop of a hat.
"Here you are, a published photographer," 
Mona had said, "with not one, but two studly 
dudes fallin' at your feet. You're smart, you come 
from a good family, you have rich, excitin' friends 
to go to exclusive islands with—your life is the 
pits, girl!"
"In other words, I should get over it," Carrie 
had said ruefully.
"You don't learn to chill out, you gonna grow up
to be a stereotypical uptight white woman," 
Mona had told her with a twinkle in her eye.
In some part of her mind Carrie knew that 
even though Mona was teasing her, she was 
serious, too. It's just that everything seems so ... 
overwhelming sometimes! she thought.
She shut off the shower and returned to her 
room.
"Oh my God, I'm a moose," she murmured as 
she caught sight of herself in the mirror on the 
wall. She pulled her well-worn terry-cloth bath-
robe tight around her, but then took it off and 
climbed back into bed for a few minutes to 
contemplate the situation. She could hear Mona's 
voice in her head, telling her she was nowhere 
close to being fat. Unfortunately, I know the truth, 
Carrie silently answered the voice. She had gained 
over fifteen pounds since she'd started college. 
She pulled the covers up over her head.
It was all so terrible, so scary, so out of control! 
The form-fitting wardrobe she had finally gotten 
up the nerve to wear had moved to the rear of her 
closet, and she was back to wearing loose, baggy 
clothing.
The cause for the weight gain was no mystery 
to her: her days were so hectic that she often 
missed scheduled meals in the dining hall. In-
stead, she found herself buying junk food, meals 
and snacks that could be eaten quickly over 
textbooks or outside the darkroom. Whether she 
needed to calm down or power up her energies, 
eating seemed to work.
She was aware that food was becoming a 
crutch. Just last night, she'd managed to eat an 
entire medium pizza by herself in the confines of 
the study room. In spite of how much work she 
accomplished, she'd gone to bed feeling totally 
out of control. For Carrie, who was used to being 
totally in control, the feeling was terrifying.
To make matters worse, she had financial 
anxieties. The answering machine for the phone 
in her room had been a necessary extravagance 
for her newspaper work, but she couldn't really 
justify the expense of meals outside her meal 
contract. She felt trapped in a vicious cycle: 
stress led to eating wrong and eating more, 
which led to spending money; worry about money 
only led to more stress. It's not Sunset Island! 
Carrie thought ruefully to herself.
Carrie's family, although fairly well off, was 
struggling to meet the costs of Yale tuition and 
living expenses. Carrie's parents had agreed to 
pay for her first two years at Yale, in hopes that 
Carrie could qualify for partial help from schol-
arships or student loans to finish her degree. In 
addition, she was expected to meet half her 
monthly expenses, which should have been nom-
inal, considering room and board were included in 
the deal with her parents.
Any combination of high grades, continued 
work with the school paper, and outside freelance 
photography could keep her at Yale without 
depleting the family college fund, which Carrie's 
four siblings would eventually need as well. But
at this point there were so many factors and so 
many unknowns that Carrie sometimes felt she 
was in the first mile of a marathon, and already 
feeling winded.
A light knock on the door pulled her from the 
tangle of her thoughts.
"Hope nobody's poutin' in there, 'cause Santa 
Claus is right outside the door," came the melo-
dious voice of Mona.
Pulling on her robe, Carrie opened the door to 
see Mona holding a clothes hanger swathed in the 
trademark print dust cover of Fables, the bou-
tique where she worked.
"And don't you go gettin' all soggy on me—I 
still owe you for the pics you took of my family 
while they were here. I've been watchin' this 
since the day you tried it on, and when they 
slashed the price, I pounced."
Carrie knew immediately what was inside the 
garment bag, and was flushed with gratitude at 
Mona's thoughtfulness. Slipping the garment from 
its wrapping, she held up the raspberry-colored 
silk jacket that was cut full in the shoulders, 
narrowing at the hips. Carrie had been eyeing it 
since the early spring fashions had arrived at 
Fables.
Thigh-length, with scalloped side vents, the 
jacket was beautiful and feminine and would add 
tremendous versatility to Carrie's wardrobe. She 
could wear it with jeans, or she could wear it over a 
skirt for something dressier. Now she found 
herself wondering if the cut was full enough to
hide what Mona called her "curves" and what she 
thought of as her "bulges."
Holding up the jacket for inspection in the 
mirror, Carrie had to admit the color flattered 
her chestnut hair and brown eyes.
"It'll look great with just about everything you 
own," Mona said. "Unless, of course, you were 
planning to spend the semester in that bathrobe."
"Yeow!" exclaimed Carrie, remembering the 
time.
"See you 'round the camp-i," laughed Mona, 
making for the door.
Carrie stopped her with a gentle touch on the 
arm. "Thanks, Mona. I really mean it, you're a 
doll."
"Yeah, yeah, and a real Georgia peach, too," 
sang Mona, but she grinned broadly and blew 
Carrie a little kiss before disappearing into her 
room.
Hurriedly Carrie hung the new jacket in her 
closet and pulled on her oversized gray cabled 
sweater with her black stirrup pants and black 
boots. Drab, she thought, trying to picture herself 
looking bright and slender in the raspberry-
colored jacket. I wish I could peel off about ten 
pounds before this vacation.
In less than two weeks, she'd be seeing Billy. 
In fact, Emma and Sam would be here a week 
from Friday! They always teased her about her 
weight worries. Emma, pert and petite, actually 
liked small portions of healthy foods and had 
never had a weight problem in her life. And Sam,
who ate like a horse without seeming to gain an 
ounce, could probably carry an extra fifteen 
pounds without it showing on her long frame. It 
occurred to her, too, that neither of her friends 
could relate to her financial concerns. In Sam's 
eyes she was well off, and Emma simply couldn't 
fathom money problems.
Maybe if I don't eat anything at all for the next 
week, I can save some money and lose weight, 
too, she thought as she left her room. Even as she 
had the thought she knew the plan was ridicu-
lous. For one thing, she knew herself. As soon as 
she got really hungry all self-control would fly out 
the window.
"Hi, Carrie," a girl called from across the hall.
Carrie smiled at Sarah Lovett as she walked by 
her. Sarah was in her biology lab, and she was 
enviably thin. Even Josh had admitted that he 
found Sarah very attractive. Sure, Carrie thought, 
she weighs maybe ninety pounds.
And then Carrie remembered something that 
had happened only a few days earlier.
Carrie had been in the girls' bathroom, brushing 
her teeth before a study date with Josh, when she'd 
heard someone being sick in one of the stalls. 
Sarah had emerged from the stall and rinsed 
out her mouth in a sink a few feet away from 
Carrie. Their eyes had met in the mirror over 
the sinks.
"Are you okay?" Carrie had inquired.
"Oh sure, I just ate too much dinner," Sarah 
had replied.
"And it made you sick?" Carrie had asked 
wonderingly.
"Of course not, silly! I made myself sick. You 
think I want all that fried food turning to cellulite 
while I sleep?"
"But that's terrible for you, isn't it?" Carrie had 
asked before she eould censor herself. "I mean, 
that's what I've heard," she'd added.
"Only if you do it all the time," Sarah had 
assured her, reaching into her purse for a lip-
stick. "I'm too smart to do anything stupid."
"So you just do it sometimes?" Carrie had 
asked wonderingly.
"Just enough," Sarah had said with a smile of 
satisfaction. She'd straightened the narrow belt 
that encircled her size four jeans. "See ya!" she 
had called, and sauntered out of the bathroom.
Now, watching skinny Sarah Lovett walk con-
fidently down the hall, Carrie thought about 
what Sarah had told her. Sarah certainly didn't 
look sick, and she certainly didn't look out of 
control.
Maybe it isn't such a horrible thing to do, as 
long as you don't do it very often. Carrie felt a 
surge of confidence.
Maybe there was a way out after all.
"I must be crazy," sighed Sam as the warm 
Florida sun bathed her bikini-clad body. "Going 
north for vacation at this time of year."
"That you're crazy has been well established," 
answered Danny from his nearby spot on the
sand. "In fact, traveling north in April might be a 
sign that the Sunshine State hasn't warped your 
brain. There's a world outside of sun, surf, and 
sand, you know."
"Name one thing Florida doesn't have," chal-
lenged Sam.
"Ski season, which I hope I'm not too late to 
enjoy by the time I get to Vermont. Ever tried 
skiing?"
"It's not a major pastime back in flat ole Kansas."
"Listen, don't knock it," said Danny, propping 
himself on one elbow and dribbling a handful of 
sand on Sam's exposed midriff. "For one thing, 
you'd make a great-looking ski bunny."
He's flirting with me, thought Sam, and quickly 
groped for something funny to say. "Somehow 
I've never pictured myself looking all that hot in 
traction."
She turned over onto her stomach so she 
wouldn't have to look at him looking at her. It 
was weird. Not that she wasn't attracted to 
Danny, because she was. In fact, in the beginning 
she'd been crazy for him to make a move on her, 
but he'd been way too shy.
He was, after all, seriously cute. His auburn-
streaked brown hair and sea-green eyes made for a 
stunning combination. When he smiled, which in 
Sam's company was often, he had that Tom 
Cruise magnetism that made his good looks seem 
boyish and unintimidating. Add to this his natural 
shyness, and Danny presented a challenge
that few girls could resist. Actually, Sam was 
flattered that he'd chosen to become her Mend.
And right now, as Charlie Brown would say, I 
need all the friends I can get, thought Sam. Now 
that Danny was finally hinting that he might be 
interested in more than just friendship, Sam was 
too afraid to risk what she already had. / mean, 
it's a well-documented fact that once a guy is 
your boyfriend, he can't possibly be your friend 
anymore, Sam reasoned.
So far so good, though. Danny didn't show any 
signs of major disappointment at her sidestep-
ping of his tentative advances. Well, thought 
Sam, maybe that's because all he really wants to 
be is my friend, anyway. The whole thing seemed 
too complicated.
That day the two of them had made an excur-
sion to Cocoa Beach, a spit of shore just off the 
east coast of the Florida peninsula, and an easy 
day trip from Orlando. Danny had the day off 
from playing Goofy at Disney World, and Sam's 
waitress shift didn't begin until six o'clock that 
evening. They'd packed bathing suits and a picnic 
lunch, had taken the season's first dip in the 
ocean, and were now enjoying a siesta in the sun 
before the drive back to Orlando.
"So what's your plan?" Danny queried as he 
settled back down on the blanket.
"I figure we can stay another half-hour and still 
make it back on time," Sam said brightly.
"You know that's not what I meant. I meant, 
what is your plan about your waitress job? You
know Big Al isn't going to let you off for two 
weeks to go on vacation when you just started 
working there."
"So I'll quit," Sam announced blithely. "Restau-
rant jobs are a dime a dozen in Orlando."
"Maybe," Danny said, sounding skeptical.
"Listen, Carrie and Emma and I have been 
planning this trip ever since our Christmas re-
union was almost spoiled," Sam said, raising 
herself up on one elbow. "I'm not giving it up to 
stay here in a job where I wear ugly shoes and 
smell like a deep-fat fryer."
"So how are you going to afford this trip?" 
Danny challenged. "Or, for that matter, your rent 
when you come back? You are coming back, 
aren't you?"
Sam noted a twinge of apprehension in his 
voice, and reached out to pat his arm reassur-
ingly. "Yes, Goofy, I'm coming back," she said 
softly. "As I already told you, Emma's picking me 
up, so I can stop combing the classifieds for 
airline tickets. That saving alone should leave a 
little stash for my return."
"I wish you'd change your mind about lying to 
your friends," said Danny.
"It's my call," Sam said in a tight voice.
"Sure, but it makes me feel crummy," Danny 
said. "I'd like to see your friend while she's here, 
and now I'll have to lie to her, too."
"It isn't really a lie," Sam rationalized. "It's 
more like withholding unpleasant information. I'll
level with them once we get to the island." She 
stood and stretched.
"I don't know—" Danny began doubtfully.
"But I do!" Sam interrupted. She pulled him up 
from the blanket. "Come on, worrywart. Let's 
take a stroll and talk about something fun, like 
our acting careers making us rich and famous 
someday soon."
Danny agreed—what else could you do with 
Sam? They started up the beach. The ocean 
breeze had picked up, forecasting cooler temper-
atures as evening arrived.
Sam walked into the wind with her arms 
extended and her head high, shaking her mane of 
red hair as if the moving air could clear her 
conscience. Please get me through this week and 
on the road before I can tell any more lies, she 
prayed. She could think of three she'd told in the 
last five minutes.
There was no extra money to pay the rent after 
she returned to Orlando. She wasn't at all sure 
she was even coming back. And she had no 
intention of letting on to Carrie and Emma how 
screwed up her life really was.
FOUR
Brent Cresswell reached over the door of the 
shiny red Sunbird convertible and placed a finger 
under his daughter's chin. "Sure I can't buy you 
breakfast before you get on the road?" he asked 
for the second time that morning.
"Really, Daddy, you've bought me more than 
enough," Emma answered, tapping the steering 
wheel for emphasis. "And I really do need to get 
started. I never dreamed Orlando was such a 
long drive from Palm Beach. I guess I've done 
most of my stateside traveling on planes."
Emma was babbling and she knew it. This was 
an awkward good-bye, and she couldn't fool her 
father any more than she could fool herself. Still, 
some sense of propriety drove both of them to try 
to salvage, here at the eleventh hour, what had 
been a relentlessly uncomfortable visit.
If he says one word about how upset Valerie 
will be that she couldn't drag her sorry self out of 
bed to see me off, I will vomit right here on this 
sparkling white upholstery, thought Emma.
"Listen, princess," her father began, "I meant 
what I said about us becoming a real family 
again."
Again? thought Emma. We were never a real 
family.
"I don't want to lose track of you," he contin-
ued.
Emma thought of all the birthdays and holi-
days when her father had had no idea where she 
was. A little late for that, isn't it? she wanted to 
tell him. I'm eighteen years old!
"Stay in touch, Emma. Maybe we can spend 
some real time together next time I'm up north."
Though she knew he had ulterior motives, Emma 
realized her father was making a genuine try at 
affection, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. 
He certainly hadn't been the best father in the 
world, but he was hers.
"Sounds good," she managed. "See you." For a 
split second she wished she had the kind of family 
that said, "I love you," but she took her foot off 
the brake, letting the car glide slowly forward 
toward the street.
Emma glanced back once in the rearview mirror, 
and it occurred to her that her father looked a 
little forlorn standing in the driveway. He gave a 
subdued wave. She honked the horn as the car 
accelerated, and he disappeared from view.
Born and raised a lady, Emma drove in silence 
until she had gotten on Interstate 95 and was 
certain passing traffic would drown out her voice. 
Then she let fly with every foul word she'd ever
even thought of using. "Valerie Johnson," she 
concluded, gritting her teeth.
Valerie Johnson was her father's—she could 
barely form the word, even in her mind—fiancee. 
She was even more awful than Emma's worst 
imaginings. Emma had given herself a pep talk 
on the plane to Florida and convinced herself that 
she owed it to her father to give Valerie the 
benefit of the doubt.
But after five minutes in Valerie's company, 
Emma had known she would have to throw in the 
towel.
Standing beside her father in the gate area had 
been a slightly chubby young woman dressed in a 
style that fell somewhere between Shirley Temple 
and Minnie Mouse. While everyone in sight had 
been in typical Florida casual attire, Valerie had 
dressed for the occasion in a black flared 
miniskirt with a white lace hem, a black-and-
white polka-dot puffy-sleeved top, and a yellow 
bolero jacket. Black granny heels, ruffled white 
party socks, and a polka-dot hairband with an 
oversized bow completed the ensemble. Her hair 
fell in bright yellow curls to her shoulders, framing 
a round face with too much makeup and a 
constant expression of surprise.
Emma had felt her stomach drop.
"And this, of course, is Valerie," her father had 
announced with pride after a warm embrace for 
Emma.
"You don't look anything like I thought you
would!" Valerie had squeaked, her penciled eye-
brows shooting up in amazement.
And you look just how you sound—it's amaz-
ing! Emma had thought to herself. What she had 
actually said aloud was something more along the 
lines of "nice to meet you."
While her father was loading Emma's bag into 
the trunk, Valerie had turned and leaned over the 
back of the Lincoln's front seat, her overly mas-
caraed eyes peering at Emma's hairline. "Your 
color's fabulous! Who does it?"
"Nature," Emma had answered truthfully.
Valerie had clapped her little hands together 
with glee. "Good for you! I've used that line 
myself for years," she'd added confidentially.
Brent had beamed at them both as he got in 
and started the car. "Well, I'm glad to see my two 
girls are getting along so well."
"Oh, we are, Brentsie!" Valerie had assured 
him breathlessly.
Brentsie?
"I thought we'd go straight to the showroom 
and get you started on picking out a car, Emma," 
her father had said over his shoulder. "If we get 
lucky, you'll be driving your new set of wheels by 
lunchtime. I have an afternoon appointment and 
thought you girls might like to get in some 
shopping."
"Glorious!" Valerie had chirped. "Emma can 
help me pick out a few more things for my 
trousseau!"
Trousseau? As in wedding? As in Brentsie and 
Valerie?
Of course, she'd known about it, but deep in 
her heart Emma had hoped it wasn't really true. 
But sitting in the back seat, she hadn't been able 
to ignore the large diamond that the yellow-
curled woman flashed on her left hand.
Car shopping had been quick. Trousseau shop-
ping had taken forever. It seemed that Brentsie 
had put no limits on Valerie's charge card. It had 
been obvious to Emma that Valerie was a woman 
who lived for conspicuous consumption.
Now—was it only twenty-four hours later?— 
Emma was just thankful to be putting the whole 
hideous experience behind her. That her father 
was going to marry that moron was just too 
excruciating to believe.
Emma wheeled into the parking lot of a road-
side diner where a giant orange the size of a hot-
air balloon promised fresh-squeezed orange juice 
and home-style breakfasts.
Two young guys in an old station wagon with a 
couple of surfboards on the top were just pulling 
out, and as Emma got out of the car they honked 
appreciatively at her—or was it just the sporty 
red convertible? The guy in the passenger seat 
leaned out the window toward her. Emma smiled 
to herself as he pretended to wrench his heart 
from his chest and toss it to her.
He's cute too, she admitted. Then and there 
Emma resolved to forget about her neurotic 
parents and their horrid choice in mates. That
was their problem. She was young, free, rich, and 
on vacation. It was time to leave yesterday's 
baggage behind and let the good times roll.
Sitting in one of the old-fashioned booths with a 
tableside jukebox, Emma thought of Sam, only a 
few hours away and awaiting her arrival. By 
that night they'd be at Stingray's dancing with all 
those cute guys.
For the first time in twenty-four hours, she 
had a real appetite.
"And that's exactly why we can't go to Sting-
ray's," Sam finished telling Danny. "How could I 
have been so stupid?"
"Oh, what a tangled web we weave, eh?" 
quipped Danny. "You may want to blow off your 
friends from Disney World, but how do you know 
Emma's not counting on going out tonight? You're 
the one who planned it."
"That was before I reorganized my brain cells," 
retorted Sam. "Obviously I can't take the chance 
that someone will tell her I'm not with the troupe 
anymore. Besides, I told her we should head on 
up to Daytona and cruise the scene there. I'll just 
convince her we should go right there and not 
spend any time here in Orlando."
"Let me get this straight," Danny began. "You're 
willing to deprive me of Emma's company, and a 
last night with you; you're willing to give up 
partying with a lot of people who like you a lot 
and are always asking how you're doing—and all 
to keep up appearances for someone who is,
supposedly, one of your very best friends?" He 
shook his head. "Maybe you'd better rethink your 
priorities."
"Maybe you'd better loosen your cassock, pal," 
scoffed Sam. "If I need a priest, I'll go to confes-
sion."
Danny's expression told her that her words had 
stung, and Sam felt a stab of regret. Haw can I 
hurt Danny like this? she thought. But another 
voice in her head countered, / have simply got to 
get out of this town!
Danny had picked her up an hour ago, and they 
were now relaxing on the balcony of his second-
floor apartment after stashing a few of Sam's 
things in the storage area below. Sam's excuse 
was that her roommates always borrowed her 
clothes, and she didn't want to leave her stuff 
lying around to be picked over while she was out 
of town.
The truth was that although she didn't have 
many possessions, she might want to reclaim 
them someday, and didn't want to have to face 
her roommates if she skated on their lease. 
Danny was acting a little strange, but he hadn't 
asked her too many questions, at least until he'd 
found out she was more or less breaking their 
date for that night.
"Look, I'm sorry I barked at you, Danny. 
You're the best friend I have in this town, but I 
just need to get out for a while. Try to under-
stand."
"I just worry about you, that's all." Danny
sighed. "By the way, how did it go with Big Al?"
"Amazingly well!" Sam said brightly. "He said 
he'd have liked a little more notice, but was going 
to have to let someone go anyway—it's late in the 
season and he probably shouldn't have hired me 
to begin with. He told me to check with him when I 
come back because"—here Sam imitated the 
New-Yorker-moved-south—"he liked my style 
and in this crazy business, you never know."
She didn't mention that she'd told Big Al she 
was going north to audition for a Broadway 
musical. She wasn't sure he'd have been so un-
derstanding about a vacation with her friends.
Sam's mental review of what she hoped was 
her last lie in Orlando was interrupted by the 
blare of a car horn. Both she and Danny were on 
their feet in time to see the red convertible round 
the corner into the parking lot of Danny's build-
ing, where Sam had instructed Emma to meet 
her. Emma was waving from behind the wheel.
"Too cool!" cheered Sam as Emma pulled up to 
the curb below. She jumped up, raced through 
Danny's apartment, and went down the stairs 
two at a time.
Emma leapt out of the car and threw her arms 
around Sam. Emma surprised even herself with 
that gesture. Normally very reserved, she just 
couldn't believe how happy she was to see Sam 
again.
"You look fabulous!" Emma cried, holding Sam 
at arm's length. Sam had on white cotton shorts 
and a rayon shirt featuring a puffy pink poodle
being lassoed by some cowboys. The back of the 
shirt read, CITIZENS FOR A POODLE-FREE MONTANA.
"It's the tan," Sam said with a grin. "As for 
you, you look the same, meaning perfect." Emma 
had on fitted pink cotton pants with a matching 
pink-and-white cotton shirt. It looked decep-
tively simple, but Sam knew it probably came 
from_some designer resort collection and cost a 
mint.
"Goofy!" Emma said cheerfully, smiling at Danny. 
"Oh, wait, I remember," she added playfully. "I'm 
only supposed to call you Goofy when you're 
wearing your Goofy costume."
Danny smiled shyly. "Hey, I'm over that," he 
told her. "It's great to see you, Emma."
"So enough of the greetings," Sam said. "I 
want a ride in this puppy!" She jumped over 
the door and landed smoothly in the back seat. 
"Coming?" she called.
"As long as I'm driving toward a restaurant," 
Emma said. "I haven't eaten since breakfast." 
Emma and Danny got into the car.
"Hey, this could be a first," Sam called into the 
wind as they drove out of the parking lot. "Emma 
Cresswell admits that she's hungry. We'll go to 
Tattoo," Sam decreed. "Tres hip. Turn right at 
the corner."
"I can't wait to see all your friends at Stingray's 
tonight," Emma exclaimed as they cruised along. 
"I had so much fun there the last time."
No one said anything. Emma thought she saw 
Danny's cheeks flush. Isn't he coming with us to
Stingray's? she wondered. Maybe I just stuck my 
foot in my mouth.
"Yum, I'm starved," Sam said a few minutes 
later as they scanned the menus at Tattoo. "The 
Tattoo burger is to die for," she suggested.
"Oh, I'll just have a salad," Emma said absent-
mindedly. "Hey, how about if we order some 
wine? It's on me!"
"None for me," Danny said. "It gives me a 
headache when I've been in the sun."
"I'll pass, too," Sam said.
"Oh, come on," Emma chided. "We're celebrat-
ing!"
The three of them ordered their food and 
Emma insisted upon a bottle of Sauvignon blanc. 
The waitress poured some in all three of their 
glasses, and Emma lifted hers for a toast.
"To great friends and great adventures," she 
pronounced.
They all clinked glasses and sipped the wine.
Sam pushed her glass away and reached for her 
burger. "Not that I don't appreciate the symbol-
ism," she said, "but I don't travel well on alcohol."
"Who's traveling?" said Emma, sipping her 
wine. "We don't have to go any farther than 
Stingray's and your apartment."
A look passed between Sam and Danny.
"Well, see, the thing is, I was thinking how cool it 
would be to just, like, you know, leave for 
Daytona," Sam began.
"But I thought we were going out with your 
friends tonight," Emma said, puzzled.
"Yeah, but it's . . . my apartment!" Sam said, 
thinking fast. "My roommates are in town tonight 
and they're being really bitchy about my having 
anyone stay over."
"So we'll stay at a hotel," Emma suggested.
"I'm on a budget Emma, even if you're not," 
Sam said stiffly.
Emma bit her lip. Sam was right. She probably 
felt bad about her apartment situation, and Emma 
was just embarrassing her.
"Hey, listen, Sam, it's fine if we leave tonight," 
Emma said softly. "Honest."
Sam got very busy with her french fries. At 
that particular moment she wasn't very proud of 
herself. She'd told yet another lie and had made 
Emma feel terrible, just to manipulate things so 
they were the way she wanted them to be.
"So listen," Emma began brightly, eager to 
change the mood, "my father gave me a brand-
new credit card for this trip. We should make 
good use of it!"
"Speaking of your father," Sam said, "how was 
the trip?"
Emma refilled her wineglass and rolled her 
eyes. "Let's just say that the story would ruin all 
our appetites. So I'll save it." The wine was 
making her feel warm and fuzzy, and she didn't 
want to lose the effect. Quickly she changed 
topics and filled Sam in on the itinerary she'd 
planned.
"I didn't realize you were stopping in Boston," 
said Danny. "I'm flying up there to meet my
Mend Kevin. We're going from there up to 
Vermont for some skiing,"
That's a long speech for Danny, Emma thought. 
"Maybe we can meet up," she suggested. "It'd be 
fun. Carrie will be with us by then."
"Party at Emma's mansion!" announced Sam. 
"It is a mansion, isn't it?" she asked Emma. "I'll 
be so bummed if it isn't a mansion."
"It's a mansion," Emma assured her. She swal-
lowed the last of the wine—no point in wasting 
it, she thought—and grabbed the check. She 
gave Danny her phone number in Boston while 
waiting for the waitress to return with her credit 
card.
"So listen, I'm going to a friend's around the 
corner," Danny told Emma when they got to the 
parking lot. "It was great to see you."
"You, too," Emma said warmly.
"And have a great trip," he added.
"It will be awesome, amazing, and life-altering," 
Sam assured him.
"You take care," Danny told Sam in a low voice, 
brushing her cheek with a kiss. "I'm going to miss 
you."
Sam looked wistful as she watched Danny jog 
away.
"You really like him, huh?" Emma asked her.
"He's a great guy," Sam said, "but he's just a 
friend."
"You sure?" Emma asked.
"Sure I'm sure," Sam said. "Listen, I'm dying to 
get my hands on the wheel of your car. What
say I drive us back to my digs so we can pick up 
my stuff, and then we hit the road?"
"You're on," Emma agreed. If Sam hadn't said 
she'd drive, Emma would have asked her to, 
since Sam had barely sipped her wine and Emma 
had had more than two full glasses.
"You would not believe what I went through in 
Palm Beach," Emma yelled over the rock music 
Sam had tuned in on the radio. Emma described 
the whole horrible ordeal to her.
"Brentsie?" Sam guffawed. "Was she serious?"
"It gets worse!" Emma said. "After we went 
shopping we were sitting around the pool, and 
she made some comment about how 'sexually 
deprived' my father had been until he met her."
"Gross!" Sam screeched. "Why didn't you do 
the world a favor and push her into the pool with a 
rock tied around her neck?"
Emma laughed. "I just can't believe my father 
is going to marry her!" she marveled.
"It is amazingly hideous," Sam agreed. She 
thought back to her meeting with Emma's mother 
the previous summer, as well as an almost 
disastrous encounter with Kat CresswelPs fiance, 
Austin Payne. Interestingly enough, thought Sam, 
Austin was around the same age as Valerie. And 
in his own way, just as excruciating. Sam knew 
Emma must be totally mortified. At least my 
parents are normal, Sam thought. Boring, but 
normal.
"You got along okay with your dad, though?" 
Sam asked.
"Sure," Emma said bitterly. "But he pulled a 
Katerina on me."
"A what?" Sam yelled over the radio.
"In other words, he had an ulterior motive, 
which is more often my mother's territory," Emma 
explained. She turned down the radio. "He took 
me out for lunch—Valerie had an appointment for a 
manicure—and he actually asked me to testify 
against my mother in the divorce hearing!"
"That sucks, Em," Sam commiserated. She 
pulled up in front of her apartment building.
Emma was staring at her hands, willing herself 
not to cry. "I just couldn't believe it!" she said, 
shaking her head sadly.
"So what are you supposed to be testifying to?" 
Sam asked.
"That she hasn't been a loving parent, if that 
isn't the pot calling the kettle black!" Emma said 
bitterly. "He's so afraid she'll keep the entire 
family fortune for herself, he's grasping at straws 
to show she might be mentally incompetent."
"God, Em, I don't know what to say," Sam 
began.
"Then he had the nerve to tell me how much he 
wants me back in his life," Emma continued. 
"What a joke! I had to have two glasses of wine 
over lunch just to keep from killing him."
"I don't know what to say, except that parents 
suck," Sam said mildly. "It's some kind of a 
disease. It's not just your parents."
"Oh, come on, Sam," Emma said, finally lifting
her eyes to look at Sam. "Your parents ,would 
never do anything like this, would they?"
"No, I guess not," Sam admitted. "But believe 
me when I tell you they have done more than 
their fair share of embarrassing things to me in 
my life."
"I ... I really wanted to tell him something 
about my life, you know?" Emma continued ear-
nestly., "I wanted him to know about the volun-
teer work I'm going to start doing with kids in 
inner-city Washington. I thought he might be 
happy about it. But we never got a chance to talk 
without Valerie around, and all she wanted to 
talk about was shopping."
"Look Em, let me run in and get my stuff and 
we'll get going, okay?" Sam asked. "We can talk 
more on the way."
Emma nodded her assent. She looked so for-
lorn that Sam reached over and touched Emma's 
hand for a moment. "Listen, it'll be okay. We're 
going on an incredible adventure, right?"
Emma smiled gratefully. "Right," she agreed. 
"I'm acting like a little idiot. It's probably just the 
wine I drank."
A few minutes later they had pulled away from 
the curb and were headed for Daytona. Sam did 
most of the talking. It amazed even her how easy it 
was to lie about her life and pretend that she 
was still dancing at Disney World. She rational-
ized that it was because she had a superior 
imagination and was going to turn out to be a 
majorly successful actress in the long run.
By the time they reached Daytona, Emma had 
fallen asleep, and Sam had to negotiate the 
thronging streets and the plethora of No Vacancy 
signs alone. She hadn't considered that spring 
break in Daytona Beach was practically synony-
mous with No Vacancy signs.
Exasperated, she was finally forced to settle 
for a dingy motel more than a few blocks inland, 
with the dubious name of the Reefer. Emma 
woke long enough to hand Sam her credit card 
and instruct her to tell the desk clerk she'd sign 
the slip in the morning.
Emma made straight for bed, saying she was 
exhausted and had a raging headache. Sam set 
out to do some exploring, but was quickly intim-
idated by the jeering groups of drunk guys who 
seemed to be hanging from the street signs on 
every corner. She bought a takeout sandwich and a 
Coke, and ended up watching an old movie on 
TV, with Emma mumbling in her sleep in the 
next bed.
Sam pictured Danny back in Orlando, probably 
watching the same movie. Danny loved old movies.
Some incredible vacation, she thought mo-
rosely. Here I am in a seedy little hotel that 
smells of roach spray, sitting next to a passed-out 
friend and thinking about Goofy!
"Sam?"
Sam heard the voice through a dream in which 
she was back at Big Al's, waiting on Mr. Chris-
topher. She had turned from the table after 
apologizing for bringing the wrong order. Then 
he said, "Can't you do anything right?" The voice 
was different, and looking back, she saw not Mr. 
Christopher but Danny, his expression full of 
reproach. Now someone at the next table was 
calling her name again, and Sam spun around to 
see that the party of twelve was her dance troupe 
from Disney World.
"I'm sorry!" she cried out to their questioning 
faces. Her words seemed to be struggling up 
through layers of Jell-0.
"Don't be sorry, just get up!"
The laughing voice was Emma's, and a second 
later Sam's dream receded into white light as 
Emma opened the drapes, flooding the motel 
room with sunshine.
Sam pulled herself to a sitting position, and
rubbed her face. "Aargh! Thanks for waking me. I 
was having the worst dream."
"About what?" Emma was bustling around the 
room in a shell-pink mini shirtdress, drinking 
coffee and looking like she'd been awake for 
hours.
"The details aren't too clear," lied Sam, "but I 
was feeling sort of lost and ashamed at the same 
time." She stood and stretched luxuriously. "What 
time is it, anyway?"
"Quarter past seven."
"In the morning? I didn't know there was a 
seven-fifteen in the morning!" With both the 
dance revue and the restaurant shifts, Sam had 
become accustomed to working at night and 
sleeping late in the morning.
"You were the one who wanted to check out 
spring break in Daytona Beach, remember?"
"As I seem to recall, you were the one who 
slept through our only Saturday night here," 
rejoined Sam.
Ducking her head guiltily, Emma said, "I'm 
really sorry about that, Sam. I guess I was just 
stressed out from dealing with my family. They 
exhaust me sometimes."
Sam interjected, "Funny, but I would have 
blamed the wine, myself."
"Oh, that," breezed Emma. "Well, I'm defi-
nitely not drinking any alcohol today." She dis-
missed the subject with a wave of her hand and 
continued, "I've already signed for the room, and 
they recommended a good place for breakfast.
Why don't you take a shower? I'll be reading my 
book out by the pool."
Sam did, and felt much more alive by the time 
they were strolling the few blocks to the water-
front. The refuse of the previous night's revelry 
still littered the streets, but the town looked 
harmless enough in the morning light. With the 
last remnants of her nightmare fading thankfully 
into oblivion, Sam found a renewed enthusiasm 
for life in general and their road trip in particular. 
She was carrying the road atlas, which she'd 
asked Emma to get from the car. She'd been so 
anxious to get out of Orlando that she hadn't 
really paid attention when Emma had described 
their route.
She glanced through it as they ate breakfast. 
Mopping up the last of her huevos rancheros with a 
crust of toast, Sam asked the waitress for a 
refill on her coffee. Emma had ordered whole-
grain muffins with fresh fruit and yogurt, and 
was still mincing through her meal.
"Don't you ever just want to wolf down a really 
greasy burger and a double order of cheese 
fries?" Sam asked her.
Emma gave Sam a horrified look. "Why would I 
want to do a thing like that?"
Sam shook her head and buried her head back 
in the atlas. "I swear, you are missing the gene 
for junk food," she mumbled. "Okay, the way I 
see it, we hang on the beach this morning, break a 
few hearts, and then head for Savannah after 
lunch, right?" Sam asked.
"Right," answered Emma. "We stay on Inter-
state 95 all the way to New Haven, and since we 
left ahead of schedule we have plenty of time to 
spend an entire day somewhere along the way. 
Just so we're in New York by Thursday night. 
We have to meet Carrie in New Haven by 
lunchtime Friday."
"Ooh! Let's spend a day in the mountains!"
"There aren't any mountains along 1-95."
"C'mon, Em," wheedled Sam, "I've never seen 
mountains except from the air. The highest point 
in Kansas is a corn tassel."
Emma thought of the Alps, which she'd had the 
privilege of enjoying a number of times since her 
childhood. It was hard for her to imagine anyone 
her age who had never been to the mountains.
"Let's think about it when we get to Savan-
nah," she suggested. "I don't want us driving 
more than six hours a day, and I'm not sure we 
can stick to that if we change our route."
"Hey, it's your wheels and your credit card!" 
Sam said with a shrug.
Emma paid the check and left a tip, then 
turned to see Sam slip an extra dollar onto the 
table.
Looking a little chagrined, Sam explained, "I 
always tip twenty percent for good service. No-
body can live very well on fifteen, and it's a rough 
job, anyway."
"How would you know?" laughed Emma.
"I guess if I'd been born with a silver spoon in 
my mouth, I wouldn't," Sam snapped.
"What was that for?" Emma asked, hurt.
Sam sighed. "Ignore me," she said, linking her 
arm in Emma's. "I'm a product of unbalanced 
hormones."
Once they were out of the restaurant and on 
their way back to the motel, Sam took on a 
boisterous good cheer. By now there were more 
people to be seen on the streets, and almost 
everyone nodded or smiled as they walked by. 
Sam sprouted a running commentary on all sight-
ings of the opposite sex as they went.
"Oh baby oh baby oh baby!" Sam murmured as a 
dark-haired guy who looked like a model for 
tanning products walked by.
"Help you wax your board, dude?" she mouthed 
as they passed a long-haired blond surfer.
Sam made a pouty face and said, "Poor baby, 
let me put some sunscreen on those shoulders," 
when she spotted a fair-skinned, redheaded guy 
who looked like he'd stayed on the beach too long 
the day before.
At one point, the girls passed one of the 
previous night's casualties, a bleary-eyed guy 
who left an aroma of stale beer in his wake and 
looked like he'd slept in a gutter.
"Sorry, but I don't date outside my species," 
Sam stage-whispered in Emma's direction.
Sam and Emma were still laughing as they 
reached the motel and changed into their bathing 
suits. They threw on coverups and hurriedly 
packed their belongings into the car. There had 
still been parking places at the public beach when
they finished breakfast, but those would go quickly 
now that the sun was getting high.
They had just found a spot, parked, and were 
loading books, towels, and lotion into Emma's 
canvas beachbag when a car horn honked and a 
deep voice called, "Hey, look who's here!"
Emma glanced up and was surprised to see 
the guys with the surfboards from the breakfast 
stop the day before. Suddenly remembering the 
show of appreciation she'd received from the 
dark-haired guy, Emma blushed furiously and 
pretended to be looking for something still in the 
car.
"Those guys are waving at us," said Sam. "Do 
you know them?"
"Not really. They honked at me when I stopped 
for breakfast yesterday. They must have been on 
their way up here, too."
"So wave back, for cryin' out loud! They're 
adorable and they have surfboards!"
"Oh, I don't know ..." Emma started.
Sam reached over and took Emma's elbow, 
propelling it upward until the hand at the end 
appeared to wave awkwardly. Sam performed a 
more controlled version with her free hand, 
calling, "Hi, guys. Need some help with those 
boards?"
"We can manage the boards, but if you'll find us a 
spot on the beach, we'll share our cooler with 
you," returned the driver, a freckle-faced blonde 
whom Sam thought resembled Michael J. Fox. 
But taller, she noted with satisfaction.
The other guy was not much taller than Emma, 
and had jet-black hair, almond-shaped brown 
eyes with long black lashes, and a creamy brown 
complexion. His compact body rippled with mus-
cles as he helped unfasten the cords that secured 
the surfboards.
"I'm Buddy," he said as Sam and Emma passed 
by the station wagon, "and that's Jack."
"Hi, Jack," said Sam over the roof of the car. 
She turned to include Buddy in the introduction. 
"I'm Sam, and this is Emma."
Jack nodded and smiled as Buddy reached out 
to shake hands. Sam got a firm grip and a hello, 
but she noted that Buddy's hand lingered for a 
moment around Emma's, and his voice had a 
melodic, reverent tone as he said, "Emma."
"He likes you," she whispered, nudging Emma 
as they walked through the sand.
"Sam, really! He doesn't even know me."
"He doesn't have to know you to like you the 
way I'm talking about," said Sam.
The girls spread their towels and removed 
their coverups. Emma had on a hot pink two-
piece, shot through with metallic gold; the bot-
tom had a fashionably high waist that hid her 
navel. Sam's vivid deep purple suit was solid-
colored and one piece, but was more revealing 
than Emma's: it was cut-extremely high in the 
leg, low in the bust, and slashed out on both sides 
to show most of Sam's long torso.
Emma opened her book, but Sam pulled on her
baseball cap and studied Buddy and Jack as they 
made for the water with their boards.
"Wanna go for a swim?" she asked Emma.
"We just got here."
"So? The waves won't be this good again until 
late afternoon. I think we've got a chance for 
some free surfing lessons."
"You go ahead. I'll just read awhile."
"Suit yourself," said Sam. The next moment 
she was racing for the water and splashing in 
with a flourish of her long arms.
Emma spent the next half-hour immersed in 
her book, G Is for Gumshoe. The story involved a 
female private investigator who drove a beat-up old 
Volkswagen bug, was confidently independent, 
and had all kinds of adventures. Though she knew 
the investigator was a fictitious character, Emma 
suspected there really were women like her. The 
thought of spending three more years majoring 
in French at Goucher College was stifling.
"Yahoo! Hey, Emma!"
Emma looked up just in time to see Sam 
wobbling atop a surfboard before a wave caught 
her from behind and tumbled her into the water. 
The board drifted toward shore as Emma shaded 
her eyes and searched for a glimpse of Sam. 
Within seconds she spotted Sam's sleek red head 
bobbing along the surface, and recognized Jack 
swimming over to join her.
A shadow crossed Emma's towel. Looking up, 
she saw it was Buddy. As he shook the salt water
from his hair, the beads of water picked up the 
sun and created a twinkling arc.
"So what do you say, Emma?" he said with a 
smile. "Ready to try it yourself?"
"I—I don't know how," Emma stammered.
"You can swim, can't you?"
"Well, sure."
"If you can swim, and you can stand up, you 
can surf." Buddy reassured her. "The waves are 
too small to be a challenge, but I'd have fun 
teaching you. That is, if you want me to."
Emma was about to demur when her eye fell on 
her book, which she'd tossed aside when on the 
lookout for Sam. Why not? she thought. If I'm 
ever going to have any real adventures, I'll have 
to try some things I've never done before.
"Sure, okay," she told Buddy.
"Attagirl!" he cheered, and placed his hand 
lightly on the small of her back as he guided her 
toward the water.
Surfing turned out to be harder than it looked. 
Emma was cautious not to let the board slip out 
from under her, but she didn't trust herself to 
rise above an awkward crouch. Sam, with her 
dance training, had excellent balance but was a 
hotdogger—always trying for a faster, more ex-
citing ride. Her physical control let her fall 
harmlessly when she wiped out, which she did 
predictably. Emma noticed that Jack was always 
nearby to encourage her when she surfaced.
Laughing and winded, the foursome took a
break, and the girls were astounded to find it was 
almost noon.
"No sense in rushing," Sam said. "Savannah 
will still be there."
They brought sandwiches from a stand down 
the beach, and the boys went to their car for the 
cooler.
"Let's stay, Emma!" entreated Sam when the 
boys were out of earshot. "This could be the 
night!"
"For what?" Emma asked.
"You know ..." said Sam.
"Sam! You just met this guy!"
"That's what I mean. It's perfect! NO ties, no 
commitment, no big deal. Aren't you tired of 
being a virgin?"
"Sometimes. But I've waited this long, I want 
to at least start out with someone I care about."
"What's not to care about?" said Sam, watching 
Jack's body as he and Buddy approached. "Any-
way, he's really nice."
"We are going to Savannah—today," Emma 
said firmly.
After lunch, Sam and Jack decided to walk 
down the beach. Emma and Buddy stayed behind 
and talked. Buddy was from Miami, and his 
mother was Cuban. So that's where he gets that 
exotic allure, thought Emma. He and Jack were 
both at the University of Florida in Miami, and 
had come north to Daytona to enjoy the hedonism 
of spring break in a collegiate hot spot.
"I wish you'd think of staying over," Buddy
said, grasping Emma's hand and running his 
thumb softly over her knuckles, "You won't be in 
Savannah in time to see anything, anyway."
"We have other people depending on us to keep 
to our schedule, though," said Emma, giving his 
hand a quick squeeze before releasing it to delve 
into her bag. She couldn't deny that his touch had 
sent a shiver of desire through her, but it re-
minded her of Kurt, awaiting her arrival on 
Sunset Island.
Emma found her watch and was distressed to 
see that it was almost two o'clock. Where was 
Sam?
"If you change your mind, I'd be happy to take 
you to dinner," Buddy offered. "I thought you 
were beautiful the first moment I laid eyes on you 
yesterday." He looked her straight in the eye.
"Oh Buddy, that's so sweet, but . . . look— 
there they are!"
Emma had spied Sam and Jack strolling unhur-
riedly near the water. They had their arms 
around each other, and as Emma watched, they 
kissed languidly. Right out in public—that Sam!
Feeling like a small yapping dog trying to herd 
some sheep, Emma finally managed to get Sam 
and their beach gear up to the car, with Buddy 
and Jack in tow. Emma allowed Buddy a brief 
kiss, then swung into the driver's seat, and 
jangled the keys until Sam broke off her passionate 
embrace with Jack and hopped in the passenger 
side.
Emma steeled herself for criticism, but Sam
was uncharacteristically quiet as they wheeled 
toward the interstate.
"Thanks, Emma," Sam finally said serenely. 
"Nothing Jack and I could have done would have 
been as romantic as that walk on the beach before 
driving off into the sunset."
"You're not mad?" Emma asked.
"Nope. He was actually too nice a guy to love 
and leave. Guess I'm getting addicted to unful-
filled prophecy."
Emma tuned in a classical station, and before 
long, Sam was snoozing as Brahms took them 
north in the waning light.
Carrie braced herself against the wall of the 
toilet stall and stared wonderingly into the vortex 
of the emptying bowl. The back of her throat was 
burning, and her eyes stung with tears. But the 
sky hadn't opened, thunder hadn't rolled, and 
lightning hadn't struck her down. She got control 
of her breathing, wiped her eyes, and hurried 
from the stall.
I don't ever have to do this again, she thought, 
but oddly, she felt a sense of accomplishment— 
she hadn't thought she could do it at all.
She was toweling off her face at the sink when 
the door opened and Sarah Lovett breezed in. 
Sarah gave her a knowing smile, and Carrie felt 
that she and the willowy girl had a shared secret.
She returned to her room feeling like a different 
person from the one who'd left only a few 
minutes ago. I'm definitely not going to make a
habit of this, she assured herself. But she had to 
admit she took satisfaction in throwing the donut 
box into the trash, knowing all that grease and 
sugar were no longer in her body.
Her mind groped for an exact word to express 
the feeling, and finally settled on powerful.
Sam didn't wake up until they stopped for gas. 
She offered to drive, but Emma said she felt up to 
it, and Savannah was only another hour away. 
They spent the time speculating on how Carrie 
was doing, and tossing around ideas for the big 
party they'd been planning since Christmas.
In Savannah they stopped for directions to the 
D'Urbanville, a grand old Southern hotel where 
Emma knew her mother's friends stayed when 
they were in town. She figured she and Sam 
deserved some luxury at least every other night.
The hotel had a gracious circular drive, with a 
canopy and a uniformed doorman. Azaleas 
bloomed profusely in every direction, their bril-
liant magenta accentuated by the hotel's subtle 
lighting. Emma left the car to be unloaded by the 
bellman and parked by the valet. With Sam 
rubbernecking at her heels, she made her way 
through the richly appointed lobby to negotiate a 
room with the desk clerk.
"We'd like a suite if you have one available— 
with a hot tub, if possible."
"Certainly. Will you be paying by credit card?"
"Yes, please," said Emma, turning to Sam. 
"Sam, you have the card."
"No, I don't." There was a moment of stunned 
silence before Sam blubbered, "Didn't you pick it 
up when you signed us out this morning?"
"You left it at the desk last night?" Emma 
intoned incredulously.
"Well, how should I know? I've never had a 
credit card."
The clerk was now regarding them somewhat 
doubtfully.
Emma reached into her purse and said crisply, 
"I do have another card."
The clerk set to making their arrangements as 
Emma fumed in silence and Sam stood by deject-
edly.
"I'm really, really sorry, Emma. I feel so stupid."
"It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't my father's 
card," Emma admitted. "The last thing I want is 
to have to call him about this."
As the clerk handed over their receipt and 
keys, Emma's eyes scanned the lobby.
"Come on," she said, grabbing Sam by the arm. 
"We can think this through in the bar. I don't 
know about you, but I need a glass of wine."
Sam snuggled her shoulders deeper into the 
hotel's voluptuous pillows and tried to concen-
trate on her book. She hadn't been able to get into 
the acting book Danny had loaned her, something 
called The Method, but had thought this gothic 
romance would surely whisk her into dreamland, 
or at least fantasyland. But her thoughts kept 
returning to Emma. Emma wasn't acting like 
Emma. Didn't she know it was Sam who was 
supposed to do crazy things?
The credit card crisis had been resolved when 
Emma found she had the receipt from the motel, 
and therefore the card number. She'd used the 
phone in the bar to dial the toll-free number for 
reporting lost or stolen cards. They'd both been 
relieved when there had been no need to get in 
touch with Brent Cresswell after all.
But the incident had gotten Emma back on the 
subject of her screwed-up family. She had or-
dered a glass of wine in the bar, and a second to 
take with her into the dining room, where she'd
barely touched the small Caesar salad she'd or-
dered for dinner. Sam, who had pigged out as 
usual, had opted for an after-dinner walk through 
the hotel gardens, saying she'd meet Emma 
upstairs for a dip in the hot tub.
The gardens were beautiful, and Sam had 
lingered there. When she'd returned to the suite, 
she made straight for the tiled solarium, where 
she could hear the soft bubbling of the steaming 
tub. She had found Emma climbing groggily out 
of the tub.
"So how's the water?" Sam had inquired gaily 
just as Emma slid to a sitting position on the 
bench outside the tub, then leaned forward to let 
her head rest on her knees.
"Oh Sam, I don't feel so good," had come 
Emma's weak and muffled voice.
Sam had placed a hand on Emma's shoulder, 
which burned to the touch.
"You're overheated!" she had cried. "Wait right 
here."
Sam knew from dance rehearsals that heat 
exhaustion could make you feel faint, dizzy, and 
nauseated. She also recalled hearing that it wasn't a 
good idea to sit in a hot tub after drinking 
alcohol; you might doze off and not realize you 
were getting dangerously overheated.
Sam had flown to the kitchenette and filled a 
large glass with water, then raced back to find 
that Emma had pulled herself to a sitting posi-
tion. Sam had grabbed a towel from the nearby
stack and placed it lightly over Emma's shoul-
ders.
"You need to cool off, but not too fast," Sam 
had counseled. "And you need water. Here, drink 
this."
Emma had done as she was told, then let Sam 
lead her to her bed.
"I'm fine now, Sam, really. Just a little woozy," 
she had said, propping herself against the quilted 
headboard. She'd attempted a smile, but wasn't 
very successful. Her cheeks still burned too 
brightly. "I was just trying to relax and forget 
about my family for a while."
Sam had sat down at the foot of Emma's bed. 
"Look, Emma, I don't want to get on your case 
about this, but, well, you're letting your parents 
drive you crazy!"
"Yeah, you're right," Emma had agreed. "I've 
just got to forget all about them."
"That's the spirit!" Sam had said.
"I can't let them ruin my vacation," Emma had 
said vehemently.
And mine, Sam had added in her mind.
So, Sam thought as she stretched in the enor-
mous hotel bed, everything would be okay. But 
something was nagging at Sam. It felt like Emma 
was saying the right things, but she didn't really 
mean them. Also, Sam had never seen Emma 
drink like she'd been doing over the last couple of 
days. It all seemed really weird.
Sam closed her book and set it aside. The 
romance novel couldn't help with this dilemma.
But the plantation-style furnishings of the room 
brought to mind one of her favorite literary 
quotes of all time, a well-known Scarlett O'Hara 
line from Gone With The Wind. I can't think 
about this right now, she reasoned. I'll think 
about this . . . tomorrow.
With that, she fluffed the pillows, turned out 
the light, and settled in to rest up for a new day.
"Open up! Police!"
In this dream, Sam was in a queen-size four-
poster bed with a canopy. She couldn't figure out 
where the police came into the story.
An insistent pounding brought her fully to her 
senses, and she realized this wasn't a dream at 
all. She was in her room in the suite they'd rented 
at the D'Urbanville, and as near as she could 
figure, the police were just outside the door.
The pounding came again. "Open up in there!"
Sam felt a twinge of panic. Surely the police 
wouldn't be at her door unless she'd done some-
thing wrong, but what could it be? It had to be 
the wrong room, that was all. She was trying to 
find her voice and remember where she'd tossed 
her robe, when she heard the loud jangle of keys 
on the other side of the suite's door.
"We're coming in!" said the same authoritative 
voice. A moment later the door opened, and 
footsteps crossed the suite's living room. Sud-
denly Sam's bedroom door was flung open.
As Sam clutched the bedclothes to her chest a 
flashlight beam slid across the room and centered
on her face. Blinded by the intense light, she 
managed to sputter, "It's just me!"
"Emma Cresswell?" inquired the voice behind 
the light.
"Samantha Bridges," squeaked Sam, amazed at 
how pitiful her own name could sound. "Emma's 
in the other bedroom. I can get her for you," she 
added lamely.
"We'll wait out here," said the voice.
The flashlight flicked off, the door swung closed, 
and Sam stumbled from the bed to grope for her 
robe on the nearby chair. Finding the robe and 
belting it snugly around her waist, she turned on 
the bedside lamp with a shaking hand. The . 
antique-looking clock on the dresser said two-
thirty. The police coming for Emma in the middle of 
the night could mean only one thing: somebody had 
died.
Gulping hard, Sam opened the door to find two 
men standing outside in the living room.
"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, Miss Bridges. 
I'm Arthur Conland, the night manager, and this 
is Officer Peterson."
"Jimmy Peterson," said the policeman, giving 
Sam an apologetic smile. Jimmy Peterson was 
young, with a square, clean-shaven face, short 
blond hair, and sincere blue eyes.
"As I said, we're sorry," repeated Conland, 
"but evidently the police received a message of 
great urgency from the governor's office in At-
lanta. I'm afraid we'll need to see Miss Cress-
well."
"I'll have to wake her up," said Sam, her teeth 
practically chattering with fear. "S-sit down."
Oh my God, poor Emma, Sam thought as the 
men settled onto a sofa in the suite's spacious 
living area. Her knees felt weak. This was really 
happening! The police showing up in the middle 
of the night! She nearly stumbled climbing the 
three short steps to Emma's room.
Sam pushed open the door. The room was 
awash with the blue-white glow of the television 
and the sound of an old shoot-'em-up western. 
Emma slept soundly, looking like a child in her 
sleep.
After muting the sound on the TV, Sam gave 
Emma's shoulder a gentle shake.
"Emma."
Emma cocked open one eye.
"Emma, the police are here."
The eye closed. Emma turned on her side, 
mumbling sleepily, "Sam, that isn't funny."
"They really are. I mean it."
It took Sam a couple more tries to convince 
Emma she had to get out of bed. Finally, with a 
ragged sigh of exasperation, Emma pulled on her 
robe and marched into the living room.
"What's the problem, officer?" she asked re-
gally.
"Miss Emma Cresswell?"
"I'm Emma Cresswell."
"Could I see some identification, please, Miss 
Cresswell?"
"Would you mind telling me exactly what this is 
all about?"
The officer was now turning his hat round and 
round in his hands. "Ma'am, my name is Officer 
Peterson, with the city police here in Savannah. 
We had a call tonight from the governor's office, 
saying your father had called them and was 
distraught over the possibility that something 
might have happened to you. He asked that we 
verify your whereabouts."
"Excuse me," Emma said, raising one eyebrow, 
"but that doesn't sound like my father."
"Brent Cresswell was the name we got, ma'am. 
Evidently the credit card center called him to 
verify a lost or stolen card report, and he feared 
for your well-being."
"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever 
heard," snapped Emma. "My father has never in 
his life even wondered about my well-being!" 
Even as she said it, she remembered her father's 
desire to stay in closer touch from now on.
Could that be it? Could he really be concerned 
about her because she'd reported the credit card 
lost? But then Emma had a terrible thought: He 
didn't do this because he cares about me. He did it 
because he's just afraid I'll vanish from the face of 
the earth before he can find a way to use me 
against Mother!
"We couldn't very well ignore a request from 
the governor's office, ma'am," explained the po-
liceman.
"Officer Peterson, I am eighteen years of age
and no longer a minor. I see this as a violation of 
my privacy, and—"
"Please, Miss Cresswell, if you'll just show 
some identification, then me and Mr. Conland 
here can go back about our business, and you and 
your friend can go back to bed."
Sam thought the glare on Emma's expression 
could have stopped a speeding bullet. It was 
unbelievable. There Sam was, ready to die of 
fright, and Emma had this cop cowering in his 
boots. Sam was even beginning to feel a little 
sorry for Jimmy Peterson.
Without a word, Emma turned and swept into 
her room, returning a moment later with her 
wallet, which she virtually flung at Officer Peter-
son. After checking her driver's license, the two 
men apologized once more and left.
"I cannot believe what just happened," Emma 
said softly as soon as the girls were alone. She 
sank back into a chair.
"You were awesome!" Sam cried, her eyes 
shining.
"Thanks," Emma said in a monotone. But the 
look on Emma's face was not one of triumph. In 
fact, she looked terribly sad.
"I guess we should have called your father," 
offered Sam. "Parents do worry about these 
things."
"This little charade had nothing to do with 
worry," Emma replied with a sigh. "Believe me, I 
know the man. This was about power."
Sam, who wasn't sure she understood, had 
nothing to say.
"I can't think about it anymore," Emma added, 
turning to reenter her room. "Let's go back to 
bed and forget this ever happened."
The girls said good night and retired to their 
rooms. Sam fell immediately into a deep, dreamless 
sleep. But Emma's Technicolor dreams featured 
herself as a heroine, driving a beat-up VW bug 
on an urgent mission and leaving two evil 
hitchhikers behind in a cloud of dust. One looked 
vaguely like her father, and one was a blond-
wigged Minnie Mouse waving a hand that sported 
an enormous diamond.
Much further north, in New Haven, Carrie 
looked up from the political science textbook and 
rubbed her eyes. She'd have to get some sleep 
soon if she expected to do well on her midterm 
exam the next day. She found herself thinking 
that if the night had gone as she'd planned, she 
wouldn't still be cramming here at three in the 
morning. Fighting a rising irritation with Josh, 
she opened her desk drawer to find one of the 
candy bars she kept hidden there.
They had met at eight o'clock in Josh's room to 
study together for the test. But Josh, who wasn't 
as far behind in his work as she was, had wanted 
to talk. The talk had soon escalated into an 
argument, eclipsing any possibility of study.
"I think I've been pretty patient, if you want to
know the truth," Josh had said after bringing up 
the subject of spring break.
"You have been," Carrie had meekly agreed.
The fact that she was spending spring break 
with Billy had been eating at him, she knew. But 
she had been so busy! She hadn't seen much of 
Josh lately; when she did, she'd been so rushed 
that it was easy to avoid the issue. A little 
guiltily, Carrie realized that she had hoped to 
sidestep it entirely. Anyway, she would be spending 
time with Sam and Emma, too. It wasn't just Billy.
"So listen, we've got to deal with this," Josh 
had pressed.
Carrie had tapped her pen lightly on the notes 
they were starting to review. "We're watching 
the Third Reich come to power, and you're wor-
ried about spring break?" she had joked, trying to 
bring Josh back to the classwork.
Josh had grabbed the pen from her hand and in 
his frustration had sent it flying across the room.
"I'm sick of this, Carrie!" he had exploded. "We 
never talk anymore! You're always at the news-
paper, or at the library, or in the darkroom, or in 
New York . . . when are you going to have some 
time for me? Or is that just not enough of a priority 
anymore?"
"I do care about you, Josh, it's just that—"
"It's just that you're planning to spend the only 
free time you've had all year with someone else."
*Josh, I've admitted I'm confused ..."
"Well, I'm confused, too. I'm confused about
how some guy from last summer could have made 
such an impression that you'd throw away a 
five-year relationship!"
Carrie had looked in silence at her hands, 
waiting to see if his anger was spent. She still 
loved him so much. Why couldn't he understand 
that it was just different now? "Josh, I—" she 
started.
"No, wait," Josh had interrupted. He'd lowered 
his voice, and Carrie noted a new, serious tone.
"The fact is," he had continued, "since you don't 
seem willing to do anything about it, I'm going to 
call the shots. I know you've been planning this 
trip for a long time, and I wouldn't ask you to call it 
off. But if you're still confused when you get 
back, I'm ready to start seeing someone else."
Carrie had felt something catch in her throat.
"Someone in particular?" she had ventured, 
and was stunned to see Josh fighting a guilty 
smile as his face flushed all the way up to his 
hairline.
"Well, there's someone I'm attracted to."
Oh my God, it's Sarah Lovett! Carrie had 
thought, now feeling she'd completely misinter-
preted the secretive smiles they'd exchanged 
passing in the hall. White-hot jealousy seared like 
molten lava through her veins. How dare she? 
Carrie had thought.
"Josh," she had managed to strangle out, "please 
don't ever think you don't mean the world to me. I 
guess I've just been so busy that I didn't see 
how unfair this has been to you."
In the silence that had ensued, Josh had reached 
for her hand, holding it tightly between both of 
his, and finally raising it to his lips for a kiss. He 
had given out with a heart-rending "Oh, Carrie" 
before taking her into his arms.
Fear of losing him had sweetened the moment, 
and quickly renewed her attraction to him. Josh 
had kissed her passionately, and Carrie, returning 
the kiss, had felt an overwhelming desire for him. 
He had been her first love. . . .
What am I doing? Carrie had found the pres-
ence of mind to ask herself. A moment later, she 
had gently disengaged herself from Josh's em-
brace. Josh had pounded his fist on the wall in 
frustration.
"How do you think this makes me feel?" he had 
cried. "You're spending your only vacation with 
that guy, and I'm not even allowed to touch you!"
Josh had rushed from the room, slamming the 
door on his way out. When he hadn't returned 
after fifteen minutes, Carrie had gone back to her 
dorm. That had been hours ago. He hadn't called.
Now, with another half-hour of study facing 
her, Carrie couldn't see that anything positive 
had been accomplished. She was insecure about 
Josh's feelings for her, guilty about spring break, 
and even a little guilty about her passionate 
response to Josh, considering she was seeing 
Billy in less than a week. To top it off, she 
probably wasn't going to ace this test the next 
day.
Finishing her candy bar, she reached into the 
drawer for another. At least she no longer had to 
worry about her eating habits adding unwanted 
pounds to her figure.
She knew what to do about that.
Over breakfast in the quaint tearoom, Sam 
promised herself she'd have a talk with Emma. 
After all, she was not the type of babe who beat 
around the bush. If Emma was drinking too 
much, then they should talk about it. That's what 
real friends were for.
But Emma got there first.
"Listen, Sam, I think you'll be happy to know 
I've turned over a new leaf, so to speak," Emma 
said as she pushed her serrated spoon into a 
section of grapefruit. "You were right when you 
said my family's driving me crazy, and I want you 
to know I'm finished with all that."
"Emma, it's not just your family, it's, well ..."
"I know. I'm taking my share of blame here and 
now. I've been so self-absorbed lately! I'm sure I 
can't be much fun to be around."
"No, no," Sam protested. Somehow the conver-
sation was getting away from Emma's drinking, 
which Sam had been working up the courage to 
ask her about.
"You know I really admire you, Sam," Emma 
continued.
"Me?" Sam squeaked.
"You!" Emma affirmed. "You aren't afraid to
get out there and take chances! You have an idea 
of what you want, and you go after it."
"Well, I try to," Sam began. "I mean—"
"Take your job, for instance," Emma continued 
earnestly. "Dancing at Disney World. How many 
girls do you think dream of that? And you're 
doing it!"
"I, uh . . ." Sam stammered.
"I want to be more daring, like you are," Emma 
said.
Okay, Sam, here's your chance, she said to 
herself. Just open your mouth and tell Emma the 
truth. But somehow her mouth wouldn't open. 
She just kept stirring extra sugar into her coffee.
"I feel like I've never done anything really 
adventurous in my whole life," Emma continued.
"But you've been all over the world!" said Sam.
"Yes, I have. With my nannies and my chauf-
feurs, in my family's private jet, with a wall of 
money and influential people shielding me from 
making any decisions on my own."
"You made your own decision to be an au pair 
last summer," countered Sam, "and your family 
didn't get you that job. You jumped right in and 
snagged it yourself."
"But look at the kind of job it was, Sam. In a 
beautiful place full of wealthy people, enjoying a 
wonderful, secure position with Jeff and Jane 
Hewitt, the world's most loving family. Where's 
the adventure in that? It was more like I traded 
one kind of palace for another."
"Your sailing abilities saved our butts last 
Christmas," Sam reminded her.
"That was an accident. I'm talking about the 
courage to make a plan. I'll bet you've already 
decided on your next step after Disney World."
Tell her! Tell her! the voice screamed inside of 
Sam. It looked like time for both of them to own 
up to things. Unfortunately, Sam was enjoying 
Emma's admiration of her too much to confess the 
truth. She just couldn't bear the thought of how 
Emma would look at her after she knew Sam was 
nothing more than a waitress at a third-rate steak 
house.
Sam sat up a little straighter and flung her hair 
back over her shoulders. "As a matter of fact, I 
do," Sam said coolly. "I'm going to be an actress."
"See?" Emma said emphatically. "I keep feeling 
like I want to step through the looking glass, and 
you're already there."
This was going entirely too far. "Emma, listen, 
it's not really like that—" Sam ventured. But 
before she could continue, she was interrupted.
"Howdy, ladies," came a familiar voice from 
above their seats. Looking up, the girls saw 
Jimmy Peterson, now in street clothes, holding 
two red roses in his hand.
"Thought I'd drop by to apologize again for last 
night. I don't make a habit of disturbing the rest 
of pretty young ladies. Or at least if I do, I try to 
make it a pleasant experience," said Jimmy, 
handing Sam and Emma each a rose.
"Why, thank you," said Emma.
"That is so thoughtful. I cant believe it," crooned 
Sam.
"I'd be happy to show you Savannah if you 
want to stick around. I mean, I understand you've 
got to be headin' north an' all. I just thought—"
"Wait a minute," said Emma, shifting her at-
tention from the delicate scent of the rose she 
held. "How did you know we were heading north?"
"I'd imagine every cop along 1-95 knows you're 
headin' north," Jimmy answered, leaning on the 
coatrack next to Sam. "One of my buddies from 
the station moonlights as security at one of the 
hotels over on Hilton Head, and he said an alert 
was issued last night from the governor of South 
Carolina, too. You must be one special young lady 
to have every governor on the Eastern seaboard 
watchin' after you."
"Thank you, Jimmy," said Emma, twirling the 
rose in her fingers. "You've been kinder than 
you'll ever know. And thank you for the invita-
tion. We really can't stay, though."
"Think nothin' of it. Y'all come back to Savan-
nah one day, hear?"
With a slight tip of his head, Jimmy Peterson 
turned and made his way from the tearoom. Sam 
watched Emma, waiting for her response.
Emma studied the petals of the rose in her 
hands. She was remembering her still-vivid dream 
of the night before. I'm tired of not being the 
person I want to be! I'm tired of feeling smoth-
ered by my family! she thought. There was
absolutely no reason why her father should know 
her route and keep tabs on exactly where she was 
every minute of this trip.
"So, Sam," she said casually, looking up with a 
mischievous gleam in her eye, "still want to go to 
the mountains?"
With the sun shining warmly into the interior 
of the Sunbird and the South Carolina pines 
scenting the spring air, Carrie and Emma glided 
along the picturesque two-lane road. They'd chosen 
to stay off the highway for this first leg of their 
new route north. Passing through the countryside 
and quaint small towns made them feel they 
were definitely off the beaten path.
"I love this!" Sam yelled into the wind, "I feel 
so ... so ... what's the word for this, Emma?"
"Euphoric!" Emma sang out.
"Right, euphoric!" Sam echoed. She threw her 
arms behind her head and closed her eyes bliss-
fully. "Ah, the lure of the open road! No wonder 
so many songs and stories are written about this. 
It's almost as good as falling madly in love with 
some incredibly gorgeous guy."
Just then a billboard featuring a giant ice 
cream cone dipped in chocolate caught Sam's eye. 
"Hey, Em, there's Dairy Dip a mile ahead. Can 
we stop? Please please please please?"
"We just ate breakfast a couple of hours ago!"
"So? Fresh air makes me hungry!" Sam re-
sponded reasonably.
A minute later, Emma gave in and turned into a 
small gravel lot beside a white-painted stand 
topped by a human-sized statue of an ice cream 
cone with a cute little swirl on the top. The menu, 
displayed in colorful pictures above the counter, 
offered everything from foot-long hot dogs to 
banana splits.
"Maybe I'll have the chili instead," Sam vacil-
lated.
"It's real good chili," said the girl behind the 
window. Sam read "Kelly" off her nametag. She 
looked younger than she and Emma, Sam noted. 
Shades ofBigAl's, she thought. She shook off the 
feeling and asked, "How 'bout the Strawberry-
Butterscotch Extravaganza?"
"That's good, too," said Kelly.
"Sam, would you please make up your mind?" 
said Emma.
"Okay, okay," Sam said, then leaned in to give 
her order to Kelly. "I'll have a chili dog deluxe 
and a hot fudge sundae supreme," she said.
"Yuck!" Emma said, wrinkling her nose in 
distaste.
"And another chili dog deluxe for my friend 
here," Sam added.
"Sam," Emma protested, "I don't want a chili 
dog."
Sam turned to look at her. "Have you ever had a 
chili dog?"
"Well, no," Emma began.
"Then how do you know you don't want one?" 
Sam asked reasonably. She turned to the young 
girl behind the counter. "You tell her, Kelly. 
They're good, aren't they?"
"The best," Kelly agreed.
"I rest my case," Sam said solemnly, folding 
her arms.
Emma looked from Kelly to Sam and back to 
Kelly again, who stood there patiently, waiting to 
put the order in.
Emma had to laugh. "Fine. I'll eat a chili dog."
A few minutes later, Kelly slid the two chili 
dogs through the slide-up screen and stared 
anxiously at Emma as she picked up the chili dog. 
Emma regarded the paper-wrapped concoction 
doubtfully. Finally she reached out tentatively to 
gingerly lift one corner of the wrapping.
"Don't look at it," Sam advised her. "Just open 
your mouth, shove it in, and chew. Think of this 
as an initiation into your new life."
Sam's last words triggered a response. After 
all, Emma reasoned, I've eaten all kinds of exotic 
foods in other countries. South Carolina, at the 
moment, was seeming somewhat like another 
country to Emma. In one swift move she un-
wrapped the dog and took her first bite.
"So?" asked Sam. She and Kelly stood waiting 
for Emma's reaction.
Emma grinned. "This is actually not bad," she 
replied, folding back the wrapping some more 
and taking another bite. "Not bad at all."
"Welcome to America," said Sam.
Emma laughed, and she and Sam raced to 
finish off their chili dogs. Then Sam got her 
sundae and the two girls sat at one of the picnic 
tables located in a shady area on the side of the 
Dairy Dip.
As Emma watched Sam slurp the sundae into 
her mouth, she realized she felt something she 
hadn't felt in a long time—completely happy. She 
raised her legs up onto the bench and clasped her 
hands around her knees, lifting her head to the 
sun. Suddenly, everything felt right. Even the 
worn denim of her jeans felt perfect under her 
fingers. Just that morning Emma had dug into 
the bottom of her suitcase to find the faded jeans 
she had worn last summer on Sunset Island. 
She'd barely worn them since, but now that they 
were on her again, it felt like being with an old 
friend.
Memories flooded back, starting with when 
she'd first bought them to help bring her ward-
robe more in line with what the other girls were 
wearing. Walks on the beach with Kurt, happy 
casual evenings with the Hewitt family, free 
afternoons and evenings at the Play Cafe with 
her new friends Carrie and Sam—these jeans had 
seen it all. How could she have let them languish, 
neatly folded and unworn, for so long?
"Yum, I could eat another," Sam said, licking 
up the last bite of melted ice cream.
"So eat another, then," Emma said.
Sam stared at her.  "Where's the wrinkled
nose? The air of disdain? I mean, I cultivate at 
least half of my gross eating habits just so I can 
get a rise out of you!"
Emma laughed and stood up to stretch. "Who 
cares? This is the new anything-goes Emma."
Sam threw the plastic sundae dish into a trash 
can and licked some chocolate off her finger. 
"What happened to the old uptight-heiress Emma?"
"I have banished her for the duration," Emma 
said regally as they headed toward the car.
"Oh, I see," Sam said in the same tone of voice 
as Emma. As they passed the order window she 
turned to wave at Kelly. "Do tender our compli-
ments to the chef!" she called.
Kelly grinned hospitably. "Anytime. Y'all come 
back, now."
The girls had rounded the corner and started 
the car when Kelly called after them, "Hey, the 
radio says there's a powerful big storm coming in 
from the west. Y'all drive careful!"
But it was Sam's turn to drive, and with 
Graham Perry's latest tape blasting from the 
stereo, neither Sam nor Emma heard Kelly's 
warning. Both girls waved cheerily as the car 
kicked up gravel and hit the open road.
"Hi, this is Carrie, and I can't take your call 
right now ..."
Carrie lunged for the phone. "I'm here, I'm 
here, just a minute while I turn off this stupid 
machine."
She had heard the phone on her way up the
stairs, and for some reason had felt it was a call 
she needed to catch. Flicking off the answering 
machine, she spoke again into the handset. "Hello?"
"So rumor has it I'm talking to an actual 
person," came a deep male voice.
"Billy!" Carrie breathed into the phone. "I just 
had a feeling . . . I'm so glad it's you." Carrie sat 
down on the bed, cradling the phone receiver with 
her shoulder.
"As Pres would say, you're a hard dog to keep 
under the porch, you know that?" Pres, the bass 
player for Flirting with Danger, was from Ten-
nessee, and the other guys in the band were 
always quoting his colorful Southern expressions.
"That's cuz this dog works like one," Carrie 
quipped. "I'm hardly ever in my room."
"So I've discovered," Billy said. "So how's life 
in the fast lane?"
"Exhausting," Carrie replied truthfully. "I just 
came back from a midterm."
"No doubt a piece of cake for you, oh brainy 
one," Billy said lightly.
"I wish," Carrie said. The truth was that her 
midterm in English Lit really had been difficult. 
And Josh, who had sat only two rows away, 
wouldn't even look at her, let alone speak. But all 
that seemed so much less important now.
"So, listen, I've got a surprise for you," Billy 
continued.
"You're flying to Yale to whisk me off to Paris 
for a few days before we all meet at Sunset 
Island?" Carrie guessed hopefully.
"Sorry, not that good," Billy said with a laugh. 
"Someday, though . . . anyway, here's the deal. 
The band's booked at the Play Cafe the first night 
you're back on the island."
"Hey, that's great!" Carrie exclaimed. "I'd love 
to hear the Flirts again. But how did that hap-
pen? I thought it was off season. They don't 
usually have bands at the cafe in April, do they?"
"True, and they don't usually have fires, either. 
But they did a couple of weeks ago," Billy re-
ported.
"At the Play Cafe?" Carrie asked with concern. 
"Was anyone hurt?"
"Fortunately not," Billy told her. "The way I 
understand it, some wires got crossed in the 
heating system. The clean-up is just about fin-
ished, but the kitchen's pretty much of a loss. 
We're doing a benefit to help Ken get the place 
put back together in time for summer."
"Ken must be devastated!" Carrie exclaimed. 
Ken Miner, who owned the Play Cafe, was a 
favorite with all his patrons.
"He's holding up pretty well, but the bank 
that holds the mortgage on the place is hurting. 
That building's mostly wood, you know. You 
can only get so much fire insurance on a structure 
like that, and the most expensive stuff—all that 
equipment—was in the kitchen."
"Wait a minute," said Carrie. "How big a 
benefit can you pull off when hardly anyone's 
around at this time of year?"
"Hey, I told you the Flirts have been gaining
quite a following around the colleges in Portland, 
Bangor, even down through New Hampshire and 
as far away as Boston now. Plenty of kids can't 
afford to go too far for spring break—they'll 
spend a Saturday night on Sunset for a good 
cause, no problem."
"I can't wait," Carrie said, smiling wistfully. 
She wished she could make the time between now 
and leaving for Sunset Island a mere millisecond. 
"I'm so excited!"
Billy laughed. "I'll see to that."
Carrie was glad a blush couldn't be seen over 
the phone. A thought popped into her mind: that 
was the difference between Josh and Billy. Billy 
could actually make her blush.
"So listen," Billy continued, "say hi to Emma 
and Sam for me. And speaking of Sam, Pres is 
watching^the horizon for the first sign of that wild 
red hair of hers. What's the deal with her, 
anyway?"
"Last I heard, she was footloose and fancy-
free," said Carrie. "But that was over a week ago, 
and you know how it goes."
"I do know how it goes," said Billy softly, "and I 
hope you're willing to wait another week for
me."
"Don't even consider another possibility," Carrie 
answered fervently. "I'm not." Oh, she was so 
thankful she'd had her wits about her last night! 
"Okay then, gotta run. You have a safe trip." 
Carrie told Billy good-bye, hung up, and flopped on 
the bed. She was exhausted from staying up
all night, but now her tiredness had a pleasant 
glow to it. Just a few more days, and she'd be 
with Billy!
All her efforts of the past couple of weeks were 
coming to a satisfying conclusion now: midterms 
would be over, and even the paper would shut 
down for spring break. As to her other new 
pastime, she knew she was pushing it, forcing 
herself to vomit after meals now as well as after 
between-meal indulgences. But it was working so 
well that she was hopeful a change in her appear-
ance would be apparent by spring break after all.
She'd already lost almost five pounds.
"So what about Pres?" Emma asked Sam. They 
were now about an hour past Columbia, South 
Carolina, where they'd gotten on a small high-
way. The landscape had turned from pine flats to 
soft, rolling hills.
"What about him?" said Sam.
"Aren't you excited about seeing him?"
"Well, yeah. In a way. I guess."
"Very decisive answer, Sam." Emma laughed.
Sam swept a strand of hair out of her eyes and 
reached over to insert another tape into the tape 
deck.
"He's ... I don't know," Sam said lamely. "I 
mean, he's gorgeous. And exciting. And hot ..."
"You poor baby!" Emma teased. "How can you 
stand him, then?"
Sam sighed. "It's just not ... I don't know. 
It's not love."
"So what's love, then?" Emma asked.
"How am I supposed to know?" Sam said, "I've 
never been in it. But when I am in it, I'll know. 
You know?"
"I suppose I do," Emma said thoughtfully, 
turning down the music so they could hear each 
other better. "I mean, before Kurt I didn't know 
what love was, either."
"But now that you're in it, you know, right?" 
Sam asked. "So I rest my case."
Emma nodded thoughtfully. "I guess if you 
don't feel that way about Pres, then you don't, no 
matter how hot he is."
"I just have this feeling that love should be ... 
gut-wrenching or something," Sam said passion-
ately. "Like all you can do is think about that 
person. You can't eat, you can't sleep, that sort of 
thing."
"That's how I felt with Kurt last summer," 
Emma said. "It wasn't always so wonderful, 
though."
"I don't know," Sam sighed. "Maybe it's not all 
it's cracked up to be. Or maybe I'm missing some 
love chromosome or something. I don't know if 
I'll ever ..." Sam paused and squinted into the 
distance. "Hey, Em, are those the mountains?"
Emma, who'd been keeping her eyes on the 
road, checked the horizon. A dark, peaked mass 
to the west seemed to stretch from north to 
south.
"That can't be the mountains yet," she an-
swered. "We're still hours away from Asheville."
"Well, it sure     ^s like something."
"I hate to say this, but what it looks like is 
clouds. Lots of clouds. I think we're headed into a 
storm." For the first time, Emma noticed what her 
eyes had been observing but her mind hadn't 
registered. A number of cars coming the other 
way on the highway had their lights on, although it 
was sunny, warm, and only three-thirty in the 
afternoon.
"We'd better find a place to pull over and put 
the top up," Emma said.
Setting the emergency blinkers to flash, she 
pulled off onto the shoulder at the next straight-
away. Opening the latches at the top of the 
windshield in preparation for contact, she pressed 
the button to raise the top.
There was a muted groan, followed by nothing.
"What's going on?" asked Sam over the wind. 
Now that they were stopped, it was evident that 
the breeze blowing through the car hadn't just 
been due to their speed on the highway.
"I don't know. I'm doing the same thing I've 
always done," Emma said, trying the button 
again. This time she didn't even get the muted 
groan. Nothing happened at all.
"I think we'd better get off the highway," said 
Sam, nervously eyeing the traffic whizzing by 
them. "We might need help, and it's a cinch we're 
not going to find a mechanic sitting out here."
Quickly they climbed into the car and merged 
back into traffic. The sun was now behind the 
clouds, and the air itself seemed to have a heavy,
greenish cast. They passed a truck whose driver 
honked, pointed ahead, and rippled his fingers 
downward in an imitation of rain.
"We know!" mouthed Sam, with a gesture of 
helplessness.
A car full of guys passed on their left. The rear 
window rolled down and a cute blond-haired guy 
stuck his head out. "Hey, storm!" he called out, 
pointing deliberately into the distance.
"We know!" Emma mouthed, rolling her eyes. 
"They must think we're crazy!" she yelled to 
Sam.
"We probably are," Sam answered. "We're 
driving into a storm with the top down!"
The next exit had the unlikely name of Boomer, 
but beggars couldn't be choosers. Once off the 
highway, they were dismayed to find a sign that 
read: Boomer, 5 Miles.
"Maybe we'll get there ahead of the storm," 
Emma said hopefully.
Sam eyed the rapidly darkening skies. "Well, 
at least we're off the highway," she muttered. 
"Now it won't be so bad."
The words were no sooner out of her mouth 
than the sky opened. Rain poured down in cur-
tains, sweeping over the car and soaking Sam and 
Emma within seconds. Both of them shrieked at 
the first sensation of cold water drenching their 
hair and clothes, but it was immediately obvious 
there was nothing they could do. It was hard to 
see and they couldn't drive very quickly. From 
time to time, Emma tried the button that raised
the top, but by then she really didn't expect 
anything to happen.
After what Sam thought must have been the 
longest few minutes of her life, they came to a 
crossroads with a few buildings scattered about 
the intersection. Fortunately one of the nearest 
said Sonny's Gas and Garage.
A rippled metal roof sheltered the area be-
tween the station's glass window and the pumps. 
Emma pulled in under it and stopped the car. She 
and Sam turned to regard each other.
"You should see yourself!" Sam gasped with 
laughter, pointing at Emma.
Emma's hair was plastered to her skull on one 
side, and formed a slick lopsided peak on the 
other. She looked like a conehead experiencing 
slippage.
"I can't believe I could look any funnier than 
you do," Emma replied before dissolving into a fit 
of giggles.
Sam twisted the rearview mirror to get a look 
at herself. Her mascara ran in rivulets down her 
face. The lines ran all around her mouth and met 
below her chin, giving her a painted Fu Manchu-
style beard. "Whoa, what a babe!" she shrieked. 
"All I can say is, I'm glad there are no cute guys 
here to see me looking like this!" She looked up. 
"Uh-oh," she said. "Cancel that thought."
Two guys had just pushed open the door of the 
gas station and were headed over to them.
"I am totally humiliated," Sam lamented. "And 
they're cute, too."
The guys peered at the girls, then at the 
flooded convertible, with amused faces. Already 
the sudden downpour was slowing to a trickle.
The muscular, sandy-haired one could barely 
control his mirth. "Hey, gals!" he said. "I see 
you've been out enjoyin' some fresh air on this 
beautiful day."
"Oh, funny," Sam commented coolly, going for a 
sassy shake of her hair. Oops. Her hair was 
plastered to her head. The move came off as more 
of a tic.
The other guy opened Emma's door for her. 
She found herself looking into his vivid blue eyes. 
"Everyone out of the pool!" he called as a flood of 
water sloshed out onto the ground.
"We couldn't get the top to go up," Emma 
blurted out. She slid out of the driver's seat.
"Really?" said the sandy-haired guy. "We thought 
maybe this was a mobile wet T-shirt party."
Sam slipped out of her seat and stood next to 
him. With her cowboy boots (which squished a 
bit) she was a little taller than the guy. She gave 
him a look of intense interest. "Let me ask you a 
question," she said, cocking her head to the side. 
"Has anybody ever told you you should be a 
stand-up comic?"
The guy looked very flattered. "No, but I 
surely have thought about it," he said seriously.
"Well," Sam answered solemnly, "don't."
The guy turned a bright shade of red.
"She's just a little testy because of our predic-
ament," Emma interrupted hastily. "Right, Sam?"
Sam didn't answer. She was too busy looking 
haughty.
"Listen, is there anyone who could look at the 
car to see if the top can be fixed?" Emma asked 
the guys.
"Also dry clothes would be a happening event," 
Sam added, careful not to include the sandy-
haired guy in her gaze. "Is there somewhere we 
can change?"
The dark-haired guy with the beautiful blue 
eyes gave them a friendly smile and said, "You 
sure picked the right place to stop. Sonny's just 
down the road at Ma's, and he's the best mechanic 
for a hundred miles. Why don't you grab your 
stuff and let us run you over there? You can 
change, talk to Sonny, and get some of the best 
catfish in the country while he checks your car."
Catfish? "That would be lovely," Emma said 
with her most well-bred smile.
When the guys had gone around the side of the 
station, Emma turned on Sam. "Why were you so 
rude to that guy?" she demanded.
Sam grabbed Emma's arm. "Did you see how 
cute he is? I'm dying!"
"What are you talking about? The short one 
that you were so mean to?"
"Those muscles!" Sam rhapsodized. "Believe 
me, rude works. I look like the Swamp Thing at 
the moment. I had to do something to get his 
attention!"
Emma shook her head. "Sometimes I think you 
are completely certifiable."
Just then the guys pulled up in a red pickup 
truck. The girls threw their stuff under a tarp in 
back and then squeezed into the cab with them.
The guys introduced themselves as Jake (the 
dark-haired one) and Scott (with the sandy hair). 
They were down from Knoxville to participate in a 
customized-sports car rally in the area. They 
knew Sonny through a mutual passion for car 
racing. Jake explained that they usually towed 
their race car on a trailer behind the truck, but 
right now it was inside Sonny's garage for a final 
tuneup.
"Thanks a lot," Emma said, climbing as daintily 
from the truck as possible.
"Listen," Scott said, sticking his head out of the 
window, "if you're still around in a couple of 
hours, there's a twilight bluegrass jam here at 
Ma's. Either of you gals clog?"
Clog. It seemed to be a verb of some sort, but 
Emma hadn't a clue what it meant. "I don't know 
what—" Emma began.
"Do we clog?" Sam broke in. "Is the Pope 
Catholic?"
"Swell!" Scott said, his face breaking into a 
huge grin.
"But I—" Emma tried again.
"Okay, okay," Sam interrupted Emma again. 
"I'll tell the truth."
"Thank you," Emma said with dignity.
"The truth is, I'm only fair, but Emma here is a 
national champion!"
"Get out of town!" Jake crowed.
"How's about y'all have an early dinner, and 
warm up your tootsies, and we'll be back here 
when the garage closes?" Scott asked eagerly.
"What have you gotten me into now?" Emma 
demanded as the guys drove away and Sam 
hustled her into the restaurant.
"Just a little dancing," Sam said innocently.
"Dancing I have no idea how to do," Emma said 
as they pushed through the door into the ladies' 
room.
"Hey, where's the new, adventurous, free-
spirited Emma?" Sam asked, rummaging through 
her suitcase for the perfect clogging outfit.
"Maybe I could learn to clog," Emma allowed, 
"but you just told them I was a champion!"
"Emma, Emma, Emma, what's a little hyperbole 
between friends?" Sam asked, semidistractedly 
as she pawed through her clothes. "Aha!" she 
crowed. She held up a metallic bra top with coins 
dangling from the bottom and smiled wickedly. 
"Just wait until Scott sees the real me."
"Is that the kind of thing a person wears 
clogging?" Emma asked uncertainly.
"Sure," Sam said. "In fact, a real champion like 
you would dress even trashier. Cloggers are 
known for their sexy outfits." She gave Emma a 
wicked smile. "Time for your transformation!"
Ill
When the girls came out of the ladies' room, 
Emma still wasn't certain that either of them had 
made the right choice for clogging outfits. Sam 
was wearing the metallic bra top with a micro-
miniskirt made out of metallic mesh. Her red 
cowboy boots (which she had dried with her hair 
dryer) completed the outfit. Sam had dressed 
Emma in a sheer black shirt with bright flowers 
covering her breasts, and a hot pink stretchy 
miniskirt that Emma kept pulling selfconsciously 
away from the curve of her butt. It was totally 
unlike the clothes Emma usually wore. But Sam 
had convinced her to take a chance, and had used 
words like stuffy and boring and heiress. 
Somehow Emma had gone along with it, and 
here she was, sidling into the restaurant, feeling 
like a total idiot.
Fortunately there weren't too many patrons to 
witness Emma's embarrassment. In fact there 
was only one, the infamous Sonny, and he was 
impossible to miss. He was one of the largest
human beings Emma and Sam had ever seen. It 
wasn't that Sonny was fat; he was just . . . big. 
His boyish moon-sized face wore a friendly smile 
as the girls introduced themselves, but took on a 
solemn expression as they explained the problem 
with Emma's car.
"Wayl, I dunno. Them new-fangled cars kin be 
right tetchy t' mess with," he drawled. "On t' 
other hand, might jes' be a li'l bug needs workin' 
out." Heaving his massive frame out of the booth, 
he continued, "I'll jes' have me a look-see, and git 
back to ya . . . y'all gonna be right heah?"
Emma and Sam looked at each other—where 
else could they go?
"Fine," Emma said. "And I can pay you by cash 
or traveler's check, if you prefer it to a credit 
card," she added.
"That'd be jes' fine, ma'am," Sonny said, am-
bling toward the door. He turned back to them 
and bucked his head toward the floor shyly. 
"That's mighty purty stuff you'uns got on," he 
added, then went through the door.
"Told you," Sam said with her chin up. She 
headed for the jukebox, which featured mostly 
country artists. The only ones Sam knew were 
Elvis Presley and Garth Brooks, so that's what 
she played.
Emma and Sam slid into a booth to the strains 
of "Heartbreak Hotel." Sam let her foot dangle 
off the edge of the seat and admired her newly 
dry cowboy boots.
"I would have had a coronary if these boots got 
ruined," Sam said.
"It's amazing that you found another pair," 
Emma said, unsuccessfully attempting to lengthen 
her tiny mini skirt. "They're almost exactly like 
the ones that got wrecked when we were lost at
sea."
"I know," Sam agreed. "I felt positively super-
stitious until I had them back on my feet." She 
wriggled her toes blissfully.
"'Scuse me, but no legs up on the upholstery," 
came a female voice so deep and raspy that it 
sounded as if the speaker were in the bottom of a 
well.
Sam and Emma looked up at a female version 
of Sonny. She^ was six feet tall, well over two 
hundred solid pounds, with steel-gray hair and 
arms the size of tree trunks. The woman's mouth 
was wrapped around a filterless cigarette.
"I'm Ma," the voice boomed. Ma looked over 
their outfits with obvious disdain. "Will y'all be 
orderin'?"
"Hot chocolate?" Sam asked.
"I'll have tea," Emma added meekly, again 
attempting to adjust her skirt.
"Hmph," was Ma's reply as she turned away.
"I'm changing," Emma hissed as she began to 
slide out of the booth. "This outfit is tacky."
"Well, thank you very much, Miss Heiress," 
Sam said in a hurt voice. "That happens to be one 
of my favorite outfits."
"I'm sorry, Sam," Emma said. "I didn't mean 
anything by it. I mean—"
"Look, it's nothing to me if you don't want to 
wear it," Sam said, but Emma could tell how hurt 
she really was.
"I'll . . . I'll keep it on," Emma said, sliding 
back into the booth. "Probably it's just that I'm 
not used to it, right?"
Ma sat the tea and hot chocolate down on the 
table before Sam could answer Emma.
"Kitchen opens in five minutes," came Ma's 
huge, gravelly voice. "Catfish platter comes with 
your catfish, your homefries, and your slaw. 
Catfish dinner includes that plus your choice of 
two from your green beans, your white beans, 
your turnip greens, and your hush puppies. Will 
you ladies be wantin' to order?"
Emma wasn't too sure she liked the spin that 
Ma put on the word ladies, but figured it might 
just be her imagination. Sam hadn't eyen noticed. 
She was too busy reveling in the joys of a down-
home catfish dinner.
"I'll have the dinner," Sam said promptly, "with 
green beans and extra hush puppies."
"Uh, the same," Emma said with what she 
hoped was a ladylike smile at Ma.
"Hmph," was Ma's reply as she trundled away 
toward the kitchen.
"Wow, a catfish dinner!" Sam exclaimed hap-
piiy-
"I believe my father uses catfish as bait," 
Emma said, turning a little green.
"I wonder what a hush puppy is," Sam continued, 
ignoring Emma's comment.
Emma gulped. "I'm just hoping it doesn't 
involve an actual canine."
"Culinary adventure is a wonderful thing," 
Sam opined.
The door opened, and the first of the dinner 
customers started to filter into the restaurant.
"See?" Sam pointed out. "All the locals can't be 
wrong about the place to eat!"
As the restaurant filled up the girls noticed 
that several people had musical instruments with 
them, which they laid carefully on a chair or 
leaned against a wall.
"Catfish," Ma announced unceremoniously as 
she set the overloaded plates of food in front of 
them.
"Dig in!" Sam cried, and cut into the golden 
breaded fish.
Emma watched Sam with a look of trepidation 
on her face.
"What am I, the royal taster?" Sam asked 
around the food in her mouth. "Like if I die, you'll 
know not to chow down?"
Emma picked up her fork, delicately speared a 
piece of fish, and put it into her mouth.
"It's actually . . . good," she said finally.
"Two new foods in one day—oh, heart of mine, 
be still!" Sam laughed. She picked up a small fried 
blob. "By process of elimination, this must be the 
ole hush puppy." She bit into it. "It's bread. Fried
cornbread," Sam said with disappointment. "My 
mother makes fried cornbread."
"All of this is really very good!" Emma said 
with her mouth full. "If you don't mind eating 
fried, that is."
"Throw caution to the winds, live danger-
ously," Sam suggested.
They chewed happily for a while. Even Emma 
finished most of what was on her plate.
Finally Emma couldn't fit another morsel of 
food into her stomach. She daintily patted the 
side of her mouth with her napkin and asked 
Sam, "How long do you think we should wait 
before checking back with Sonny about the car?"
"Speak of the devil," Sam said, nodding toward 
the door of the restaurant, where Sonny, Jake, 
and Scott had just entered. "Ask him now, if you 
want."
The three guys waved to Ma, smiled at Sam 
and Emma, and took a booth near the door. Ma 
immediately sashayed over with three steaming 
plates, as if she'd been waiting for them.
"On second thought,"~said Sam, "maybe you'd 
better wait till after they eat."
Emma was feeling a bit uneasy. If her car was 
ready, why wasn't Sonny presenting a bill? Of 
course, if it was a major problem, maybe he'd 
have to finish fixing it after dinner. A terrible 
thought crossed her mind: maybe the top couldn't 
be fixed and he just didn't want to tell her. She 
finally decided to be optimistic, and ordered an 
after-dinner cup of coffee. They were hours off
their schedule, and would have to drive well into 
the night to reach Asheville.
Soon they heard the sound of stringed instru-
ments being tuned. Sam and Emma watched as 
dinner tables were moved back against one wall 
to make room for a band and dance floor.
Sam was shifting in her seat, craning to see the 
table where Jake, Scott, and Sonny were now 
drinking coffee. She noticed Scott was doing the 
same thing in their direction.
"He's looking at me!" Sam whispered trium-
phantly to Emma.
"Of course he's looking at you," Emma said. 
"Everyone is looking at you. You're wearing a 
bra and mesh."
Sam flipped her hair back over her shoulder. 
"It was a fashion risk worth taking."
Suddenly the fiddle player got up, gave his 
instrument a quick tune, and started playing a 
merry, spirited bluegrass jig. Soon other players 
joined in, and the room swelled with music.
A number of people left their seats to join in an 
animated dance. Emma was fascinated. So this is 
clogging! she thought. The women, whose bodies 
hardly seemed to move at all, were beating out a 
rapid, complicated rhythm with their feet. The 
men did the same, but their steps were punctu-
ated with occasional kicks, stomps, and some-
thing they did with their elbows that looked like a 
chicken flapping its wings. When the first song 
ended, Emma forced her attention back to the 
problem at hand.
"Listen, I don't want to be rude, but I really 
have to go ask Sonny about my car. I'm having an 
anxiety attack."
Emma strode purposefully to Sonny's side, 
where she had to lean close to his ear to make 
herself heard over the music.
"My car," she said with as much decorum as she 
could manage at this volume. "Were you able to 
fix it?"
"It wuz jes' like I figgered: a li'l belt come loose 
from the motor that runs yer top. Din' take but 
one li'l turn of a wrench, and she's good as new."
"That's wonderful! Let me get my wallet, and—"
"Fergit money," said Sonny, his eyes shining as 
he gave Emma another wink. "You know what I 
want."
Emma's heart thudded in her chest. "Ah, no. 
Not really . . ."
Sonny stood up, towering over Emma. She 
took a step back in fear. Surely somebody would 
help her. What was this giant going to try to do? 
"I want," he said in a low voice, "a dance."
Emma just stood there a moment. Then she 
remembered Sam's silly remark about her being a 
clogging champion. Jake and Scott must have 
told Sonny. So that's it!
"I'm sorry," Emma began graciously. "There 
appears to be a misunderstanding here—"
"Sonny told us he's not givin' your keys back 
until you dance with him," Jake said with a grin.
"Might as well not fight it," Scott added. "Sonny 
here is a dancin' fool."
Emma looked over at Sam, who was laughing 
so hard she could barely catch her breath. No 
doubt about it, Emma said to herself. I am going 
to kill Sam, and then I'm making a run for it.
"Look, Sonny, I'm sorry if—"
Emma never got to finish her statement. The 
next thing she knew, Sonny's massive arms were 
around her, her hand was in his bearlike paw, and 
she was being led into the dance.
Sonny, it turned out, was remarkably light on 
his feet. And even though Emma had not a clue 
as to how to do this kind of dancing, her early 
ballroom dance training at Madame Junot's in 
Lucerne held her in good stead. In other words, 
she knew how to follow.
The next half-hour passed in a blur of sound 
and motion. Emma had glimpses of Sam trading 
off dances with Jake and Scott, but she couldn't 
see much of anything around Sonny's five-acre 
chest. Sonny seemed determined not to relin-
quish her hand for even a moment, and the band 
moved from one song to another without pause.
Finally the band announced a break. Sonny let 
go of Emma just long enough to reach into his 
pocket. When he grasped her hand once again, it 
was to press her car keys gently into her palm.
"Hope I dint hold j^aU up too long," he said 
with a sheepish grin. "But it shore was worth it!"
Sam and Emma paid their tab, made their 
good-byes, to Jake, Scott, and Sonny, and didn't 
speak again until they were in the car and pulling 
out of Ma's lot.
"Yeow! Git right on it, li'l darlin'!" Sam hollered 
in an accurate impersonation of Sonny.
"I ought to kill you for pulling that stunt," 
Emma told Sam, but her voice told Sam that her 
heart wasn't really in the words.
"Come on, admit it," Sam wheedled, "you had 
fun."
"I did!" Emma laughed with delight. "I didn't 
even care after a while that this stupid skirt of 
yours rode up practically to my waist."
"Wait till Kurt sees the pictures I took," teased 
Sam. "I'll just innocently say that this is the guy 
Emma's been dating at school."
Emma laughed. "You're terrible!"
"I know, and you love it!" Sam crowed, cranking 
up the tunes on the radio.
Life with Sam is certainly never dull, Emma 
had to admit as she turned onto the highway for 
Asheville. She smiled to herself and headed to-
ward the mountains.
Carrie was sorting laundry and planning to do a 
load of vacation clothes in the dorm's laundry 
room when a short tap on the door and a melodic 
voice calling her name announced Mona's pres-
ence in the hall outside.
"Ms. Carolyn Alden?" the voice inquired with, 
mock formality. "I have a delivery here for you."
Carrie opened the door to find Mona practically 
hidden behind an enormous bouquet of long-
stemmed red roses.
"For me?" she cried jubilantly. That Billy! she
thought to herself. He's so impetuous with his 
money sometimes!
"Who else?" asked Mona. "Or has Madonna 
been going around using your name again?"
Carrie took the vase and turned it from side to 
side, looking for the card.
"If you're looking for a card, don't bother," 
Mona continued. "And don't think I've taken on a 
new job delivering flowers, either. There's a 
gentleman waiting downstairs in the foyer. He 
looked so downhearted, I offered to run interfer-
ence for him and bring them up myself."
Josh,
"Thanks, Mona," said Carrie, setting the flowers 
carefully in front of the mirror on her dresser. 
"Guess I'd better go down and talk to him."
"Whoa now—don't bowl anyone over with 
excitement or gratitude on your way down, okay?"
"Sorry, Mona. They're beautiful and every-
thing, and you were sweet to bring them up. It's 
just that I'm not sure I'm looking forward to this 
conversation."
"I can dig that, girlfriend, but you could at 
least muster a smile. Those things aren't cheap, 
you know, and I think his heart's in the right 
place."
"That's what I'm afraid of," said Carrie, taking 
time for a heavy sigh before heading downstairs.
Josh was watching for her, and they saw each 
other the moment Carrie reached the foot of the 
stairs. Carrie was surprised at how the sight of 
him warmed her. It had been strange to feel so
out of touch with him for the past couple of days, 
though she hadn't really acknowledged that until 
just this minute.
"Tell me I'm a jerk," Josh told Carrie sheep-
ishly, his hands thrust into his pockets.
"You're not!" she protested.
"Yeah? I got so mad at you the other day, I 
stormed out of my own room," Josh retorted.
"That was kind of funny," Carrie said wryly.
"If you say you'll forgive me, I'll regain my 
sense of humor."
"Of course I do," Carrie insisted. "If you for-
give me."
Josh's grin told her all she needed to know.
"The roses are so beautiful, Bil—" She had 
started to call him Billy! She couldn't believe it!
For a split second she thought maybe he hadn't 
noticed, but one look at his face showed her that 
he had.
"Even I don't deserve that," he said with a 
rueful attempt at a laugh.
Carrie felt tears welling up. "No, you don't," 
she said softly. // only the earth would open up 
and swallow me right here and now!
"Maybe I was hoping you'd had time to miss me 
and change your mind about this vacation." A 
moment ago, Josh's hands had been reaching out 
to hug her. Now his fingers were clenched into 
tight fists.
"No, Josh, really, I ..." Carrie fumbled for 
the words that would make everything all right 
again, but no words came to her,
"Obviously, I'm just making an ass out of 
myself here," Josh said, trying for a lighthearted 
tone and failing miserably.
"No, Josh, I—"
"Yes," he corrected her. "It's my own fault. It's 
like I'm wearing a sign that says 'kick me.'"
"I'm sorry, really," Carrie, pleaded. "I didn't—"
"Just save it, Carrie, okay?" Josh said tersely. 
"Look, I'm willing to stand by what I told you. I'll 
give you till you get back from spring break but 
then you're going to have to choose."
"But I—"
"No more buts, Carrie," Josh interrupted. "It's 
him or me."
Tears were streaming down Carrie's face. She 
felt paralyzed.
"Good-bye, Carrie," Josh said, then turned and 
walked out the door.
By noon the next day, Emma and Sam were 
high in the Great Smoky Mountains. They had 
left the car in a lot at the foot of a hiking trail and 
carried a blanket and a picnic lunch up a winding 
mountain trail. Just as the park ranger had 
promised, the view from the ridge was spectac-
ular. Sam inhaled deeply and flung her arms out 
wide as Emma took in the beauty of the mountain 
crests and valleys sprinkled with the delicate 
pink and white of dogwood blossoms. It occurred 
to Emma that she'd seen much more of the Swiss 
Alps than she ever had of her own country.
Sam and Emma spread their blanket near the
edge of a rocky cliff and sat back to feast their 
eyes, figuring they could wait a few minutes 
before digging into the carton of seafood salad 
(Emma's) and tuna sandwich with chips (Sam's) 
they'd procured at an Asheville delicatessen. It 
was then they heard the waterfall.
"Listen, Emma," said Sam, sitting up straight 
and cocking her head to locate the exact source of 
the sound. "I hear water. The map said there was a 
waterfall up here!"
With that, Sam grabbed her camera and scam-
pered off to the right, disappearing over the edge 
of an outcropping of rock. A moment later her 
head popped back into view.
"C'mere, you won't believe this!" she called. 
Emma followed her to a rock ledge just on the 
other side of the ridge.
The falls were striking in their beauty, cascading 
down from the next ridge over, and creating a 
frothy, bubbling pool where they met the river 
below. A shimmering rainbow edged the mist 
surrounding them.
"Let's move our blanket down here!" exclaimed 
Sam. "There's room, and we'll have this view 
while we eat." Sam broke into one of her dance 
routine kicks and said, "If there were a couple of 
gorgeous mountain men around, I might even 
consider staying here forever!"
Emma started leading the way back up. When 
she saw their blanket, she stopped in her tracks. 
Someone in a fur coat was bending over to inspect 
what they were having for lunch. How incredibly
rude! she thought. That woman has the manners 
of a pig! Suddenly it dawned on Emma: not pig, 
bear. The fur coat belonged to a bear. A large 
bear. And the bear had just lifted its snout to 
sniff out Emma's presence.
Emma stood stock still, completely paralyzed 
with fear. Dimly she remembered the ranger's 
warning at the entrance to the park: there were 
bears in the area. Well, it was a little too late 
now. She had no idea what to do.
"What's taking you so long?" Sam asked, coming 
up next to Emma. "I'm really starv—"
Emma grabbed Sam's arm in a vise-like grip 
and pointed mutely toward their blanket.
Sam was just as petrified as Emma. "We don't 
have bears in Kansas," she whispered weakly.
"Well, we sure don't have them on Beacon 
Hill!" Emma hissed.
The bear regarded the girls almost casually.
"Maybe it's like with a bee—you're not sup-
posed to annoy him." She gulped.
A low growl rumbled up from the animal's 
chest.
"I think we're way past that stage," Emma 
whispered.
"Please go away, please go away, please go 
away," Sam chanted under her breath.
The growl grew to Richter-scale force, finally 
erupting from the bear's snarling mouth as an 
ear-splitting roar.
Without thinking, both girls ran for a nearby 
tree, where they crouched and cowered.
"What's he doing?" Sam said with her eyes shut 
tight.
"Eating," Emma said.
They kept themselves plastered to the tree, 
not daring to move for fear of angering the bear. It 
seemed like forever that they hid behind the 
slender safety of that tree.
"What was that?" asked Emma, in response to a 
particularly unpleasant sound.
"Bear belch," Sam reported.
When they looked again, the bear seemed to 
have settled in for a nap on the blanket. Any time 
one of the girls tried to move from her crouching 
position behind the tree, the bear snarled and 
made as if to lumber in their direction.
"What are we going to do, Em?" Sam whis-
pered. "Aren't bears supposed to hibernate or 
something?"
"It's springtime!" Emma answered.
They waited there for what must have been 
forty-five minutes. As Emma tried to rub a 
cramp out of her leg, suddenly there came a deep 
rumble. It seemed to come from the air surrounding 
them.
"Please tell me that's not an entire herd of 
bears," Sam wailed softly.
"Pack," Emma said automatically. "And I think 
that was thunder. If you'll look to the west, I 
think you'll see the cause of it."
Beyond a ridge across the main valley, a dark 
cloud was advancing, and even as they watched, a 
fork of lightning streaked across it.
Great, thought Emma. We're about to be caught 
in the rain for the second time in twenty-four 
hours.
She found herself wishing with all her heart 
that the problem was as simple as being in her 
own little car with the top stuck down.
The next growl the girls heard was low, threat-
ening, and constant. Too constant.
"It is a pack of bears!" Sam wailed, grabbing 
Emma. "This guy has brothers and sisters. We're 
dead meat!"
"No, it's a mechanical growl," Emma said, 
listening carefully. "You know, as in motor roar, 
not animal roar."
"As in maybe we're going to be saved?" Sam 
asked hopefully.
Together the girls crept to their lookout spot, 
slowly raising their heads so as not to attract the 
bear's attention. It didn't seem to matter, though. 
The bear had its back to them and appeared to be 
listening, too. But not for long. A forest-green 
Jeep suddenly appeared, churning through the 
woods, then fairly leaping into the clearing where 
the picnic blanket was spread. The bear didn't 
hang around to greet the new visitor, but gal-
loped off at surprising speed and vanished into 
the trees.
Emma and Sam scrambled up from where 
they'd been trapped, lunchless, for over an hour 
now. The Jeep met them at their blanket. Behind 
the wheel was a uniform, and wearing the uni-
form was a rugged but gorgeous park ranger 
whose clothes did not disguise his perfect body. 
This was definitely not the meek-looking, balding 
ranger they'd talked to at the park entrance!
"I see you've met Tiger," said the man ruefully.
"Tiger didn't wait for a formal introduction," 
Sam said, looking toward the path along which 
Tiger had beat his hasty retreat.
The ranger laughed a friendly, booming laugh. 
"I'm Ted Ballinger, the guy who gets to go 
around apologizing for Tiger's rude manners."
Emma introduced the two of them. Sam was 
still busy watching to make sure Tiger wasn't on 
his way back for another visit.
"Don't worry," Ted told her. "He's scared to 
death of my Jeep. He won't come back."
"Thank God for small favors," Sam sighed with 
relief.
Finally she was able to turn her full attention 
to the magnificent specimen of guy-hood that 
stood before her. Be still, my heart! This guy is 
hot.
"The problem with Tiger is that he's been fed 
by so many tourists over the years, he's devel-
oped lousy manners. He doesn't seem interested 
in hurting anyone, but he's staged hostile take-
overs of many a picnic basket," Ted explained.
He offered them a ride down the mountain.
They accepted gratefully. Sam was practically 
swooning in the Jeep's jumpseat, and she kept 
her eyes fixed on Ted as if she didn't want to miss 
the view for even a second.
"You girls stick around for another day or so, 
you might even see some snow," said the hunky-
looking ranger. "That little shower on the next 
ridge is only the beginning—there's a major 
spring storm system heading this way."
"We're leaving tomorrow," said Emma. "We 
have to be in New York by Friday."
"Well, get out your boots and parkas," laughed 
Ted. "You're headed right for the brunt of the 
storm."
Ted saw them safely to their car, and waited as 
they started up and drove away.
"Now that is what I call adventure," Sam 
sighed. "Don't you think a park ranger would 
make a nice pet?"
Emma laughed. "You're incorrigble!"
Sam fluttered her eyelashes at Emma. "It's 
just part of my charm, ma'am, just part of my 
charm."
"Those buns!" Sam moaned. Ranger Ted was 
now almost two days behind them on the high-
way, and Sam had said the word buns in his 
memory at least fifteen times.
The previous day's drive to Washington on the 
Blue Ridge Parkway had been peaceful and sce-
nic, with only a couple of patches of rain. But 
today, an icy wind had nipped at their cheeks as
they packed the car. Now, as they headed toward 
New York City, the sky was low and blanketed 
by a thick gray mantle. Emma was concentrating 
seriously on her driving, but the heat inside the 
car was making Sam feel cozy enough to sleep.
"Mind if I have a little nap?"
"Not unless you're planning to drive at the 
same time" was Emma's reply.
"Oh, that famous Cresswell sense of humor," 
Sam remarked, settling in for a good sleep.
Emma drove for the next hour listening to 
classical music and daydreaming about Kurt. 
When she first saw the snowflakes, she reassured 
herself that they were just blowing around and 
didn't appear to be sticking.
But within a few miles the weather had changed 
drastically. The air was thick with whirling snow, 
and an icy layer of white had already started 
covering the road. Emma touched the brake 
pedal and felt the car fishtail. A tingle of fear ran 
up the back of her neck.
"Sam, wake up," Emma called to her.
"Wha—wha?" came Sam's sleepy voice from 
next to her.
"Wake up!" Emma commanded, using her best 
Katerina Cresswell voice. No one could sleep 
through that.
"What?" Sam said irritably, rubbing her eyes.
"It's snowing," said Emma, trying to stay calm 
as she wondered how she was going to pull over 
safely. Everyone was going so fast! Couldn't they 
see that the road was slick?
Sam sat up. "All right!" she cheered. It was the 
first snow she'd seen in a year. She'd forgotten 
how invigorating a good snowstorm could be.
"Sam, I mean it, I'm going to have to pull 
over," came Emma's steel-edged voice.
"What's the big deal?" Sam asked, stretching. 
"It's just a little snow."
"Please, Sam, you don't understand," Emma 
said, gulping hard.
Sam finally focused on how weird Emma was 
acting. Her voice was shaking, her shoulders 
were hunched over, and her knuckles were white 
where her hands gripped the steering wheel.
"But, Em, you grew up in Boston and Switzer-
land, for Pete's sake! You must know how to 
drive in the snow!" Sam asked.
"Well, I don't!" wailed Emma. "I wasn't allowed 
to! Lawrence or one of the school's chauffeurs 
always drove me when it snowed!"
"You're kidding," Sam said.
"No, dammit, I'm not kidding!" Emma yelled. 
The car fishtailed again as Emma tried to slow 
down. Up ahead, cars were braking.
"Look," said Sam, leaning forward, "it's 
easy . . ."
They were fast approaching what looked like a 
traffic jam ahead.
Sam continued, trying not to alarm Emma, 
"Whatever you do, just don't slam on the—"
Emma slammed on the brakes.
Immediately the wheels locked and skidded on 
the slick road. The car went sliding toward the
knot of cars ahead, making a soft crunching thud 
as the bumper of Emma's car hit the fender of the 
car in front of them.
Emma sat there for a second, dazed, then she 
and Sam got out of the car. The driver ahead, an 
older woman, met them by the fender. The 
woman wore snow boots and appeared to have on a 
warm-up suit topped by a plaid car coat and a red 
tam-o'-shanter spangled with large mirrored 
sequins. Both Emma and the woman began to 
assess the damage.
Emma's car looked like it would come away 
with only a scratch or two on the bumper. But the 
other woman's fender was deeply dented, mashed 
all the way up into the wheel well, though 
miraculously not pressing on the tire.
"My insurance will take care of this," Emma 
told her. "I'm just so sorry."
"Don't feel bad," said the woman, the pompom 
on top of her hat bobbing as she spoke. "I almost 
did the same thing to the car in front of me. Let's 
just hope the police get here before too long. 
Mitzi has an appointment at the beauty shop. I'm 
Camille Baker, by the way."
Sam and Emma introduced themselves. Sam, 
glancing in the back window of Camille's car, 
thought she was seeing things: a miniature tarn, 
exactly like the one Camille was wearing, popped 
above the back seat, then vanished again.
"I suppose we can go ahead and trade insur-
ance information," said Camille. "We can all sit in
my car. There's plenty of room and Mitzi just 
loves to meet new people."
The mystery of the vanishing tarn was solved 
when Camille opened the car door to a round of 
maniacal yapping. A bug-eyed chihuahua, wearing 
a matching red tarn and sweater vest, greeted 
Camille with a series of canine acrobatics.
"This is Mitzi," said Camille. "Mitzi, say hello to 
the nice girls."
Mitzi greeted Emma with a bounding pirou-
ette. But Sam, climbing into the back seat, found 
herself nose to nose with a snarling miniature 
Cujo.
"She doesn't like redheads," apologized Cam-
ille. "I don't know why. That and nail-biting are 
her only faults."
Sam and Mitzi maintained a standoff in the 
back seat while Camille scribbled down insurance 
information and rattled on about the fortune that 
could be made in bite-resistant doggie nail polish. It 
was a very long twenty minutes before a squad car 
got to them.
After accomplishing all the necessary paper-
work, Emma found the policeman, an Officer 
Leeman, fixing her with a questioning gaze.
"Miss Cresswell," said Officer Leeman, "I called 
your license into our computer bank—purely 
routine, you understand. But I'm afraid you'll 
have to come with me to headquarters. Your 
friend can follow along in your car."
"Am I being cited for the accident?" Emma 
asked.
"No, ma'am," said the policeman. "We're put-
ting that down to hazardous driving conditions."
Emma was cold and tired and she wanted to 
get to a hotel. "So what is the problem, then?"
"The problem," Officer Leeman said, "is that 
you are listed as a missing person."
Everyone was nice enough at police headquar-
ters, but Emma had to put up with some chiding 
for not having gotten in touch with her father. 
Even Sam got into the act.
"It was stupid," Sam said bluntly. "It wouldn't 
have hurt to check in from Savannah. You knew 
then that he was looking for you. If you'd just 
done that, we wouldn't be sitting in this stupid 
police station right now."
That remark burned Emma. // Sam doesn't 
understand about my family by now, she thought, 
there's no point in trying to explain.
The real irony of the situation was that her 
father wasn't even reachable. According to Rosa, 
the housekeeper for the Palm Beach residence, 
he and Valeric had taken off for some island-
hopping in the Caribbean. The fact that Emma 
left a message for him satisfied the highway
angry at Sam for not understanding her, and 
angry at herself for being so wimpy. Where is the 
new, carefree Emma? she wondered.
7 wish Carrie were here. Emma stared out the 
window morosely. / need some mature advice, 
and Sam is not exactly the person to give it to me.
Meanwhile, Sam was trying to pretend that 
Emma's freeze-out didn't hurt her feelings. Hon-
estly! Emma makes every little thing into World 
War Three! Sometimes she acts like the whole 
world revolves around her. Sam, too, wished 
Carrie were there. Carrie always knew what to 
say to smooth out the rough spots between 
Emma and Sam. Besides, Sam was quite certain 
~that Carrie would agree with her about how 
dumb Emma was acting.
Neither Emma nor Sam broke the silence, and 
they managed to hit the outskirts of New York 
City two hours later without having spoken one 
word to each other.
Once they reached Manhattan, however, Sam 
got too psyched to keep up the silent treatment, 
no matter how Emma felt. It was all just too 
exciting.
"Oh my God, I can't believe I'm in New York!" 
Sam exulted as they cruised south toward SoHo.
Even in the snowy weather the streets were 
teeming with action. People of every size, shape, 
and color were out on the streets. It was a 
constant parade of people.
Within moments of using her key to get into 
her Aunt Liz's SoHo loft, Emma had kicked off
her shoes and headed into the kitchen, where she 
found a half-empty bottle of Chablis in the refrig-
erator.
"Want some?" she called to Sam as she poured 
herself a glass.
"No, thanks," Sam called back from the living 
room, where she was standing at the window 
looking down on the local scene. "I can't believe 
how hip this place is," Sam said in wonder.
Emma gulped down half a glass of wine and 
refilled her glass quickly. Aunt Liz's loft was 
looking better and better all the time.
Emma awoke the next morning with a pounding 
headache.
Hangover, she thought. Her stomach rolled 
over as she remembered last night's wine before 
dinner, wine with dinner, and the additional 
bottle she'd picked up on the way back to Aunt 
Liz's apartment.
Now she rummaged through her aunt's medi-
cine cabinet for something she could use as a 
hangover remedy. Finally settling for aspirin-
free pain reliever, she took two, then headed 
toward the kitchen to forage for something to 
settle her stomach.
"You look like dog meat," Sam said cheerfully 
from the kitchen table, where she sat sipping 
coffee.
"Actually, I feel fine," Emma said coolly. She 
wasn't about to admit her hangover to Sam, who 
had cautioned her several times the night before
that she?d better eat more if she was going to 
keep drinking.
"Well, good," Sam said. "I'm glad you feel fine. 
So—I'm all ready to go when you are."
"I won't be more than fifteen minutes," Emma 
promised in her frostiest voice. She turned and 
headed for the shower.
I'm dying, a voice in her head told her as she 
held her head under the steaming hot water. 
Why, why, why did I do this to myself?
Fifteen minutes later Emma was ready to go. 
She wrote her aunt a thank-you note in a shaky 
hand, and left it propped up on the kitchen table.
Sam drove the first two hours out of New 
York, and Emma got some badly needed sleep. 
By the time she woke up her mood had improved 
greatly. I'll never drink again, she vowed to 
herself. She felt sane, sober, and ready to meet 
up with Carrie.
"There she is!" Sam yelled, opening the door 
and bolting from the car to hug Carrie as Emma 
eased into the space in front of Hummingbird, the 
cafe they'd decided on for lunch.
Emma was feeling better by then, but her 
energy still couldn't match Sam's, and for a 
moment she felt left out of things. Then Carrie 
was pulling Sam around to Emma's side of the 
car. Carrie opened the door, and she and Sam 
fairly dragged Emma out of the car and into a 
three-way embrace.
"Look at you!" cried Carrie, holding Emma at
arm's length, then stepping back. "Look at this 
car! I want to hear about every single adventure 
you two had—the uncut version!"
Emma thought she'd never been so glad to 
see Carrie. Dressed in jeans, a deep purple 
sweater that brought out the color of her velvet-
brown eyes, and a wonderful scarf in muted tones 
of rose, blue, and purple, Carrie looked fresh, 
pretty, and confident. Carrie can handle any-
thing, thought Emma. Yale, a boyfriend or two, a 
career on the rise. I can't even handle my own 
family! It occurred to Emma that Carrie might 
not even like her so much if she knew how weak 
she really was. The last time they'd been to-
gether, everything had seemed so clear. But now 
. . .
"You must be living right," Sam said, looking 
Carrie over as they were being seated for lunch. 
"You look as healthy as a horse!"
Carrie's face reddened, as if she'd been smacked.
"I know I look like a cow—" Carrie began.
"You don't!" Sam protested. "I didn't mean 
anything by that! You look great, that's all I 
wanted to say."
"Anything but the truth," Carrie murmured.
"That's ridiculous!" Sam cried. "You look fabu-
lous!"
Sam meant what she said. To her, Carrie 
looked fabulous—poised, centered, totally to-
gether. And she certainly didn't look fat. Now if 
only I could sneak some makeup onto that Ivory 
Girl face of hers, Carrie would be perfect.
"I know I ... gained a few pounds," Carrie 
said ruefully.
"Well, if you did, I certainly can't tell," Emma 
told her.
"You can't tell because I'm wearing baggy 
clothes again," Carrie pointed out honestly.
Even as she was saying this, a voice in Carrie's 
head was telling her to shut up. Stop obsessing 
about your problems! she instructed herself. She 
was determined to turn the conversation to some-
thing else. After all, no way could either Sam or 
Emma relate to the anguish of a weight problem.
"So how's the wonderful world of Disney?" 
Carrie asked Sam.
"Great!" Sam replied brightly, grabbing for a 
menu. "Let's eat, I'm starved!"
"I'm not very hungry," Emma murmured as 
she glanced at the wine list. Sam shot her an 
admonishing glance.
Don't start on me, Sam, thought Emma. I'm 
going to relax and have a good time now that the 
three of us are together. When the waiter ap-
peared, she ordered a glass of claret, since no one 
else was interested in sharing a bottle.
Carrie was surprised to see Emma drinking 
wine at lunch, but then she remembered her 
friend's European education. People over there 
always drank wine with meals, and Emma cer-
tainly knew how to take care of herself.
"So tell me," Carrie asked when Emma's wine 
arrived and she and Sam were sipping on Diet 
Cokes, "how was life on the road?"
"Well, the truth of the matter," Sam began, "is 
that I've been breaking hearts all along the way."
"But I take it yours is still intact," Carrie said 
with a laugh.
"You take it correctly." Sam sighed and gave 
her Mend a mournful look. "In more ways than 
one. But Boss-woman Cresswell here kept herding 
me along every time things started to look 
promising."
"You are so full of it, Sam!" Emma laughed. "I 
should have fed you to Tiger!"
"Tiger?" Carrie asked.
"I'd rather you'd have fed me to Ranger Ted!" 
Sam shot back with wide-eyed innocence.
"Ranger Ted?" Carrie echoed.
Sam and Emma started to argue playfully 
about their exploits on the road. "Gosh," said 
Carrie, "and I thought I was having fun with 
midterms!"
Finally the conversation turned to the future 
and Sunset Island, and Carrie filled her friends in 
on the fire at the Play Cafe and the benefit 
scheduled for their first night on the island.
"I might mention, Sam, that a certain Tennessee 
boy will be looking for you there," Carrie 
teased.
"Yeah, yeah," said Sam breezily. In fact, she 
was looking forward to seeing Pres again, though 
she was surprised at how often she'd thought of 
Danny this week. Not in fantasies, like the 
Ranger Ted thing. It was like she'd been sending
Danny mental postcards—she felt like he'd al-
most been along for the trip.
Carrie and Emma were both relieved when 
lunch ended without further mention of boy-
friends. Carrie hadn't sorted out her feelings 
from that last terrible scene with Josh, and didn't 
want to talk about him or Billy either just yet. 
Emma knew that her friends would be watching 
to see what happened with Kurt, and found 
herself almost dreading it. He had hurt her so 
badly last summer, and right now she didn't feel 
very strong. What if she got to Sunset Island and 
Kurt didn't really want her back after all?
As they finished lunch and headed for the car, 
each of the girls was thinking ahead to the 
upcoming evening in Boston.
Thank God'my mother won't be around, thought 
Emma. I'll finally be able to have some real 
friends over. And I can get this stuff about Kurt 
off my chest. After all, these are my friends!
Once we're at Emma's, it'll be just like old 
times, Sam thought. We'll talk about real things. 
I'll come clean about getting fired. Emma and 
Carrie will understand, because they really, truly 
are my friends. And I'll talk to Emma about all 
that wine she's been drinking.
Carrie, who'd run back in for a last stop in the 
bathroom to purge herself of her lunch, now 
hurried to the car where her friends waited.
She wasn't thinking about intimate conversa-
tions with her two best friends. She was thinking 
about how to keep her horrible secret from them, 
no matter what.
"Hey, look, Emma," said Carrie. "You've got 
lots of messages!"
The trio had just arrived at Emma's house, and 
amid the oohs and ahs of the tour, Carrie had 
discovered the calls indicator blinking rapidly on 
the answering machine. Her mother still main-
tained Emma's separate line and machine al-
though Emma had pointed out to her several 
times that she was hardly ever there.
Kuril thought Emma. She had called him from 
Aunt Liz's, but had gotten his answering ma-
chine. She'd left him a message that they'd be 
arriving on the four o'clock ferry on Saturday, 
and she'd hoped he might call to say he'd meet 
her. After hearing that Billy had called Carrie, 
and Pres had sent word (in a roundabout way) 
that he was looking for Sam, Emma needed to 
feel that someone was waiting eagerly for her, 
too.
She pressed the play button.
"Emma, where are you?" It was her mother's
voice. "The police have called here! Have you 
gotten yourself into some kind of trouble?"
The next message was also from her mother: 
"Emma, I had Lawrence call your apartment 
building today, and the building superintendent 
told him you've been gone for almost a week. I 
hope you're checking with at least one of your 
machines. Please call me immediately when you 
hear this!" She left a number where she was 
staying at Glen Echo.
"You didn't tell her about this trip?" Sam said 
to Emma incredulously.
"Of course I did! She didn't listen," Emma shot 
back.
"All right, Emma," went the next message, yet 
again from her mother, "I do seem to remember 
something about your leaving town. I'd still like 
to know how you ever got involved with the 
police. Call me." Was every one of these calls 
going to be from her mother?
Her mother again: "Emma, I finally reached 
your Aunt Liz, who said she just missed you in 
New York. Then the police called again to say 
you'd been found. Now that I know you're not 
lying dead somewhere, I'd like to know what this is 
all about."
Not for the first time in her life, Emma wished 
there were such a thing as a mind torpedo, 
something you could launch from your eyes to 
annihilate detestable objects. Right now her an-
swering machine would be blown to smithereens.
Finally a male voice came over the speaker. It
only took a second for a feeling of disappointment 
to hit Emma's stomach. It wasnt Kurt.
"Hi Emma, hi Sam, hi Carrie, it's Danny. I'm in 
Boston, at Kevin's. You have the number, Sam. 
Give a call, okay?"
Carrie noticed that Emma looked glum as she 
reset the machine, but Sam's face had lit up in a 
happy grin.
"You haven't said much about Goofy," Carrie 
said to Sam. "What's the deal?"
"Danny's okay," Sam replied, a little surprised 
at how good his message had made her feel.
"He's also really considerate," Emma said with a 
sigh. Sam and Carrie knew what that sigh was 
about—Kurt hadn't called.
"Hey, Emma, is it okay if I use the phone?" 
Sam asked. "I want to call Danny."
"Maybe you ought to call your mom first, 
Emma," Carrie suggested.
"Might as well get it over with," Emma grum-
bled.
Carrie and Sam were kind enough to make 
themselves scarce, with the excuse of unpacking 
the car. In truth, they had already heard enough 
from Emma's mother for one day, and didn't want 
to hang around to watch Emma suffer through 
this call.
"Emma! Finally!" were Kat's first words.
"Mother, look, I'm sorry if I worried you—"
"Worried? Worried?" she screeched into the 
phone. "I've been frantic! Are you all right?"
"Really, I'm fine, Mother," Emma said in an
even voice. "I've been fine all along. I guess the 
police business was just a little misunderstanding I 
had with Dad."
"Well, I'm sure it was his fault, darling," Kat 
decided, without bothering to ask what the mis-
understanding was. "You've heard the news, I 
suppose. About your father?"
"Urn, I'm not sure . . ." Emma said carefully.
"He's trying to establish that I'm incompetent!" 
Kat spat her words into the telephone. "He's 
alleging that your inheritance is at stake, and 
claiming that he's acting on your behalf! I am 
absolutely livid!"
"Mother," Emma said, "I assure you he is not 
acting on my behalf."
"Thank you, sweetheart," Kat said, her voice 
softening. "I knew it couldn't be true. After all, 
you and I are best friends!"
Just then the headache began, as usual right at 
her temples. Her first thought was of a glass of 
wine—cool, fragrant, tart on the tongue . . . 
and the smooth feeling of softening around the 
edges that would accompany the taste . . .
"... so of course I insisted that you'd be 
happy to testify!" Kat finished triumphantly.
Emma's attention snapped back to the phone 
conversation. "I'm sorry, Mother. What did you 
say?"
"I said I told my lawyer that your father was 
most certainly not acting on your behalf, and that 
you'd be happy to testify to that effect. I'm
counting on you, Emma. My lawyer says your 
testimony could be essential."
"But Mother—"
"I'm thinking of getting you a device for re-
cording your father's phone calls," Kat continued. 
"That way, we'll have concrete evidence if he 
tries anything."
Tears sprang to Emma's eyes, and she angrily 
wiped them away with the back of her hand. Was 
that all she was to her family? An inheritance for 
the lawyers to quibble over?
"Anyway, darling, we'll chat more about this 
later," Kat continued. "I'm really glad to know 
that you're fine."
"Sure, Mother," Emma said bitterly.
"Oh, my masseuse is just arriving," Kat said. 
"Must run! By the way, you had a call before I left 
from those Sunset Island people, the Hewitts? 
They're hoping you'll come back to work for them 
this summer, though I can't see why you'd want 
to do something like that again."
I'm sure you can't, thought Emma as she said a 
terse good-bye and hung up, thankful that the 
conversation with her mother was over.
By the time Sam and Carrie traipsed through 
the door with all their bags, Emma had a bottle of 
nice Beaujolais uncorked on the kitchen counter. 
She had thought to let it breathe for a little while, 
but had changed her mind and already poured 
herself a glass.
"Call Danny," Emma said to Sam, sipping her 
wine. "I just decided we're having a party."
"Hot damn!" Sam cried. "With food and guys 
and everything?"
"Everything!" Emma agreed.
"What time does it start?" Carrie asked as she 
carried a suitcase into a bedroom.
Emma took a long gulp of her wine. "How's 
right now sound?"
It was an hour and a half later when Sam, the 
first to be showered and dressed, leapt to answer 
Danny's knock at the door.
"Goofy!" Sam screamed, and cheerleader-jumped 
into Danny's arms. She covered his face with 
puppy-dog kisses.
"Down, girl, down!" Danny joked, but he clearly 
loved the way Sam was greeting him.
"It's sheer youthful exuberance," she assured 
him. "Don't take it personally."
Carrie had just entered the room and wit-
nessed this greeting. "I have a feeling he wants to 
take it personally," she teased.
Whoops, better watch that stuff, Sam cautioned 
herself.
"So, come on in," she said with a broad gesture 
to include both Danny and the guy standing with 
him on the threshold.
"Sam, this is Kevin Logan," said Danny.
"Hi, Kevin," said Sam with a grin. She hoped 
that her smile made up for practically ignoring 
the guy when she'd first seen Danny. Kevin had a 
youngish, sweet-looking face, with dark eyes
that danced with intelligence. He returned her 
smile with an easy charm.
"And I'm Carrie," Carrie said, introducing 
herself to Kevin. "Hey, Goof!" she added, giving 
Danny a hug.
"Please, I'm off duty," Danny said mock-
seriously. "Don't call me that or my fans will mob
me."
"Fortunately, we didn't invite any six-year-olds 
to this party," Sam laughed, "so you should be 
safe. I ordered lots of pizza, there's wine on the 
counter, beer and Cokes in the fridge. What's 
your poison?"
"A beer would be great," Kevin said, heading 
for the fridge.
Sam laughed. "I like a guy who makes himself 
at home."
"You want one, Danny?" Kevin asked with his 
head in the fridge.
"Sure," Danny agreed.
Kevin carried the beers into the living room 
and handed one to Danny. "This house is fantastic. 
Which one of you does it belong to?"
"Actually, it belongs to bachelorette number 
three, who has yet to make her appearance," Sam 
quipped.
"She's got interesting taste," Kevin said, qui-
etly looking over the living room.
He reminds me of someone, Carrie thought. 
Who is it? Then she put her finger on it—her 
brother Matt! Kevin had the same intelligent, 
mischievous kind of eyes set in a baby face. Both
were the sort of guy you felt comfortable with 
right away, maybe because they both seemed to 
be so comfortable with themselves.
Carrie and Kevin started a conversation, and 
Danny seemed to have eyes only for Sam. She 
looks extra hot tonight, Carrie noted. Sam was 
poured into her faded jeans, and braless under a 
black leotard top. She'd thrown an antique lace 
bed jacket over the leotard. On anyone else, the 
effect might be bizarre, but on Sam it looked sexy 
and perfect.
Carrie sighed and looked down at her own 
black stretch pants and oversized houndstooth 
blazer. Coverups. Carrie couldn't in a million 
years imagine being thin enough and confident 
enough to, first, go without a bra, and second, 
wear a bed jacket to a party.
"So Danny told me you're at Yale," Kevin said 
to Carrie as he sipped his beer. "Is it as tough as I 
think it is?"
Carrie gave a shrug and laughed. "I'd like to 
impress you and tell you how incredibly difficult it 
is, but let's face it, I have no basis for comparison!"
It turned out that Kevin was a journalism 
major at Boston University, and with Carrie's 
tremendous interest in photojournalism, they 
quickly got involved in an intense conversation.
Sam was equally involved in regaling Danny 
with her exploits on the road (well, perhaps she 
exaggerated a little), and before either girl real-
ized it, a half-hour had passed.
Sam and Carrie exchanged a look. Where was 
Emma?
As if to answer their thoughts, Emma ap-
peared just then wearing a simple white skirt and 
blouse that had been impeccably tailored by 
Ralph Lauren. With nothing more than mascara, 
lip gloss, and one-carat diamond studs in her 
earlobes, she managed to look stunningly perfect.
"Hello, hello, hello!" Emma cried gaily. Carrie 
thought her eyes looked a little glassy, and 
remembered that Emma had retired to her room 
earlier with a full glass of wine—her second.
Kevin and Danny were too mesmerized by her 
perfection to notice anything beyond it. Kevin 
eagerly introduced himself to the beautiful rich 
girl who lived in this house.
"Hi, Emma," said Kevin. "Great place you've 
got here." •   "Actually, it's my mother's," Emma 
said.
Just then the pizza arrived. .Emma already had 
the cash ready, and Carrie took charge, leaving 
Emma free to enjoy Kevin's company for a few 
minutes before they ate.
"Sorry to be late for my own party," Emma 
apologized. "My aunt called from New York. She's 
my favorite relative in the whole world." Why 
was she telling this to a perfect stranger? Was it 
the wine talking? Oh, who cares, Emma told 
herself. For once, just stop thinking so much!
"So why is she your favorite?" Kevin asked in a 
friendly voice.
"Well, the truth of the matter is," Emma began
in a confidential tone, "she's the only one in my 
family who even remotely cares about me."
"I'm sorry," Kevin said.
"Don't be!" Emma responded gaily, "Why 
should I care? I'm filthy rich! I'll simply buy a 
family to care about me!"
Although a bright smile was plastered on 
Emma's face, to her horror, she felt tears rising 
in her eyes.
"Hey, you two, chow time!" Sam called from 
the dining area.
"Oh, God, ignore me," Emma whispered. This 
is so embarrassing! Crying in front of a total 
stranger!
"Start without us!" Kevin called into the other 
room. He turned back to Emma. "You don't have 
to explain if you don't want to," he said gently.
"I'm such a cliche!" Emma laughed shakily. 
"The unloved little rich girl!"
"Hey, nobody ever said you're not allowed to 
be unhappy if you're rich," Kevin pointed out.
A tear slid all the way down Emma's cheek. "I 
had too much wine, that's all."
Kevin just sat there, waiting patiently. "Talk if 
you want, or don't if you don't want."
"I ... I hate myself sometimes!" Emma 
blurted out. "It's so disgusting, so self-indulgent! 
When I think about people with real problems, 
poor people, sick people—"
"You're glad you're not one of them?" Kevin 
finished for her.
Emma had to laugh, even if his humor was a
little dark. "Yes, I'm glad I'm not one of them," 
she admitted. "But I feel like I don't have any 
right to complain about anything. ..."
While everyone else started in on the pizza, 
Kevin stayed in the kitchen with Emma. Slowly, he 
asked easy questions about the trip north, drawing 
Emma out of her weepy spell. Before long, he had 
her laughing as she described her dance with 
Sonny. She was grateful he hadn't probed too 
deeply about the causes of her sadness. It was 
bad enough that she had already blurted out that 
her family didn't love her. Talking with Kevin 
made her feel so ... normal.
By the time they rejoined the others, sides 
were being chosen for a game of Pictionary. 
Kevin got Emma a Coke, and threw a few pieces 
of pizza in the microwave for them to eat as they 
played.
"Guess what?" Sam said with excitement. 
"Danny's coming with us to Sunset Island!"
"Sam!" Danny objected. "You were supposed to 
ask her, not tell her!"
"Hey, Carrie said it's fine," Sam countered. 
"Majority rules."
"It's Emma's car," Danny pointed out. He was 
really embarrassed.
"It's fine, Danny," Emma said warmly. "Did 
your ski plans fall through?"
Sam guffawed. "No, he fell through ... he 
fell right through his costume!"
"I sprained my back," said Danny sheepishly.
"You guys gotta hear this story!" Sam yelled 
with glee.
"Go ahead, Sam, tell it," Danny sighed. "As if I 
could stop you."
"Okay, you know those baby strollers some 
people have, the ones the size of a small Mer-
cedes? Well, one day Danny—a.k.a. Goofy—is 
plying his trade, and some woman was letting her 
oldest kid push the baby. The kid runs the 
stroller right up alongside Goofy's leg, hooking 
the costume on one of the wheel bolts. The kid 
starts yelling 'Leggo! Leggo!' at Danny, but he 
keeps right on pushing!"
"The head of that costume is gigunda," Danny 
added. "I couldn't even see the kids or the stroller 
till I tripped. Luckily I didn't smash them on my 
way down."
"Poor Danny!" Emma exclaimed. "Sounds like 
an off-season week on Sunset Island is just what 
you need." She turned to Kevin. "So you're left 
without a ski partner?"
"I'll handle it," Kevin replied. "It's just for the 
weekend. My cash flow can't hack more than 
that, anyway."
"Hey, why don't you come up, too?" Carrie 
asked Kevin spontaneously. "We're giving a big 
party next Saturday."
"That's a great idea!" Danny agreed. "Sam says 
there's a motel that should be mega-cheap in the 
off season."
"Are you sure it's okay?" Kevin asked.
"It'd be a total blast!" Sam assured him.
They agreed that Danny would ride with them 
the next day, and Kevin would meet them on 
the island on Monday. When they finished the 
Pictionary game, the guys got ready to leave. 
Kevin wanted to start for the slopes before dawn. 
He gave Emma a special hug before he left. That 
brief moment managed to convey a lot of caring 
and concern. Emma was touched.
Sam walked out with them, and Carrie and 
Emma noticed Danny taking her hand as they 
left.
"You think Sam would even know it if she was 
in love?" Carrie asked Emma as they watched 
them go.
"I'm probably the last person on earth anyone 
should ask about love right now,," Emma said 
sadly. "Kurt didn't even call me."
From the window they watched Kevin and 
Danny getting into Kevin's car. "I'll tell you 
something, Carrie," Emma said in a soft voice. 
"Kevin Logan is a truly decent guy, one of the 
nicest guys I've ever met. If it doesn't work out 
with Kurt, I hope he's still around."
"I know just what you mean," said Carrie. 
"Whoever gets him will really have a prize."
Sam bounded back through the door, looking 
pleased with herself. "Fellow vixens, I ask you— 
can I pick them or can I pick them? Two—count 
'em, two—gorgeous guys have just been added to 
our island repertoire."
"You know, I think Danny's crazy about you, 
Sam. I wouldn't treat that lightly if I were you."
"Ah, well," said Sam breezily, "so many men, 
so little time. Now where's the rest of that pizza? I 
forgot to pig out!"
Carrie got up and excused herself quickly from 
the room.
Emma was feeling so much better, she decided 
to have a last glass of wine before bedtime. 
Maybe she'd get up the nerve to share some of 
her anxieties about Kurt with Sam and Carrie.
Sam decided to redo her nails, now that it was 
back to all-girl company. Fishing through her 
makeup bag in Emma's guest room, she was 
thinking that now might be a good time to tell her 
friends about her unemployed status. All of a 
sudden she noticed sounds coming from behind 
the adjoining bathroom door.
"Carrie?" she called, then knocked. "Are you 
okay?"
There was almost a minute of silence, and Sam 
was about to knock again. Then the door opened, 
and Carrie walked right into the room as if 
nothing were wrong.
"Hey!" said Sam, taking her by the shoulders. 
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," said Carrie.
"Fine, hell! I heard you being sick in there. 
Why didn't you tell anybody you weren't feeling 
good? Was it the pizza?"
"I think it's just me. You know, I'm kind of 
overwrought," Carrie lied. "I didn't want to spoil 
the evening."
"Well, for God's sake, get right into bed and get
some rest!" Sam blustered. "It could be a bug, 
and we can't have you spreading germs around!"
Cowed by Sam's good intentions, and ashamed 
of herself, Carrie let herself be fussed over and 
tucked into bed. Sam moved to the living room to 
do her nails while Emma sipped her wine. But 
the promise had gone out of the evening.
And they didn't really feel much like talking 
after all.
Saturday dawned crisp and cloudless, with the 
sun glinting off the melting remains of the snow. 
Sam, Carrie, and Emma picked up Danny on a 
corner near Boston University, and decided to 
put Boston behind them before stopping for 
breakfast.
"Can I drive?" Carrie asked as Danny got into 
the back of the car.
"Sure," Emma told her, and acted as if she was 
doing something nice for Carrie. The truth of the 
matter was that she still had the dull headache 
she'd woken up with—a headache she'd come to 
recognize as being caused by drinking too much 
wine before bed.
They stopped for breakfast at a place advertising 
family dining.
"Make that two western omelettes," Sam told 
the waitress after Danny had ordered one ahead 
of her. "No, make that four western omelettes." 
She stared atvCarrie and Emma. "You two look 
like you need a protein infusion!"
"I can order my own food," Emma said tersely.
"Well, excuse me for caring," Sam said.
Emma rubbed her temples. "I'm sorry. I woke 
up on the wrong side of the bed."
Breakfast put everyone into a better mood. 
The orange juice seemed to revive Emma and she 
soon felt almost human.
By the time Danny took the wheel after break-
fast, they were singing old camp songs together.
"B-I-N-G-0, and Bingo was his name-o!" they 
all sang together, cracking up.
"Now how is it that these same stupid songs 
made their way from Camp Winnemucca in Kansas 
all the way to some snooty camp in the 
Berkshires?" Sam asked, since Emma knew the 
words to the camp songs as well as anybody else.
"It reaches even farther than that!" Emma 
laughed. "I learned that song at a summer retreat 
outside of Paris for daughters of the hideously 
rich."
"Wow! International nonsense songs!" Carrie 
marveled.
"I've got to teach that one to Katie this sum-
mer," Emma said with a soft smile on her face.
Sam looked surprised. "I take it that means 
you've decided to work for the Hewitts again."
Emma shrugged and wound a strand of hair 
around her finger. "My mother told me they 
called and asked me to."
"I'm not surprised they asked," Carrie said. 
"You were great with their kids last summer."
Emma gave Carrie a smile of gratitude.
"I don't know, I haven't committed yet," Emma 
said. "I guess I thought I'd have a ... new 
direction or something by this summer. How 
about you two?" she asked her friends.
"I've been thinking about it, too," Carrie ad-
mitted. "Listen, we could all do worse than 
another summer on Sunset Island. Graham and 
Claudia told me at Christmas they were hoping to 
hire me again, but they didn't know yet where 
they'd be. If there's a European tour or some-
thing, I'll be out of a job."
Emma turned around to face Sam in the back 
seat. "How about you? Sunset Island would never 
be the same without you."
"What makes you think Dan Jacobs won't need 
my help again?" asked Sam a little indignantly. 
"With those twin monsters of his, he'd be lucky if 
anyone else would want the job!"
"I'm sure he'll want you back, Sam," said 
Carrie, "but would you really quit your job at 
Disney World just to be an au pair for the 
summer?"
The car swerved slightly as Danny whipped 
around to give Sam a funny look.
"What?" Emma asked, noting the look.
"Nothing," Danny mumbled, but the expres-
sion on his face belied his words.
A day of following highways up the coast of 
Maine brought them to the ferry dock with plenty 
of daylight left.
Emma was glad to see that hers was one of the
only cars in line for the auto ramp—the ferry 
couldn't hold more than a few. After a brief walk 
to stretch her legs, she returned to the car, 
letting the others wander on their own. The sun 
was still warm, and now that the car was 
stopped, she decided to put the top down.
Seating herself on top of the back seat, Emma 
gazed at the water and let her thoughts flow 
ahead to the island and Kurt. Kurt. She warned 
herself not to get her hopes up, even though just 
the thought of him made her heart pound in her 
chest. / mean, he didn't even care enough to call 
me in Boston. And yet she couldn't seem to shake 
this feeling of hopefulness. Wasn't it possible that 
they really had a chance? That this summer they 
both would have matured enough to have the 
kind of relationship that Emma longed for?
Carrie, too, was wandering around the dock, 
lost in thought. As soon as they had arrived at 
the ferry station she'd headed for the ladies' 
room. Her weight-loss plan was way off schedule. 
Somehow she wasn't purging often enough—it 
seemed as if Sam or Emma was always around, 
ready to catch her. It had been bad enough trying 
to talk Sam out of her firm conviction that Carrie 
had had a stomach virus the other night.
Carrie shut her eyes and leaned against the 
wall of the ferry station. God, it was so horrible, 
lying to her friends and hiding shamefully in a 
toilet, throwing her guts up. And maybe the most 
horrible part of the whole thing was that her 
friends would never, ever in a million years
believe that she, Carrie Alden, supergirl, was 
capable of such sick, disgusting behavior.
While Carrie and Emma were lost in their 
private thoughts, Sam and Danny were having a 
difficult conversation at the end of the dock.
"I feel like a fifth wheel, if you really want to 
know!" said Danny.
"How can you be a fifth wheel? There are only 
four of us here," Sam said innocently.
"That's not what I'm talking about, and you 
know it," Danny said angrily. "We come all this 
way and you just casually mention to me that 
you've got a guy waiting for you on the island. 
What did you expect me to say?"
"Well, see, the thing is that he may be waiting 
for me, but that doesn't mean I'm waiting for 
him," Sam explained.
Danny looked disgusted. "What are you talking 
about?"
Sam bit her lower lip. This was not going at all 
the way she had planned. She had thought that 
making Danny jealous would do wonderful things 
for her love life. Visions of Pres and Danny 
fighting over her had filled her head. Only now it 
seemed that Danny was really, truly angry. She 
hadn't counted on that.
"What I mean," Sam said slowly, "is that he's 
just a guy I went out with. It's not like he's my 
boyfriend."
"Went out with?" Danny repeated. "And just 
what is that supposed to mean?"
"You know," Sam floundered. "Like you and I 
go out. Not heavy."
"So you and this Pres guy don't have a romantic 
relationship, is that it?"
"Uh, well ..." This was getting tougher and 
tougher. In truth, her relationship with Pres was 
strictly romantic—all excitement and not much 
substance. She had a feeling Danny wouldn't take 
much comfort in that.
"If you mean am I sleeping with him, the 
answer's no," she finally managed, trying her 
best to look confident and cool.
Danny gave her a level gaze and folded his 
arms. "I think my question is more like, do you 
want to sleep with him?"
Ooh, tough question. One part of her desper-
ately wanted to sleep with Pres. Another part of 
her wanted to run in the other direction as fast as 
she could.
"Sam, I asked you a question," Danny re-
peated. "Do you want to sleep with him?"
"I don't know," Sam answered truthfully.
Because it was the most honest answer she'd 
given anyone in a long time, she was totally 
unprepared for Danny's reaction.
"And why should I believe that?" he exploded. 
"You'll lie to anyone about anything if it suits 
your purposes!"
"Danny, I—"
"It's true!" Danny shot back at her. "You're still 
lying to your best friends about losing your job!"
With a final gesture of disgust, Danny turned 
on his heel and walked briskly away from Sam.
In the back seat of the car, Emma jumped to 
her feet. The ferry was coming! Craning to get a 
better look, she could just make out the silhou-
ettes of those passengers riding on the deck. The 
boat drew closer and her heart leapt. Was she 
seeing what she thought she was seeing? She 
blinked rapidly, but the sight on the deck of the 
ferry still riveted her. Kurt. Kurt was on the 
ferry. As her heart soared he lifted his arm and 
waved in her direction.
"Oh Emma, how romantic!" Carrie cried, coming 
up next to Emma. "He came over to meet you!"
"I can't believe it!" was all Emma could think to 
say.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Carrie said 
with a laugh. "This is just like a movie—go throw 
yourself into his arms!"
Emma didn't know exactly how she traveled 
the short distance from the car to the dock, but 
suddenly she was there, and there was Kurt, and 
the next thing she knew she was in his arms.
"You came to meet me," she whispered, her 
eyes shining up into his.
As for Kurt, he seemed at a loss for words. He 
just kept repeating her name softly, over and 
over.
Somehow Emma managed to introduce Danny 
and get her car squared away for the ride, but all 
these details went by in a haze. She was with
Kurt again, and that was the only thing that 
mattered right now.
Carrie passed the ferry ride thinking only of 
Billy. Her troubles with Josh seemed far away 
now, and she was glad she hadn't had the chance 
to tell Emma and Sam about their quarrels.
On board, Sam was relieved to find Danny 
beside her.
"You still speaking to me?" she asked him with a 
sidelong look.
"So it appears," he answered, but he didn't 
quite make eye contact with her as he said it.
"So, do you hate me, loathe me, never want to 
speak to me again, or what?" Sam asked him.
"All of the above," he said, but this time there 
was a definite laugh in his voice.
"Okay, so I drive you nuts," Sam allowed, 
happy to see a smile starting to break out on 
Danny's face.
"You do," Danny agreed. "And listen," he said, 
turning serious again for a moment, "you can play 
this silly game with me if you want to. For the 
moment, anyway. But I really do think that lying 
to Emma and Carrie is beat."
"When you're right, you're right," Sam said 
lightly. "But I have to handle it my own way. 
Now, how about if we just go have some fun?"
Once the ferry got away from the boat basin 
and picked up speed, Danny stood behind Sam on 
the deck, and Sam leaned against him, the wind 
lifting her hair back from her face. Kurt and 
Emma were so lost in each other that they might
as well have been sitting on a cloud. And Carrie 
was completely absorbed in thoughts of Billy. 
The wind was a little sharp on the water, but 
they all staunchly stayed on deck.
And then, finally, there it was on the horizon— 
Sunset Island. Each girl thought about how 
different she had felt traveling on that same ferry 
when she'd come to begin her job the summer 
before. Then, it had been a strange place, even a 
bit frightening. But now each of them smiled 
eagerly at the approaching shoreline—they couldn't 
wait to get there. In a way, it was home.
They left the top of Emma's car down for the 
drive to the Play Caf6, where the Flirts were 
setting up for the benefit that night. Emma 
drove, with Kurt sitting up front and Carrie, 
Sam, and Danny wedged in the back. Everyone 
talked and laughed at once, pointing out land-
marks to one another and playing tour guide for 
Danny.
"The Cheap Boutique! I love that store," Sam 
cried ecstatically when they reached the shops 
located on what was known as the rock-and-roll 
side of the island.
"Wow, look at the side of the Play Cafe," Emma 
said as she parked the car. "You can see the fire 
damage."
"I'm just so happy to see it at all!" Sam yelled. 
"God, I love this place!"
Kurt got out of the passenger seat and, like a 
flash, Carrie followed. Billy came out of the cafe 
and she ran into his arms.
"Do you know how good you feel?" he whis-
pered to her huskily.
"No, tell me," she said with a grin.
"Do you think anyone would notice if I threw 
you on the ground and ravished you right here 
and now?" Billy asked, wrapping his arms even 
more tightly around Carrie.
"I'd notice," Carrie said solemnly, "but I'd like 
it!"
Billy pulled back to give her a wickedly prom-
ising smile, then turned to the group who had 
just made their way to the front door.
"Come on in. You're just in time for one of our 
world-famous sunsets." Taking Carrie's arm, he 
led the way.
Inside, the stage area was a tangle of cables 
and equipment, with people moving here and 
there amid the clutter. An odor of smoke was still 
barely detectable, reminding everyone of the 
purpose of all this mayhem.
Sam didn't see Pres at first. She could feel 
Danny's eyes watching her. He knew Pres was in 
Billy's band. And then, there he was, standing up 
from behind an amplifier he'd been connecting.
Sam's eyes met Presley's, and her heart did a 
flipflop.
The guy was a serious, total, maximum, studly 
fox. Had he gotten even better-looking since 
she'd last seen him, or had her memory failed 
her?
Pres stepped down from the stage as Sam
started across the floor, leaving Danny, stranded 
and ill at ease, to watch.
"Well, look what just blew into town," Pres 
drawled, his eyes taking in all of Sam. "You are 
one fine sight, girl."
"Mutual," Sam acknowledged.
"You been keepin' busy?"
"I'm a professional dancer now," Sam told Pres 
proudly.
"Watching you move was always a thing of 
beauty," Pres said with a grin.
Sam looked quickly behind her at Danny's 
stricken face. Yikes. This was horrible. She had 
thought she'd feel like an incredibly sexy, desir-
able woman if she flirted with both guys. But now 
that the three of them were actually in the same 
room, all she felt was anxious and embarrassed.
"Hey, come on down and meet my friend," Sam 
told Pres.
Pres gave Sam a big kiss hello and then ambled 
across the room with her until they stood in front 
of Danny.
"Danny, this is Presley Travis, bass player for 
the infamous band, Flirting with Danger. Pres, 
meet Danny Franklin, my best friend from Or-
lando."
Sam breathed a silent sigh of relief as Danny 
and Pres shook hands. So far so good. There 
hadn't been any actual bloodshed.
"First time on Sunset Island?" Pres asked 
Danny.
"Yeah," answered Danny in his typical mono-
syllabic fashion.
"Don't worry, we'll show you a good time," 
promised Pres. He turned to Sam. Til see you 
later—that's a promise," he murmured, then went 
back to setting up.
"See?" Sam tried to comfort Danny with a grin 
and a little tug on his sleeve. "We're all friends 
here."
"Yeah," said Danny, not looking too sure.
"Oh no," Carrie groaned, her face turned to-
ward the front door. "Look what the cat just 
dragged in."
Emma and Sam turned around to see Lorell 
Courtland and Diana De Witt sashaying their 
way into the Play Cafe.
"I feel a headache coming on, and it's walking 
right toward me," Emma managed.
Lorell Courtland and Diana De Witt were the 
last two people in the world that the girls wanted 
to see. As far as Emma, Sam, and Carrie were 
concerned, Diana and Lorell were two of the 
most obnoxious, evil, manipulative, bitchy hu-
mans on the face of the earth. Lorell had alleg-
edly worked on the island last summer as an au 
pair for the Pope family, but the truth was that 
she had just used their house to change her 
clothes. Both she and Diana were filthy rich, and 
they made sure everyone knew it. Emma had 
gone to school with Diana. They had been arch-
enemies for fourteen years. And it was Diana
with whom Kurt had had his fling last summer, 
breaking Emma's heart.
"If you ask me," Sam offered tartly, "someone 
left the gate open at the dog pound, and two of 
the bitches escaped."
Emma licked her lips nervously and looked at 
Kurt. It had never occurred to her that she might 
have to face Diana in a showdown so soon.
"Everything's fine, Emma," Kurt whispered, 
holding Emma even closer. "She can't hurt us
now."
"Well, well, what have we here?" Lorell purred 
to Diana in that sickening Southern accent of 
hers. "As I live and breathe, it's my favorite trio!"
"Hello, Kurt," crooned Diana, her eyebrows 
raised smugly. She reached out one manicured 
hand and clasped his bicep. Only then did she 
deign to notice Emma.
"Why, Emma!" Diana said, wide-eyed. "What a 
surprise to see you here!"
"Hello, Diana, hello, Lorell," Emma said coolly. 
"My, my, Lorell, the last time I saw you it was 
Christmas, and you were throwing yourself at 
Flash Hathaway on a yacht. That was one of the 
more amusing moments of my life, I must admit."
Diana turned to look at Lorell. "You went out 
with Flash Hathaway?" she asked with surprise.
Flash Hathaway was a cretinous photographer 
known for offering his photographic services and 
then trying to get into a girl's pants. Sam had had a 
run-in with him the summer before.
"No, no, I just went to a Christmas party with 
him on a yacht," Lorell explained hastily.
"That's not what you told us at the time," Sam 
reminded her, enjoying every word. "You told us 
it was true love." Sam made loud smooching 
noises in Lorell's direction.
"Lorell?" Diana asked, wrinkling her nose in 
disgust.
"Oh, puh-leeze!" Lorell shot back. "Are you 
goin' to take the word of these lowlifes? I might 
have dated him once or twice. He's crazy for me, if 
you want to know."
"I don't," Carrie whispered under her breath.
"But anyway, at this point in my life I'm looMn' 
for a more mature, more open kind of a relation-
ship," Lorell explained, her eyes running over 
Danny as she spoke.
"Really?" Sam commented, feigning interest.
"You know what that means, don't you?" Lorell 
asked, staring right at Danny.
"Gee, I get confused, Lorell," Sam said, screwing 
up her face. "Does it mean open to ridicule, or just 
to transmittable diseases?"
"Well, I guess a girl like you, who needs to get 
tested regular for such things, would know," 
Diana said, brushing her curls out of her face.
"What are you two doing here, anyway?" Kurt 
asked the poisonous twosome.
Diana looked hurt. "Why, Kurt, you called and 
invited me!"
The sharp intake of Emma's breath could have
been heard clear out by her car. She turned to 
look at Kurt.
"You are full of it, Diana," Kurt said, his voice 
full of steel. "You know that isn't true."
"But Emma didn't," Diana said with a smug 
grin on her face. Diana raised her chin and stared 
Emma down. "Better be careful, Emma. I can 
see that you're none too confident about lover boy 
here. I got him once, and I can get him again."
"Did anyone ever mention how completely dis-
gusting you are?" Sam asked Diana, stepping 
closer to her. Sam's hands were curled into fists. If 
Diana or Lorell said one more horrible thing, she 
was going to deck one of them.
"Come on, Diana," Lorell said, tugging on her 
friend's arm. "Let's come back later, when the 
music starts. The company in here is just too 
tacky for words."
"Totally without class," Diana agreed, heading 
for the door.
"Better than being without a clue!" Sam called 
after them.
Carrie smoothed the last hair into place and 
observed herself in the mirror with momentary 
satisfaction.
They'd barely had time for dinner after drop-
ping Danny at the Bay View Motel and checking 
into their suite at the Sunset Inn. Carrie had 
straggled behind after dinner, and had ducked 
into the hotel lobby's rest room to get rid of her
dinner, which had made her late in getting ready 
to leave.
Fixing her hair hardly mattered though, she 
told herself as she stared at her reflection. It 
wasn't like she spent any time putting on makeup 
or was doing anything special with her looks. 
Why was it that just because she'd gained weight it 
made her not want to take any care with her 
appearance? she wondered. Although her friends 
seemed to think she looked fine. At the last 
minute she'd thrown her new raspberry-colored 
blazer over her black stretch pants and black 
T-shirt. Did it really look okay? She'd lost all 
sense of perspective.
Carrie pushed through the door just as the 
band was striking up their opening number, 
"With You Again," a song Billy had sent her on 
tape with a note saying he'd written it for her. 
Could he really care about her if she was over-
weight? And was it really possible he hadn't even 
noticed? He certainly hadn't said anything to her 
about it.
"Hey, I guess this is the last we'll see of you for a 
day or so," Emma teased, gliding up behind her 
and giving her a little nudge. It was understood 
that the fold-out sofa in the suite would probably 
stay folded up, as Carrie would most likely spend 
her nights with Billy.
"Well, we'll see," Carrie demurred. Suddenly 
she thought she'd feel embarrassed being alone 
with Billy. She'd feel fat.
"That was not spoken like a lovesick fool,"
Emma said, feeling Carrie's forehead as though 
testing to see if she was sick.
I'm acting nuts, Carrie told herself. After all, 
Billy had been up at school visiting her since 
she'd gained weight. It had never seemed to 
bother him. Or was he just being nice?
"Hey, what great thoughts are you thinking?" 
Emma asked Carrie lightly.
"I ... I was thinking that actually you and 
Kurt probably wish you could be alone together. 
Maybe Sam will make a choice between Danny 
and Pres, or something."
"Actually, I don't want to be alone with Kurt," 
Emma whispered confidentially.
Carrie looked shocked. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, I do, of course I do," Emma added 
hastily. "But after everything that happened 
between us last summer, I'm in go-slow mode. I 
want to be sure this time."
Just then Kurt arrived with a glass of wine for 
Emma and a beer each for Carrie and himself. 
Conversation halted while they watched and 
listened to the band. The room was packed to 
capacity, but Sam stood out in a shocking pink 
tiger-striped bodysuit under a man's old 
fashioned black vest. Standing next to her was 
Danny, looking morose. Sam's eyes were glued to 
the sexy image of Pres playing bass up on the 
stage.
Carrie felt really bad for Danny. She knew he 
was crazy about Sam—it was totally obvious. But 
Sam had him coming and going.
"Look at Danny standing over there," Carrie 
yelled to Emma over the music. "He's such a 
sweetheart. I could throttle Sam."
"Oh, you know Sam," Emma began. "She—"
"Uh, excuse me," came a soft voice next to 
Emma.
Emma practically did a double take. "Daphne?"
Standing next to Emma was Daphne Whit-
tinger, best friend of Lorell Courtland and Diana 
De Witt. The last time Emma had seen Daphne, 
in this very club, Daphne had tried to slice her 
face with a shard of glass. Only Kurt's timely 
intervention had prevented it. Daphne had been 
taken away to the hospital to treat her severe 
anorexia nervosa and probable addiction to diet 
pills. That was the last anyone had seen or heard 
from her.
"Emma, don't walk away," Daphne said quickly 
before Emma could respond. "I ... I have 
something I've needed to say to you ever since 
last summer."
"I'm listening," Emma said. She noticed that 
Daphne had definitely gained weight since the 
previous summer. She looked clear-eyed, lucid, 
almost normal.
"You were right last summer when you told me I 
was sick, Emma," Daphne hurried on. "I ended up 
in the hospital for a long time. I found out I 
have what's called an eating disorder."
Emma nodded. That was all the encourage-
ment Daphne needed to continue.
"I've . . . I've been in this recovery program
since then," she continued earnestly. "I'm getting 
better. I mean, I'm learning to forgive myself. 
Maybe someday you can forgive me, too," she 
finished.
"Listen, Daphne, you weren't responsible," 
Emma began. But before she could get any 
further Daphne had melted into the crowd and 
was gone.
"Did that really happen just now?" Emma 
asked Carrie. "Quel bizarre!"
But before any of them could utter a word, 
Carrie heard her name being called from another 
direction. She turned to find Claudia Templeton 
opening her arms for an embrace.
"I've been looking all over for you!" exclaimed 
Claudia. "Graham and I just popped in for the 
first set. We're leaving for Bangor, then on to 
Toronto in the morning, then to Scandinavia for 
two weeks!"
Carrie felt off balance—so much was happening 
at once! She stood back and let Claudia carry the 
conversation.
Graham had been offered a tour of Scandina-
via, with enough time between concerts so that 
he and Claudia could have a kind of second 
honeymoon. When they'd heard about the benefit 
at the cafe, they'd wanted to contribute. Not only 
were they giving a generous donation, but Gra-
ham was going to make a guest appearance to 
close out the Flirts' set.
"So all this means that he'll be cutting the next 
album over the summer, and we'll be here on the
island," Claudia said, wrapping up. "We've been 
desperate to find out if you'll be coming back, 
too."
Suddenly Carrie knew that that was what she 
wanted more than anything. The chance to be on 
Sunset Island again, to slow down and figure out 
what the hell was going on with her life.
"I'd love to!" she told Claudia happily, adding a 
hug to clinch the deal.
"The kids will be thrilled," said Claudia, "and so 
will Graham. We'll always be grateful for what 
you did for him last Christmas."
Carrie's efforts the previous winter had helped 
Graham face his second bout with a cocaine 
addiction, a battle he now appeared to be winning— 
with luck, for good this time.
Emma and Kurt had disappeared, and Carrie 
and Claudia kept up their visit between songs. 
By the time Claudia left to wait by the stage for 
Graham—they'd have to race to make the last 
ferry—Carrie had been invited to stay at the 
Templetons' house while she was on the island. 
They had already given the okay for the girls to 
have their party there. In fact, it had been 
Claudia and Graham's idea as soon as they heard 
about Carrie's spring break plans.
"Invite everyone and have all the fun you want. 
Just leave the place like you found it. We trust 
you, Carrie," Claudia had said.
Now Carrie watched with a warm glow as 
Graham took the stage. How lucky she was to 
have the trust and affection of such a loving
family—and the family of a famous rock star to 
boot!
After rapturous applause, the audience settled 
in, mesmerized by Graham's performance of "Roll 
On," his latest hit. As the song moved into the 
second verse, Carrie was jostling through the 
swaying bodies for a better view when Sam came 
bursting through the crowd.
"Carrie!" Sam cried, a wild look in her eyes. 
"Have you seen Danny? I can't find him any-
where!"
He probably felt ignored and left, thought 
Carrie, but to Sam she simply said, "No, I 
haven't."
Sam went careening on in her search, and by 
the time Carrie reached the front, the song was 
ending. Graham saw her, though, and threw her a 
kiss and a wink before he and Claudia bolted out the 
door. She knew Billy would unwind with the guys 
for a few minutes before coming to find her. She 
propped her back against the stage to wait.
"Are you Carrie?" asked a slender, exotic-
looking girl, walking up to Carrie with an out-
stretched hand. She looked to be in her early 
twenties—older, hip, very confident.
"Yes," said Carrie, surprised. She didn't re-
member ever seeing this girl before.
"I'm Luann," said the girl, clasping Carrie's 
hand for a quick, firm shake. "I've heard so much 
about you from Billy."
"Oh," said Carrie with what she hoped passed 
for a smile. She couldn't help it—her radar went
up. Who's this girl to Billy, anyway? "I hope he 
said something good," Carrie added.
"Maybe too good," Luann said with a rueful 
laugh. "You probably have a better chance than I 
do."
Icy fingers of dread wound their way around 
Carrie's heart.
"Well," continued Luann, "I'm not the jealous 
kind, so I figured I'd come right out and intro-
duce myself. I hate gossip."
Carrie was trying to fathom this when she 
looked up to see Billy staring wide-eyed at her 
and Luann from backstage. He ducked away 
quickly, trying to pretend he hadn't noticed them.
Luann had seen him, too, and now gave Carrie a 
knowing smile.
"After all, we might as well get to know each 
other," she said with a meaningful look in Billy's 
direction. "We do have^a lot in common."
Carrie's mind was whirling as Luann strode 
purposefully toward the bar. In the past forty-
five minutes, she had been bombarded with so 
much new information, she hardly knew how to 
sort it out. Her emotions were going in ten 
different directions.
Not even the hideous truth that she and Daphne 
Whittinger had something in common seemed to 
stay in her consciousness. She was too busy 
letting the truth register: Billy had another girl-
friend.
"I figured this was where you had to be," said 
Billy, standing on the front steps of the Temple-
tons' house. "Did you have to take off without a 
word last night?"
It was nine o'clock Sunday morning, and though 
Carrie was up and dressed, she felt exhausted.
"Come on in," she said quietly.
She led him into the Templetons' spacious 
living room and through to the sunny kitchen. 
She had felt safe there the moment she'd found 
the key in its hiding place last night. Now she 
was grateful to be on familiar ground.
"Did it ever occur to you that people would 
worry about you?" Billy asked. "I couldn't find 
Sam or Emma after you just walked out last 
night. This morning I finally thought of checking 
here."
"I left word at the inn where I'd be," Carrie 
said in a low voice.
Billy turned her to face him, gripping her 
shoulders hard. "Come on, Carrie."
Carrie took a step away from him. "Is this 
pretend-Carrie-is-special time?"
Billy looked stunned. "How can you say that?"
"Look, Billy, I'm not stupid, and I hate stupid 
games. I know you saw your friend Luann talking 
to me last night. She told me she's going out with 
you. Imagine my having to find that out from 
her."
"Hey—" Billy began.
"I was going to talk to you about it. I figured it 
was the only mature thing to do," Carrie said 
with an ironic twist to her mouth, "but when I 
found you backstage a little while later, Luann 
had found you first. Maybe you didn't see me 
because your face was buried in her hair."
Billy sighed and took a couple of paces away. 
He gazed out the sliding glass doors to the deck. 
He didn't speak for a moment.
"I only met her a few weeks ago," he finally 
said. "And I told her all about you."
"So she said," Carrie retorted. "Funny that you 
didn't bother to tell me all about her."
"I was going to, I really was," implored Billy. 
"Do you think I'd have wanted you to come up 
here if there was anyone else I was serious 
about?"
"As far as I knew," Carrie shot back, "there 
wasn't anyone else at all."
Billy's mouth drew into a thin line. "Listen, 
Carrie, I've known all along there was someone 
else in your life—you see him every day!"
"Hey, that's different—" Carrie began.
"Different how?" Billy shot back. "You expect 
me to sit up here like a damn mummy in a tomb, 
only coming to life when you arrive to dig me up?"
"But . . . but that just isn't fair!" Carrie sput-
tered. "Josh is my friend! He's been my best 
friend for years! It's nothing like you and me!"
"God, Carrie, wake up!" Billy said. "Do you 
really think you can have a long-term romantic 
relationship with Josh and then poof!—one day 
he's just your good buddy?"
"No, but—"
"I've seen how Josh looks at you. I know how 
he feels about you," Billy said. "You think I like it 
when we run into him at Yale?"
"How dare you twist this around?" Carrie cried. 
She put one hand on her forehead. How could this 
be happening? When she'd taken that long, cold 
walk to the Templetons' house last night, she'd 
been so full of righteous anger. But now Billy was 
putting her on the defensive!
Billy stared out the window again, as if trying 
to control his temper. Carrie hadn't even known 
he had a temper—she'd never seen it before.
"What I'm saying," Carrie began shakily, "is 
that it was rotten of you not to have told me 
about Luann before I got here. Can we just stick 
to that subject for the moment?"
Billy looked down guiltily. "It just didn't seem 
important enough."
"Billy, that is bull," Carrie said, folding her 
arms.
"Okay, maybe I felt a little bummed about it," 
Billy allowed.
"Well, at least you're being honest," Carrie said 
quietly.
Billy walked to Carrie and took hold of her 
shoulders. "Carrie, she is not important to me, 
that really is the truth," Billy whispered, staring 
into her eyes. "I like her very much, but she's 
not—you."
"Really?" Carrie asked. She needed his reas-
surance so badly.
"Really," he said firmly. He leaned in and 
kissed her softly on the lips. "How about if we go 
have breakfast, maybe take a walk on the beach, 
and talk about this?"
"You're on," Carrie said. "I'll get my jacket."
As Carrie went for her jacket she thought that 
maybe, just maybe, the situation with Billy wasn't 
as dire as her fears had led her to believe. But as 
she caught a look at her reflection in the hall 
mirror, her heart sank. Luann was so lovely and 
slender. How could Billy possibly prefer her over 
Luann?
By Monday morning, Sam was ticked. It was 
the second day in a row she'd found herself 
waking up alone in the suite at the Sunset Inn. 
Something was up, and no one was telling her 
anything.
Emma hadn't yet spent a night in her bed, and 
Sam suspected she and Kurt must be sleeping 
together. She was a little hurt that Emma hadn't
confided in her. And Carrie, of course, had 
moved to the Templetons' house for the week. 
Sam could see why she'd prefer that over the 
bachelor pad the Flirts shared. But it was funny— 
Billy didn't seem to be staying there with her.
They had all been together the day before for a 
spontaneous Sunday-afternoon fun-and-games 
party at the Flirts' house.
Fun and games, my ass! thought Sam, re-
membering the stilted atmosphere of the gather-
ing. They'd played a few games, but no one had 
seemed to be having much fun. Sam had noted 
that Emma, who had sipped wine all afternoon, 
had been pie-eyed and wobbly on her feet by the 
time Kurt whisked her out the door. But by then, 
Sam had had her own worries to contend with.
Damn that Danny! Sam seethed. Danny*s ab-
sence the day before had been conspicuous. Sam 
had made a big show of flirting with Pres, but 
inside, she was bummed out. Emma and Carrie 
had seemed a little reproachful when they'd 
asked about Danny, but Sam had shrugged them 
off, saying he was a big boy and could take care of 
himself. The truth was that it was really getting 
to her that she didn't know where he was. She 
hadn't seen him since he'd disappeared from the 
benefit Saturday night.
Well, I'll be damned if I'm going to sit around 
this hotel room all day, Sam told herself firmly. 
It's time for action.
She pulled on her favorite worn jeans over a 
set of red men's long Johns. She added her
sheepskin vest and a red suede belt with three 
thongs that tied to create a tasseled effect. Step-
ping into her red cowboy boots, she spun to catch a 
glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. 
"Serious vixen," she complimented herself out 
loud, and she was ready to attack the day.
One quick call to Wheels, the bike rental shop 
that Pres still managed, and she had arranged for a 
bicycle to be dropped off while she ate in the 
hotel's coffee shop. A bike was perfect for sleuthing 
around—it wasn't a black stallion with flaring 
nostrils, but what the hell.
An hour later she was braking outside the Bay 
View Motel's lobby just as the ferry shuttle—a 
worn-out old station wagon—dropped Kevin at 
the door.
Perfect timing, Sam congratulated herself. A 
compadre!
"Jeez," said Kevin with an ear-to-ear grin, "the 
welcome wagon never looked this good back 
where I come from!"
"Few people know I'm psychic," Sam said 
blithely. "I divined that you'd be arriving at this 
precise moment."
"It must be my lucky day," laughed Kevin. "So 
where does your psychic sense tell you Danny 
is?"
"Don't know," Sam confessed. "Your buddy has 
been making himself scarce of late."
Sam took Kevin to the motel, where he stopped 
to register and get a room key.
"Maybe we'll find him immersed in the great
190 _
American novel or something," Kevin said as 
they opened the door to the room he'd be sharing 
with Danny.
Sam was glad to see evidence that Danny 
hadn't disappeared into thin air: an open shaving 
kit, a damp towel on the shower rod, and a few 
shirts on hangers above a suitcase neatly stowed 
below.
A candidate for the Good Housekeeping award, 
thought Sam, picturing the helter-skelter disorder 
that had already blossomed in her room back at 
the hotel.
"Here's a note," said Kevin, handing her a 
scrap of motel notepaper.
Sam read aloud, "'Kev: Gone fishing. Back 
midmorning. Let's have lunch. D.'"
Sam's relief must have been evident. "You two 
having a spat or something?" Kevin asked.
"Whatever we're having, it isn't a good time," 
Sam replied testily. "Maybe if he'd show his face, 
we could figure out why."
As if on cue, the door opened and there was 
Danny.
"Hi, guys," said Danny, as casually as if he 
were just returning from a run across the street 
for a newspaper.
In spite of her resolution to stay cool, Sam was 
on her feet and in his face before he was three 
steps inside the room.
"Do you know how worried I've been?" she 
cried. "You could at least have left me a message 
or something!"
"Worried? Why?" said Danny. "This island is 
one of the safest places on earth."
"That's not what I mean," said Sam.
"So what do you mean?" Danny parried.
"Hey, time out, you two," Kevin interjected. 
"Sam, where'd you get that bike? Or more to the 
point, can I use it? I'll take a cruise and look at 
the island—not that the two of you aren't scintil-
lating company right now," he added wryly.
"It's yours," Sam said. "Hey, I'm sorry, you 
just got here and—"
"Not to worry," Kevin interrupted. "I'll see you 
two later." He shut the door behind him.
Sam started in as soon as the door shut. 
"Listen, Danny, I—"
"No, you listen for a change," Danny said. 
"Somebody's got to start being honest around 
here, and I guess it's going to be me."
Sam waited. Danny paused for so long that she 
wasn't sure if he was going to talk or not. Finally 
he spoke, but as he did he stared down at his 
hands.
"Did I ever mention what a crappy childhood I 
had?" he asked Sam. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he 
continued, "me and half of the Western world, 
right? Anyway, they didn't exactly send me off 
into the world with a lot of faith in relationships."
"I know the feeling," Sam said in a low voice.
"The point is that I've never wanted a ... a 
relationship before," Danny said.
He looked up just as Sam was about to break 
in, but he stopped her. "Wait! I said I was going
to be honest." His eyes locked on Sam and held 
her gaze. "The point is," he said slowly, "I've 
never had a relationship."
Sam wore a puzzled frown, and Danny paused 
until he saw the light dawn in her eyes.
"You mean . . ." Sam ventured, "you mean 
you're a . . ."
"That's right," said Danny.
Sam was astonished. Danny! Gorgeous, hand-
some, funny Danny, with the beautiful body and 
the bedroom eyes! Danny was a—
"That's not my only confession," Danny hurried 
on, as if he was afraid to lose momentum. "When I 
first met you, Sam, you were so outgoing, so 
cocky and sure of yourself. I thought you were 
the sexiest, and maybe one of the most experi-
enced, girls I'd ever met."
"But Danny—" Sam began.
"Please, this is hard for me," Danny said pain-
fully. "Don't you see? You talk so big, I figured 
you'd seduce me within a week. Then you'd go 
your way, and I'd go mine—a man of the world."
Sam was flabbergasted. All those nights, from 
wild partying to quiet talks, that she'd waited for 
Danny to try to kiss her. All this time, and he'd 
been waiting for her to make a move!
"There was only one problem," Danny contin-
ued. "I found out I really like you and I didn't 
want you to just go on your way."
Sam sat down on the bed. "Let me be sure I've 
got this straight. You were planning to let me 
take advantage of youl"
"Something like that," he agreed sheepishly.
She swung her hair back over her shoulder. "So 
then why haven't we done it yet?"
"Huh?" Danny said, taken aback.
Sam stood up. "Come on! Take off your clothes 
right now! Let's do it!"
"But—" Danny sputtered.
"You think you're so different from any other 
guy trying to get into my pants?" Sam yelled. 
"God, I should have known you weren't for real! I 
should have known never to trust you!"
"But nothing happened!" Danny protested. 
Now he was standing, too. "After you left Orlando, I 
started putting some of the pieces together 
about you. And you know what I figured out? 
You are totally full of it, Sam Bridges. You are all 
hot air."
"I am not!" Sam said furiously, her face turning 
red.
"You are!" Danny insisted, grabbing her arm. 
"You know the game and you've got the moves, but 
it's all a front. I bet you're no more experienced 
than I am. In love, or in anything else!"
Sam's heart thudded in her chest. "Oh yeah?" 
she asked with bravado.
"Yeah," Danny echoed softly.
An impasse.
"Well," Danny said finally. "Am I right?"
Sam felt tears quicken in her eyes. "I—"
"That's what I thought," Danny said softly, 
gently putting his arms around her.
"If you tell anyone, you're dead meat," Sam 
sniffled into his shoulder. "Your secret is safe with 
me," Danny said.
When the knock came, Emma opened the suite 
door. No matter how often she saw Kurt, the sight 
of him always gave her a tingle. This evening, he 
looked especially handsome in the jacket and tie 
he had put on for their dinner date.
"Hiya, beautiful," Kurt said, stepping over the 
threshold to give her a quick, tantalizing kiss. 
"You look like every man's idea of a dream date."
Emma beamed with pleasure at the compli-
ment. She was so thankful she'd thought to 
include one romantic evening dress in her packing— a 
white silk minishift whose simplicity belied its 
thousand-dollar price tag. Delicate bead work 
around the neck and cuffs was echoed in a pattern 
on her simple white kid-leather pumps.
Now she led Kurt into the suite, feeling sexy 
and feminine as the short skirt swished against 
her thighs.
"Would monsieur care for a glass of wine 
before dinner?" she asked over her shoulder, 
already making her way to the glass she was 
drinking herself. She'd had room service deliver a 
bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse so she could offer Kurt a 
drink before they went to dinner.
Something in Kurt's beautiful blue eyes changed. 
He gave her a studied look before saying, "Why 
don't we just go down to the restaurant?"
Oh, no, I've already managed to insult him,
Emma thought. Kurt had made it clear that he 
wished to pay for the entire evening, and she 
supposed he saw the Pouilly-Fuiss6 as something 
she had bought because he couldn't afford it.
"Good idea," Emma replied, finishing off the 
last of her wine. Better just get out of here and on 
with the evening's plans, she thought.
They were seated by the maitre d' at one of the 
best tables in the inn's dining room, in a corner 
with windows on both sides offering views of the 
shoreline. Emma ordered veal Marsala, Kurt 
treated himself to a filet mignon, and they each 
had a glass of wine to complement their meals.
"I really missed you, Emma," Kurt told her. 
After dinner, he asked Emma if she'd like a cup of 
coffee.
"To be honest, I'd rather have a glass of 
champagne," she replied. She leaned closer and 
let the love shine in her eyes. "I feel like cele-
brating."
She'd hoped Kurt would see how much she 
appreciated his splurge for their dinner date, but 
his expression darkened ominously.
"Emma, I don't know how to say this except to 
just come right out with it," Kurt said solemnly. 
"It . . . well, it seems like you're drinking a 
lot."
Emma felt as though she'd been slapped.
"Really, Kurt," she managed tartly, "you make it 
sound like I've been tossing back shots of 
whiskey or something."
"Emma,  tonight is Tuesday.  You got here
Saturday, and every night since then, I've had to 
drive, because you weren't in any shape to get 
behind the wheel!"
"Well, if I'd known you minded driving—" "I 
should add that it hasn't been very romantic 
having you fall asleep on my couch every night," 
Kurt continued. "I'm getting a little tired of 
throwing a blanket over you and knowing I'll 
have to deal with your headaches in the morn-
ing." "I ... it's only wine," Emma protested 
feeb-
ly.
"It's alcohol," Kurt said.
Something snapped in Emma. "Oh, please don't 
go getting self-righteous on me now!" she said.
"I'm not!" Kurt protested.
"Yes, you are," Emma said. "Why do you get to 
be the moral arbiter? You always do this!"
Kurt looked confused. "Hey, Em, come on, I 
don'W
"You want to give me a sermon because I have 
an occasional glass of wine, but I bet if I said one 
word you'd have me in bed so fast I wouldn't 
know what hit me."
"Yes, I want to go to bed with you," Kurt said 
in a low, even voice. "That hasn't changed. But 
we've already agreed to take it slow. I'm not 
pushing for sex! I'd just like to be able to kiss you 
and . . . and be with you without you falling 
asleep because you've been drinking!"
"Well, thank you very much," Emma said frostily. 
"That's a delightful picture you've painted of
me. But let me ask you this. If we've agreed to go 
slow, who is supposed to be the one putting on 
the brakes?"
Kurt just stared at her.
"Me, that's who," Emma said, answering her 
own question. She stood and dropped her 
napkin onto the table. "Ill be sleeping in my own 
room tonight. Thank you for a most enlightening 
evening."
With that, she turned and swept out of the 
dining room, leaving Kurt with his head in his 
hands.
It was Thursday before Carrie, Emma, and 
Sam managed a few hours together by them-
selves to have lunch and plan their party. They 
chose to meet at Crumpets, a new little tearoom 
that had just opened in preparation for the sum-
mer season.
After they'd ordered, Sam looked across the 
table at her two friends.
"Let's get right into the good stuff," she said 
mischievously. "I can't believe we've seen so little 
of each other. I've been going through with-
drawal. Who's got a really hot story to tell?"
Neither Emma nor Carrie spoke immediately.
"No takers?" Sam asked innocently. "Well, 
then," she continued, "how about me?"
Emma and Carrie looked surprised.
"You mean you and Pres?" Emma asked.
"Not Pres," Sam said, wiggling her eyebrows.
"It's Danny!" Carrie broke in. "I knew it would 
be Danny eventually! All right!" she cheered.
"You mean you're ..." Emma left the ques-
tion unfinished.
—    199
"Yes!" Sam yelled. "I mean we're—"
"You slept with him?" Emma asked with a 
sharp intake of breath. Was she the only one who 
thought taking things slow was important? It just 
didn't seem like it would be the same unless she 
was sure she was in love.
"Wrong," Sam said. "Not yet. Not much of that 
stuff yet at all, actually," she admitted. "But he's a 
darned good kisser and we've agreed to, um, 
look at each other with lust."
"Good place to start!" Carrie agreed with a 
laugh.
"So how is Pres taking this?" Emma asked as 
the waitress brought them their chef's salads. 
"Actually, I haven't seen him around much."
"What's to take?" Sam asked with a shrug, 
pouring tons of thousand-island dressing on her 
salad. "Pres and I like to flirt with each other— 
it's never really been more than that. If you'll 
remember, the only reason we went out in the 
first place was to keep up with you lovebirds last
summer."
"But you know what I don't understand?" Emma 
asked, nibbling daintily on a croissant. "We've 
asked you over and over about Danny, and you've 
always said you two were just friends."
Sam rolled her eyes. "Danny has this stupid 
idea that it's possible to be friends and be romantic 
at the same time. Personally, I think he's crazy," 
she said, reaching for her fork. "But you know 
me, the last of the great risk-takers."
"So how's the experiment going so far?" Carrie 
asked, sipping her water.
"I gotta tell you," Sam said with a huge grin, "I 
can't believe we waited this long to get to the hot 
part!"
"Before long I really will be the only virgin in 
the crowd," Emma said with a laugh.
"I'm not in any hurry," Sam informed them 
coolly.
Emma and Carrie stared at her.
"Excuse me, but is this the same Sam Bridges 
who was ready to do it with any good-looking 
stranger who caught her eye?" said Emma.
"That was then, this is now," Sam said dismiss-
ively.
"What's Danny have to say about that?" asked 
Carrie.
"It's okay w*th him," said Sam. She wasn't 
about to reveal his confession—that was just 
between the two of them.
She did feel almost ready to reveal something 
about herself, though. Sam had thought long and 
hard about it the night before. Danny was right. 
Lying to her best Mends sucked. It was time to 
tell them she was no longer working at Disney 
World. But before she could open her mouth 
again, Carrie had focused on Emma.
"So are things blissful with you and Kurt?" 
Carrie asked.
"It's okay," Emma said quietly.
"Just okay?" Carrie prodded.
"We had a fight a couple nights ago, and I'm 
giving him some space."
Remembering Emma tottering out the door on 
Sunday, Sam wondered if the fight had been 
about her drinking.
"So what'd you fight about?" Sam ventured, 
reaching for another roll.
"It was just ridiculous," Emma sighed. She put 
down her fork and stared at her salad bowl. "He 
actually claimed I've been drinking too much 
wine lately."
Neither Carrie nor Sam said a word.
"I think what's really happening is that he isn't 
getting enough . . . attention from me. I think 
he wants me to sleep with him, and I'm just not 
ready for that."
"Well, Emma," Carrie said carefully, "I have 
noticed that you're drinking more than you used 
to."
"I have more problems than I used to," Emma 
snapped. She badly wanted to order a glass of 
wine right at that very moment, but willed 
herself not to, It would only add fuel to the fire.
"This salad was great," Sam said, forking up 
the last lettuce leaves, "but I'm still hungry." She 
grabbed the dessert menu and perused it. "So, 
Carrie, you must be the one with the hot inside 
info. What's going on with Billy?"
"He's been seeing someone else," Carrie said 
simply.
"Billy?" Sam asked in shock. "And he didn't 
even tell you?"
"He says he isn't sleeping with her," Carrie 
allowed, "and I believe him. I shut him out for a 
couple of days, and went off to shoot pictures, but 
he's been staying with me again, and it's been . . . 
almost perfect."
"Who is this girl?" asked Emma. "Does he 
intend to keep seeing her?"
"She actually seemed pretty cool," admitted 
Carrie. "I can see why he'd be attracted to her. 
She's sort of a world traveler, and right now she's a 
cook on one of those North Atlantic cruise 
ships. He met her when the Flirts played that 
weekend cruise back in March."
Sam was incredulous. "Hold on a sec. Am I 
picking up vibes that you've agreed to let him 
keep seeing her once you leave?"
"Sam, I don't have the right to let or not let him 
do something. He's a grownup. He makes his own 
choices."
"Hey, that's a little too New Age for me," Sam 
snorted. "If it were Danny, I'd deck him!"
"You're the biggest flirt in the Western hemi-
sphere!" Carrie hooted. "Who are you to talk?"
"Flirting is permissible, for your information," 
Sam said coolly. "It's action that means war."
Carrie crumpled up her napkin and laid it by 
her plate. "I don't know what's going to happen. If 
he can last until June, at least we'll have the 
summer together. I've promised to be Graham 
and Claudia's au pair again."
"Yikes!" cried Sam. "I forgot to tell you what I 
did-yesterday! Danny and Kevin rented a boat
and went sailing, so I got a bike and rode around. I 
ended up going past the Jacobs place, and Dan 
was there! He's having a new roof put on and 
wanted to check the progress."
"Were the monsters along?" asked Carrie, 
referring to Dan's precocious thirteen-year-old 
identical-twin daughters.
"Only in spirit," said Sam. "The point is that he 
asked me back for the summer."
"And?" said Emma.
"And I told him I'd think about it."
"But what about Disney?" Carrie asked.
This was it. The big chance. The big opening. 
Truth tune.
"I'm . . . having some problems at Disney," 
Sam ventured.
"Really?" Carrie asked, concern etched on her 
face.
"What is it?" Emma asked.
"It's ... it's ... oh, it's nothing," Sam said, 
brushing it off. She'd gotten so used to the lie, 
she just couldn't make herself tell them. She 
changed the subject quickly.
"Hey, listen, I picked up a magazine in the 
hotel lobby and there was an ad in there for 
dancers—dancers for an international touring 
company!" Sam said animatedly. "Would that be 
totally happening, or what?"
"Would that be long term?" Carrie asked. "You 
wouldn't be able to keep your job at Disney, 
would you?"
Sam sighed. "Honestly, Carrie. Didn't you ever 
hear of thinking big?"
Carrie looked a little hurt. "Well, how would 
you get in on it?"
"I have to send for more information," Sam 
replied. "I guess they have auditions. Just think— 
by next fall you two may be getting postcards 
from London, Paris—who knows?"
"Hi there!" came a low male voice.
The three girls looked up to see Kevin Logan 
standing at their table.
"Takeout," he said, holding up a bag of muffins. 
"How's it going?"
"Great!" said Sam. "We're about to move on to 
dessert."
"Try the Chocolate Sacrifice," Kevin suggested. 
"I had it yesterday. It's incredible." He glanced at 
each of them. "See you!"
Emma, Carrie, and Sam watched Kevin saunter 
out of the restaurant.
"Tell me that isn't a world-class butt," Sam 
murmured as they watched him walk out the 
door.
"You won't get any argument from me," Carrie 
said.
"Does he have a girlfriend, or what?" Emma 
asked casually.
"From what Danny tells me, he has a harem!" 
said Sam.
"Anyone for dessert?" the waitress asked 
cheerfully.
"Not me," said Emma.
"Or me," Carrie seconded quickly.
"Such misses!" Sam chided. She turned to the 
waitress. "One Chocolate Sacrifice," she ordered, 
"and three spoons."
"So Kevin's a heartbreaker, is he?" Carrie said, 
immediately resuming their conversation.
"Not really a heartbreaker," Sam went on 
thoughtfully. "I think he just sort of plays the 
field, and he's so nice about it that girls feel lucky 
just to have his attention."
"He doesn't seem to have a big ego," Emma 
commented.
"He doesn't," Sam agreed. "There's something 
so solid about him—you know, he's smart, ath-
letic, thoughtful, fun ..."
"Maybe we should run him for president," 
Carrie offered.
The girls enjoyed a laugh, but Emma was 
thinking that she was glad Kevin was going to be 
around for the party. If Kurt was going to get on 
her case about her drinking, maybe she'd just 
spend time with Kevin. After all, he'd been really 
nice to her at her apartment. And he was very, 
very cute.
Emma sighed and stared into the distance. 
Love was not all it was cracked up to be. Not at 
all.
By seven-thirty Saturday evening, the party 
plans had materialized. The Templetons' house 
was lit up like a Christmas tree, with munchies 
set around in each room and a buffet table loaded
with goodies. Emma had sprung for trays of the 
Bay View Cafe's famous fried chicken, and Sam 
and Carrie had spent hours on fresh-vegetable 
dips and homemade biscuits. The Flirts had 
contributed a keg of beer, which was chilling in a 
tub of ice on the deck, and the girls had stashed 
extra bags of ice in the freezer, knowing that 
some people would bring their own liquor for 
mixed drinks.
As usual, the three girls couldn't have chosen 
three more different outfits. Carrie had on her 
new raspberry jacket again, but this time she 
wore a sexy black bodysuit and black jeans 
underneath. She'd spent an hour putting the 
outfit on and then taking it off again, trying to 
decide if she looked fat. Finally, she'd simply 
forced herself to decide.
Emma had on a short pleated skirt in pink-and-
purple plaid, with a long pink cashmere sweater 
that slipped sexily off one shoulder. Sam had 
chosen a lime-green bodysuit, and paired it with a 
wide belt covered in Mickey Mouse stickers and an 
oversized man's jacket from the Salvation 
Army.
"I can't believe our week is almost over—it 
went so fast!" Carrie exclaimed wistfully as she 
ladled out one more bowl of salsa. Til be back in 
the dorm study room wondering if it ever hap-
pened at all!" Still sticking my finger down my 
throat, she added in her head. Still desperate to 
find another way. She missed the feeling of being 
able to talk to Sam and Emma about anything.
"And I'll be back reading nineteenth-century 
French literature at Goucher College," Emma 
said, wrinkling her nose. And not getting up the 
courage to change my life. Drinking it away.
I don't even know where I'll be was Sam's scary 
thought. One thing I vow, though, is that I will 
not go back to Junction! She had promised 
Danny that she'd go back to Orlando with him. 
But after that, Ufe was a blur. There was always 
the chance she could get back on at Big Al's, and 
maybe that ad for the international dance tour 
would pan out.
"But I refuse to think about it now!" Sam said 
aloud to no one in particular. She cranked up the 
tunes and did a little boogie across the living 
room. "Let's party!"
The front door opened, and the first guest 
arrived. To everyone's surprise, it was Daphne, 
carrying a platter of brownies.
"Hi," Daphne said shyly, meeting the girls' 
gazes one by one. "I brought something to donate 
to the party."
Carrie was the first to rush up. "You didn't 
have to," she said with a smile. "But yum—we're 
glad you did! Come on in, and let's find room for 
these on the main table."
No sooner had they walked around the corner 
than the door opened again to let Flash Hatha-
way slither in.
"Right on the heels of every silver lining, 
there's a big ugly cloud," cracked Sam.
"How can he have the nerve to show his slimy
face on this island after everything he's done?" 
Emma asked in shock.
"Hiya, chicks," said Plash, oblivious to Sam's 
slam. "Got any food around here? I got an 
engagement party to snap on the other side of 
the island, and thought I'd drop in for dinner 
first." Helping himself to a chip with salsa, 
Flash continued as he chewed, "Where's the third 
Mouseketeer? Or is she so intimidated by a 
professional photographer that she ran when she 
saw me coming?"
"Would you like a napkin?" asked Emma as 
Flash noisily licked his fingertips, then plunged 
back in for another chip.
"How about a bib?" said Sam with distaste.
Ignoring Sam, Flash said to Emma, "Sure, 
Blondie, I'll take a napkin. Let's go in here where 
the real eats are, and you can tie it on for me."
At that moment, Kevin and Danny walked 
through the door, Danny going straight to Sam 
for a hug. Kevin greeted Emma with an exagger-
ated bow and a kiss for her hand.
"I see the royal family's arrived," said Flash, 
giving Emma a nod as he moved toward the 
buffet in the dining room. "Excuse me, Princess 
Di."
"Oh well," said Sam, following his exit with her 
gaze, "it's not really a party without at least one 
slob in the crowd."
Kevin offered to help Emma uncork wine bot-
tles, and Danny and Sam iced the soft drinks he'd 
brought. Sam found herself hoping that Emma
wouldn't drink too much, but the thought put a 
damper on her party mood. What the hell, she 
told herself, it's a party—let everyone do what 
they want. She decided on the spot to have a beer 
herself.
Carrie and Daphne were touring the Temple-
tons' house, and Carrie found herself desperately 
wanting to ask Daphne about her eating disorder. 
Maybe here was someone who would understand. 
She chose the balcony off the master bedroom to 
pose her question.
"I don't mean to pry," Carrie explained, "but 
I'm kind of curious about what you went through. I 
mean, your recovery. See, I have this . . . 
friend . . ."
A shrewd and searching look came into Daphne's 
eyes but was gone a second later. "Well, there are 
different kinds of eating disorders. I thought I 
couldn't eat at all, which is usually called an-
orexia. But it's complicated. Some people can eat, 
but then they make themselves throw up after-
ward, and that's called bulimia."
"Yes, I've . . . I've heard of it," Carrie said. 
"That's what my friend has."
"Well, your friend is probably really unhappy," 
Daphne said. "It's really painful."
Carrie felt like someone had hit her in her 
stomach with a fist. Yes, it really was painful! 
How could it have possibly happened to her? To 
her?
"Anyway, at least your friend has taken the 
right first step," Daphne said.
"What's that?" Carrie asked.
"She told you! After that, it's her call. There 
are entire books on the subject! People have all 
kinds of ways they recover: reading, counseling, 
groups, programs."
"Oh, well, she's not the kind of person to join a 
program or something," Carrie said hastily. "I 
don't think she's been doing it for very long or 
anything."
Daphne looked at her thoughtfully. "Well, maybe 
she'll surprise herself. I sure surprised myself."
They were interrupted by a couple who claimed 
they were also just touring the house, though 
Carrie suspected they were probably scoping out 
bedrooms in case the party got "private" later. 
Suddenly Carrie felt responsible for the Temple-
tons' house, and ushered Daphne back toward the 
hub of activity downstairs.
"Gosh, just when I thought there were no 
good-looking girls at this party!" It was Billy, 
first leaning over her shoulder, then pulling her 
close for a hug.
Please let things work out this summer, prayed 
Carrie. / love him so much! The week of honesty 
with Billy had given her the courage to tell Josh 
she had made her decision. She would just have 
to take her chances. Maybe Josh would find a 
girlfriend who would tolerate Carrie's friendship 
with him, and they could still be friends. Very 
briefly, Sarah Lovett popped into her mind. She 
wondered if that was who Josh had in mind. She 
also wondered if she should have a chat with
Sarah about bulimia. There I go again, she thought. 
Fair-and-square Carrie.
"I brought some rum," said Billy. "Want a 
Sunset Mambo?"
Carrie hardly ever drank—she didn't particu-
larly care for it. But tonight she felt like celebrating 
with Billy. "Sure," she answered. "Just be sure 
to make it a light one."
"Don't worry about that." Billy laughed, and 
Carrie knew he was thinking of the night the 
summer before when she had tried to impress 
him with her drinking, and ended up being sick as a 
dog. She laughed, too, and they made their way to 
the kitchen.
Emma was holding court near the counter 
where the wine was set out. With Kurt on one 
side and Kevin on the other, she was feeling 
charming and uninhibited. Both guys were ex-
tremely attractive, but Emma knew it was Kurt 
who had claim to her heart. They were even 
getting along better than they had all week. In 
honor of the party, she supposed, he wasn't 
giving her any trouble about drinking, and had 
even refilled her glass for her.
Kevin was telling a funny story, and suddenly 
Emma wished she had a picture of the three of 
them laughing and talking together. With her 
all-girls private-schooling education, she had never 
had the chance to know boys as friends. Now she 
realized that the attraction she felt for Kevin had 
to do with his being such a likeable person.
"The guy actually expected me to talk to this 
turtle," said Kevih, finishing the story about his 
first interview assignment.
Emma watched Kurt laughing and thought, 
I'm happy just being near him! The wineglass 
she was turning in her hand drew her momen-
tarily into thoughts of their quarrel. He's right, 
she thought, / need to think about this—but not 
tonight.
Sam, too, was having a grand time. Slightly 
buzzed from the beer she'd been drinking, she 
had taken over the job of DJ. Since everyone else 
seemed even less sober, no one minded giving her 
the job, and she played one dance tune after 
another: funkyi blues, hard rock, Motown, and 
even a Broadway number or two, just to keep the 
crowd on their toes.
Danny watched with amusement as she tried to 
get the crowd to follow a Disney dance routine. 
He was the only one in the room who could 
appreciate her exact impersonation of Mr. Chris-
topher, and she felt a strong, warm connection 
flowing between them. She ran back to the stereo 
and chose a slow dance, so she could enjoy the 
rhythm of their bodies moving together in time to 
the music. Funny, the change in then* relation-
ship didn't feel strange to her at all. She could tell 
he didn't even mind when she roped Pres into 
being her partner for the twist a couple of 
numbers later.
By midnight, everyone was dancing, and an 
hour later, Carrie noticed that there were begin-
ning to be casualties. She rallied her fellow 
hostesses to start winding things down before 
they ended up with an all-night party on their 
hands. Sam was resistant at first, but reluctantly 
put on an album of ballads, and helped assess the 
damages.
A few guests were lolling in armchairs, and had 
to be helped to their feet and walked to the door. 
Someone had broken a beer bottle in one of the 
bathrooms, and someone else had thrown up in 
the shower stall of another. Upstairs, Kurt and 
Danny found a couple in the guest room who had 
undressed and gone to bed as if they were home. 
Emma found an unidentified brassiere flying like a 
flag from the edge of the deck.
"I'd say we had some fun," Sam announced as 
she cleaned a salsa spill from the hardwood floor 
in the dining room. "But how did we end up 
drunking so mich?"
Her remark drew a laugh from the last few 
stragglers who were still on their feet; most had 
congregated at the buffet for a final munch. Now 
they wandered off to find shoes, purses, and 
jackets for the trek home.
Carrie had marshaled Kevin and Billy into a 
crew to sweep through the outlying areas of the 
house for used cups and empty bottles. They 
returned as she was running a sinkful of soapy 
water to start washing a few of the serving 
dishes.
"What's this, the party's over?" Kevin ribbed
her. "Hey, don't clean up now. We can come back 
and help with this tomorrow."
"I think you mean later today," yawned Carrie. 
"It must be four in the morning or something. 
Anyway, I'd like to get started on it tonight, but 
I'm not sure I can stay awake."
"What you need is some fresh air," Kevin 
claimed, grabbing her by the waist and waltzing 
her toward the door. "I hereby, forthwith—and 
also right now—proclaim a beach walk!" he went 
on to announce in a booming, comical voice.
"Yes!" cried Emma as the idea grabbed her 
imagination. "Throw caution to the wind! It's 
almost our last night on the island! Let's do it. We 
can watch the sunrise!"
"I'm in!" Sam decided.
"Sounds like fun to me," said Danny.
"Only one problem," Kurt pointed out. "No 
beach."
For some reason, that struck everyone as 
being hilarious. No beach! Maybe they were just a 
little drunk . . .
"What do you mean? We're surrounded by 
beaches!" Billy exclaimed. "It's just a question of 
getting to one."
"We can use my car," offered Emma, "but I'm 
not sure we can all fit. Unless ..."
Like a chorus being directed by a single hand, 
the cry went up in unison: "Unless we put the top 
down!"
It took only a minute to decide it was a great 
idea.
Grabbing up whatever they could find in the 
way of warm clothing, they tumbled out the door 
and into the driveway. Emma was weaving as she 
tried to fit the key in the lock.
"One requirement," said Kevin, coming up 
behind Emma. He placed a hand over hers and 
gently extracted her keys. "I drive. Friends don't 
let friends, and all that."
"Man, are you sure you're okay?" asked Billy. 
"I'd offer myself, but I'm honestly a little pol-
luted."
"No problem," said Kevin, opening the door 
and sliding in behind the wheel.
It seemed pointless to argue, and in fact, 
though Kevin had been drinking with them all 
night, he seemed able to hold his liquor without 
much effect. In a minute, the top was whirring 
smoothly into its bed. Kurt grabbed Emma around 
the waist and pulled her onto his lap in the 
passenger seat. Laughing and stumbling against 
each other, the rest of the group scrambled for 
space in the back seat of the open car. A rock 
station blared out "Twist and Shout," and every-
one sang along at the top of their lungs.
"This is living!" Sam hollered over the noise, 
throwing her arms up to the night sky.
The Beatles song ended and an old Johnny 
Mathis ballad came on.
"Boring!" Kevin called out as he took the first 
turn onto the narrow road that led to the beach.
"Find some rap!" Sam yelled from the back 
seat.
"Rap? Yuck!" Danny put in from next to her. 
"Find some good rock!"
"He likes the Grateful Dead!" Sam teased.
"Wow! Huggie-Veggie!" Billy teased him.
"You like the Grateful Dead, too!" Carrie 
laughed, hitting Billy in the arm.
Sam leaned into Danny impulsively and gave 
him a kiss on the lips.
"Driver's choice!" Emma called into the wind. 
"You pick, Kevin!"
A number of things happened very fast just 
then. "Let me see," yelled Sam, lunging forward 
to reach for the tape Kurt had pulled out of the 
glove compartment. Kevin swatted playfully at 
Sam's hand, and a pair of headlights appeared 
directly in front of them, seemingly out of no-
where.
"Hang on!" yelled Kevin.
Danny and Billy both reached forward in a vain 
attempt to take control as Kevin lost his grip on 
the wheel.
Brakes squealed from every direction. The car 
seemed to whirl off into space, and the sky 
exploded.
Although Sam and Danny would later say they 
remembered lying in the woods and looking up to 
see the car bent around a tree, no one else 
remembered much of anything until the ambu-
lance arrived. Even then, what they remembered 
were pulsing red lights and strange faces looking
down at them with the bare tree branches sur-
rounding their heads like crowns of thorns.
What all of them would remember with bril-
liant clarity for the rest of their lives was the 
moment in the emergency room's waiting area, 
where a group of nurses and doctors were helping 
them fill out forms and preparing to treat the 
most serious injuries first. They were all suffering 
from some degree of shock, and the room was 
already strangely quiet when a tall doctor with 
wire-rimmed glasses gave them the inconceivable 
news that Kevin was dead.
Sunday morning was bright and clear, and so 
cold that the wind seemed to be singing in the 
ears of the small crowd at the ferry dock. An 
eerie unreality cloaked the group, as if this sunny 
day were something in their imaginations—a 
movie, maybe.
Please let the screen go dark and the house 
lights come up, and let us all walk out of here 
laughing, prayed Sam. But minute to minute, the 
story kept right on unfolding, leaving the hapless 
actors to play it out without the helping hand of 
writer, director, or editor to change the ending.
They were gathered to watch the ferry leave 
with Kevin's body. Kevin's body. No one could 
grasp the full meaning.
Danny was going, too, to meet Kevin's parents 
on the other side. The Logans didn't want to 
cross the other way and see the island where 
their young son had died so unexpectedly.
Ken Miner, owner of the Play Cafe, had been a 
godsend. He hadn't known Kevin well, but he
was old enough to have dealt with death before. 
Billy, not knowing who else to call, had phoned 
Ken from the hospital, and Ken had come right 
over.
Somehow calls had been made and plans set 
into motion, with Ken taking charge. The hospital 
staff had handled the group from the car 
accident with professional kindness, patching up 
injuries where they could and acknowledging the 
grief and shock that follows sudden loss.
Emma had suffered a broken collarbone and a 
dislocated shoulder. One of Carrie's ears had 
been partially torn off where her head had scraped a 
tree as she flew from the car. The skilled hands of 
the staff surgeon had set Emma's bones and 
stitched Carrie's ear, and the girls were assured 
of complete recovery after a reasonable amount 
of mending time.
Sam and Danny, tumbling from the side of the 
car that had leaned into the woods, hadn't had far 
to fall and had cushioned each other's roll down 
the embankment. Danny's nose had been bloodied 
but not broken, and Sam had a patchwork of 
scrapes and bruises along her arms and legs.
Billy had landed outside the car on his right 
hand, which had been fractured in several places. 
Since he used his guitar mostly for songwriting, 
his injury didn't threaten his livelihood, and the 
prescribed future sessions of physical therapy 
didnt seem a high price to pay for walking away 
with only a small cast.
Kurt, however, had appeared to be in critical
condition when the ambulance had first arrived. 
He had been propelled straight into the edge of 
the windshield, leaving him unconscious and with 
an angry gash in his forehead. But his eyelids had 
fluttered as the ambulance reached the emer-
gency entrance, and by the time he was wheeled 
through the doors on a gurney he was able to 
speak.
"Lucky he didn't break his neck," Sam had 
overheard one of the policemen remark to an 
orderly. "I tell my kids again and again that I've 
yet to unstrap a dead body from a seat belt. I just 
hope they're listening better than these kids 
here—it's a crying shame."
Now, watching the -ferry pull away from its 
moorings and churn off into the sea, the living 
people left on the dock shared a question that 
they each sent out to their respective gods: Why? 
Why Kevin, and not us?
"Life is really extremely fragile," the kindly 
doctor had told them as they had left the hospital 
before dawn. His brows were knit together in 
earnest sadness, as if he could somehow get 
something across to these kids that they couldn't 
possibly know at such young ages. "There's so 
much we don't know. I wish I could tell you I had 
answers. ..."
But he didn't. No one did. All anyone had was 
theories. And the group on the dock, most of 
them sobbing openly, could not take much com-
fort today in the idea of a higher power.
"Not much point in standing here," said Ken,
opening his arms to them all in a gesture of 
inclusion. "Let's get back to the house. Work is 
good therapy, and there's a cleanup to do today."
The house, Claudia and Graham's, had been 
their retreat a few hours ago after the hospital 
staff had herded them gently toward the door. 
Obviously they couldn't stay at the hospital, but 
no one wanted to leave, as if staying there could 
suspend them forever in a limbo where Kevin 
might suddenly reappear. Ken had taken them all 
back to the Templetons', since the thought of 
being alone was unbearable to any of them.
Now, seated (and belted) in stunned silence in 
Ken's car, they were headed back to begin facing 
reality. Looking out the car window, Carrie found 
her thoughts repeating like a needle on a scratched 
record. In her head, she saw a huge clock face, its 
hands turning backward, and she thought that 
maybe if she concentrated hard enough, she could 
make it happen. If only it were yesterday! I'd call 
off the party. I'd hide Emma's car keys. I'd do the 
dishes, and make everyone help me. I'd . . .
As if a magnet were pulling them, Carrie's eyes 
turned with everyone else's as they passed the 
spot where they'd crashed.
No one wanted to look at the tree, but every-
body found their eyes riveted to that side of the 
road. The car, of course, had been removed and 
towed somewhere by the police. But splintered 
bark and the fresh white wound on the tree's 
trunk offered visible proof that the nightmare 
really had happened.
Emma foraged through her thoughts for a 
shred of the past that would seem meaningful. All 
of it—her childhood, her years at Aubergame, 
her months at Goucher, her parents' quarrels, 
her mother with Austin Payne, her father with 
Valeric, her new car—it all seemed cluttered 
with the most trivial of details. What, exactly, 
were the crushing problems that had made her so 
miserable lately?
In trying to comprehend Kevin's death, a ter-
rible truth was descending on her. This is life, 
she realized. This is why people say it's hard. 
She thought of her griping, her self-pity, her 
drinking—had those times really been so diffi-
cult? Compared to how she felt now, her previous 
troubles seemed silly and indulgent. She almost 
started crying again when she remembered how 
cool she had thought she would look in her 
expensive new car. How foolish I was! Just look 
where that got us. Just look where it got Kevin.
Ken let them out in the driveway. "I have to 
get over to the cafe for a few hours—I'm taking 
estimates on the finish work today. I'll call later 
to see if there's anything you need." He seemed 
to have more to say, but in the end let it go at 
that, and backed around carefully before rolling 
out of the drive.
Huddling uncertainly in the midmorning sun, 
Carrie, Sam, Emma, Kurt, and Billy observed 
the house and the front door they'd have to find 
the strength to enter once more. For a moment,
no one moved or spoke. Then Kurt's voice broke 
the silence.
"Please, everybody." Kurt's words came choking 
out. "Please tell me if I'm crazy—is anyone else 
standing here hoping that we'll open the door and 
find Kevin telling stories in there?"
"Oh Kurt!" Sam cried, her voice breaking into a 
sob as she spoke for all of them. "You're not 
crazy."
With arms linked, the five friends moved to-
gether to start back into the world of the living.
Somehow the hours passed. Furniture was put 
back in place, dishes were washed, rugs were 
vacuumed, counters wiped, and trash hauled out. 
Everyone was amazed—and sickened—by the sheer 
volume of bottles, cans, and glasses. The thought 
of how much they'd had to drink the night before 
horrified them.
"People say it's stupid to feel guilty," Carrie 
sniffled. "How else are we supposed to feel?"
"I think this is pretty unfair punishment, just 
for having fun," Sam added shakily.
"We had way too much to drink last night," 
sobbed Emma, "and I'm as guilty as anyone. 
Wherever he is now, Kevin has every right to 
hate us."
"Hold it, guys," Kurt interjected, barely holding 
his own tears back. "I haven't really got a grip on 
this yet, but I do know one thing. Kevin had as 
much fun as anyone last night. I don't know 
where he is, but I do know he doesn't hate us!"
"I don't know," Billy said, trying to keep his lip 
from trembling. "We really screwed up."
Suddenly Sam felt angry. "Kevin was drinking, 
too—why did he say he could drive?"
"Why did we let him?" mourned Emma, feeling 
especially awful since she would have been at the 
wheel if she hadn't had so much to drink. // / 
hadn't been drowning my pitiful sorrows in a 
bottle of wine all week, she added to herself.
But Sam wasn't finished. "It was his damned 
idea to go to the beach in the first place!" she 
cried, winding into a fury. Suddenly snatching a 
throw pillow from the couch, she held it at eye 
level and shook it violently. "Damn you, Kevin 
Logan! You jerk! You fool! You butthead! You, 
you—" Sam threw the pillow and dissolved into 
tears.
Kurt and Billy left at about two in the after-
noon because the girls said they wanted to be 
alone for a while.
"Are you sure?" Kurt asked Emma. "I'll stay 
with you," he offered.
"Thanks," she said, smiling tremulously. "I ... 
I'm not sure what I want. But I need to be with 
Sam and Carrie for a little while."
He hugged her fiercely. Billy hugged Carrie, 
and then they left.
Now that they were alone, the girls couldn't 
really find anything to say to one another. Words 
seemed . . . silly. Pointless. Nothing seemed to 
have any meaning. So they sat in the living room,
staring out the picture window as the afternoon 
wore on, trying to understand.
As the room began to grow darker Emma 
found her voice. "Do you think it's some kind of 
lesson from God?" she asked in a tiny voice.
"I don't believe in God," Sam said bitterly.
"Sam!" Carrie said in shock.
"I don't!" Sam repeated viciously. "You think a 
great guy like God's supposed to be would let 
Kevin die like this?"
"Maybe there's some kind of ... force, some 
kind of plan," Emma said.
"I think it's all just random violence," Sam said 
bitterly.
"I couldn't cope if I didn't believe in God," 
Carrie said earnestly.
"So tell me how this God justifies taking Kevin's 
life, then?" Sam asked shrilly. "I'd really like to 
know."
No one had an answer.
"It makes me feel . . . ashamed," Emma fi-
nally said in a hushed voice.
"It sure puts things into perspective," Carrie 
said, hugging her knees up to her chest.
"That's what I mean," Emma continued ear-
nestly. "I was thinking about my drinking. You 
two tried to tell me, Kurt tried . . . and it's such 
crap, isn't it? All that 'poor me' stuff that I use as 
an excuse to drink. But I'm alive! I'm alive!"
Tears came to Carrie's eyes. "I was a terrible 
friend to you, Em. Because I saw how much you
were drinking, and I didn't really say anything 
much."
"I guess I thought you'd all think less of me if I 
really admitted I had a problem," Emma said.
"I ... I have a problem, too," Carrie man-
aged in a tiny voice. She gulped and took a deep 
breath. "This is so hard. Okay, here goes. I ... 
I think I have an eating disorder."
Sam raised herself on one elbow from where 
she'd been flopped on the couch. "You? An eating 
disorder? Don't be silly!"
"What do you mean, Carrie?" asked Emma.
For what felt like the thousandth time that 
day, Carrie's eyes swam with tears. "I was having 
these terrible fights with Josh, and working real 
hard, and studying late, and worrying about 
money and my grades. So I started eating to feel 
better, then I gained weight and felt worse than 
ever! It seemed like my whole life was totally out 
of control."
"I know how that feels," Emma said wryly.
"Anyway," Carrie went on, "this girl in my 
dorm was throwing up after meals to keep her 
weight down, and one night I caught her." Carrie 
turned to Sam. "Just like you caught me the other 
night at Emma's apartment. Only I couldn't tell 
you the truth."
"You mean you make yourself—" Sam mimed 
putting her finger down her throat.
Carrie hung her head and nodded.
"Poor baby!" said Sam. She rushed over to 
Carrie and hugged her. "Why didn't you tell us?"
"I'm so ashamed," Carrie sobbed. "And I don't 
think I even know how to stop now!"
Emma sat down on the other side of Carrie and 
without thinking she put her arms around her, 
holding her and rocking her in a way that strangely 
comforted her at the same time.
"Carrie, you're so strong and smart and tal-
ented," Emma crooned. "You'll handle this!"
"But that's just it!" Carrie sobbed. "I always 
handle everything. I don't think I can handle one 
more thing!"
"You can do it," Sam assured her. "You need to 
get some help, though, like from the counseling 
service at Yale."
Emma pushed her bangs out of her face and 
tried to smile. "It seems terrible, doesn't it, that it 
takes some tragedy to make us face our prob-
lems?"
"It's just not fair," Sam said passionately. "But 
at least we've got a shot at it. Kevin doesn't."
"Let's not waste it!" Carrie said fervently.
Emma looked at her friends. "I've been an 
idiot. I was so afraid you'd judge me."
"I've been an idiot, too," Carrie said. "I wanted 
to tell you both so much, but I was afraid."
"Good thing for you two that I'm the model of 
mental health," Sam said. She waited a moment. 
"God, am I full of it. Even now, I'm so used to 
lying that I can hardly tell the truth."
"About what?" Emma asked with surprise.
"About my job, or my lack of job," Sam blurted 
out. "I got fired."
"You what?" Carrie asked.
"Fired," Sam repeated. "As in no job. As in 
unemployed. The choreographer said I was too 
original."
"So why didn't you just tell us?" Emma asked 
with surprise.
"Oh, sure," Sam said, getting up from the 
couch. "You two in college, everything just hunky-
dory, and me, the dropout, I can't even hold down a 
job."
"Well, everything isn't hunky-dory," Carrie 
said. "And we would have understood."
"Maybe," Sam allowed grudgingly.
"And maybe we've been underestimating one 
another," Emma said quietly. She went to the 
window and looked out toward the road, the road 
where everything had changed.
No one said a word for a moment.
"I'm a better person than this," Emma finally 
whispered softly.
"You're a wonderful person," Sam agreed.
Emma turned to her, her eyes bright with 
tears. "So are you. And you!" she said, turning to 
Carrie.
Carrie hugged the pillow to herself. "We can't 
bring him back, and I don't know what it all 
means," she said, her eyes shining. "I do know 
this: that the only thing we can do to make 
Kevin's death meaningful, is to try to live the 
very best lives we can."
"But it won't change a thing!" Sam cried an-
grily. "He'll still be dead. And we'll still feel like
we screwed up for having let him drive after we 
knew he'd been drinking."
"Sam's right," Emma agreed.
"Maybe there's a bigger plan, and we just can't 
see it," Carrie whispered.
"I'd like to believe that," Emma said softly.
"I'd like to believe in something," Sam said in a 
choked voice, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Well, we'll have to start with ourselves, and 
work up from there," Carrie said. "And just 
think, in only two months we'll all be here 
together again. And then we can look out for each 
other."
"And no more secrets," Emma added.
Carrie and Sam nodded. The three girls stared 
out over the bay, watching the sun disappear 
below the horizon.