“Is he cute? Because if he’s cute, I’m going to be totally jealous of you.”

Caroline’s cheeks burned. She forged ahead to hide the blush. She didn’t understand why she was so reluctant to tell her friend everything. It was as if Will belonged to a unique, private part of her that she didn’t want to share with anyone else.

“So is he cute?” Sierra prodded.

“I don’t know. Maybe, I guess. We don’t—it’s not like that.” Liar. Why was she lying to her best friend?

“Not like what?”

“Not like it matters whether he’s cute or not.” Caroline veered off the boardwalk, kicked off her sandals, and jumped down the soft sandbank to the beach. The sand felt gloriously warm under her bare feet.

“Well, that’s good to know,” Sierra said.

“Why’s it good?”

Sierra jumped, landing in the sand next to her. “Because that way, if I get a crush on him, I won’t be stealing him from you.”

“How come it’s called a clambake if you bury the clams in the ground?” Sierra asked. “Wouldn’t that make it a clam burial?” They were in the downstairs bathroom at Caroline’s house, getting ready for the event. They had barricaded the door against Caroline’s annoying brothers, and Sierra was expertly demonstrating the way to put on makeup so it didn’t look like they were wearing makeup at all.

“The clams don’t really bake—they steam.” Caroline leaned toward the mirror and scowled at the lone pimple on her chin, which had appeared overnight like an evil mushroom in the dark. “See, the way it works is, somebody—usually my dad or someone from the restaurant—digs a big hole in the sand, and it’s lined with stones and then hot coals, and a layer of seaweed. They put in the clams and corn on the cob and little red potatoes and cover it up and it all steams together until they dig it up and serve it.”

“Sounds like a lot of trouble.”

“I suppose it is, but people love it. And anyway, a clambake is more about the party than the clams. It’ll be totally fun. You’ll see.”

“Good, because I could never eat a clam.” Sierra shuddered. She stepped back and examined her silhouette in the mirror, perfectly draped in the sundress Caroline had designed.

Sierra never ate much of anything, Caroline had observed. She subsisted mostly on Popsicles and diet soda and the occasional rice cake.

“The corn and potatoes are my favorites,” she said. “You’ll like that part.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Oh my gosh.” Sierra twirled in front of the mirror. “This is the nicest dress. It’s one of a kind, and it fits perfectly. You’re a genius—do you realize that? Total frickin’ genius.”

Caroline couldn’t suppress a grin. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

“I do. You designed and made every stitch of this all by yourself. And I feel amazing in it.”

“It’s easy to make you look amazing,” Caroline pointed out. “That’s pretty much how you look when you wake up in the morning.”

“Oh, huh. Nope, Tyra Banks says it takes at least two hours of hair and makeup to turn a girl into a natural beauty.”

“Right. Speaking of which, how’s my makeup?” She was still getting used to wearing it and had a horror of looking too made up.

Sierra put her finger under Caroline’s chin and tipped her face to the light. “You’re adorable and you hardly need a thing. Just, maybe . . .” She grabbed a brush and did a little blending. “The skirt you made for yourself is just right, too. All those cool pockets and snaps.” She tucked a lip gloss into one of the pockets. “Try to remember to put a bit of lip gloss on every hour.”

“Okay.” Caroline wished her plain white tank top had some curves, but she was still waiting for them. Her sisters, in a rare moment of compassion, had told her they’d been late bloomers, too. But standing next to Sierra, she felt as if the blooming would never happen. “Ready?” she asked.

“Not for clams, but I’m totally down for the party. It’s going to be so much fun—I just know it.”

“Are you supposed to volunteer in the Oceanside Church booth?” Caroline asked.

Sierra pursed her lips. “I promised my parents I would. My dad wants me to help sign up more kids for church youth group.”

“I’ll pitch in,” Caroline said. “Summer youth group isn’t so bad. It’s more about the youth than the church, that’s for sure. Minimal churchy stuff. Some of the older kids sneak away after the meetings and make out. Both my older sisters have done it.”

“Now that,” Sierra said, “sounds better than clams.”

“I overheard my parents say that more girls get pregnant thanks to church group than sex ed class.”

Sierra snickered. “At least in sex ed they tell you how not to get pregnant. In church group, they just say you should wait. Like that’s going to happen.”

“Exactly.” Caroline decided to brush her teeth and put fresh rubber bands on her braces. They were such a pain. The orthodontist swore it would all be worth it one day. She would never understand why braces had to happen in high school, when looks seemed to matter more than life itself.

“Have you ever made out with a boy?” asked Sierra.

Caroline’s tiny rubber band went flying. “No,” she said quickly. Yet her mind darted instantly to that moment last summer. That kiss. It wasn’t a make-out-type kiss, though. It was goodbye. But she’d lived for a whole year on that goodbye. And here was her chance to explain Will to Sierra, since she’d failed to speak up yesterday.

Her mind emptied out once again. She couldn’t. She simply couldn’t. “What about you?” she asked.

Sierra swished her skirt as she gave herself a final once-over in the mirror. “Sure I have. Remember Trace Kramer?”

One of the star players of the Peninsula Mariners. “You made out with Trace Kramer?”

Sierra flipped her hair back. “Under the bleachers after a football game last fall.”

“You never told me about that.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t really like it. Mainly because I didn’t really like him. He was pushy and sweaty, and neither of us really knew what we were doing. I’m going to have a real boyfriend this summer.”

“Yeah? Who do you have in mind?”

“Nobody yet. I’ll know him when I see him.”

“Right. Like when Lizzy Bennet met Mr. Darcy for the first time?” They had read Pride and Prejudice in English class this year, and Caroline still dreamed about it.

“They couldn’t stand each other,” Sierra pointed out.

“But they felt something.” Boy, did they ever.

“We’ll see if Mr. Darcy appears,” said Sierra, putting away the bin of hair spray and makeup.

“It’s about time,” declared Jackson when they unlocked the bathroom door. “You guys were in there forever.” Jackson was eleven years old, and the only thing more annoying than him was Austin, who was nine and not only annoying but grubby. Both boys stood in the hallway outside the bathroom, holding a dripping wet burlap bag between them.

“What the heck . . . ?” asked Caroline.

The smelly wet bag brushed against her new skirt as the boys pushed their way into the bathroom. Sierra plastered herself against the wall to avoid touching whatever it was they had. “What’s that horrible smell?” she asked.

They didn’t answer as they set the bag—which was moving—in the tub.

“Mom!” Caroline yelled.

“Shut up,” Jackson said.

Their mom usually ignored Caroline when she yelled, anyway. “What are you doing with that bag?” she demanded. “Oh my God.”

Sierra gave a little scream and clung to Caroline’s arm. “Is that a rat?”

“It’s an otter,” said Austin, jumping up and down. “A baby otter. We found it and we’re keeping it.”

“It stinks,” Caroline said. “I’m not even telling Mom. She’ll just follow her nose.”

“Ew,” Sierra said, leaning forward to peer at the little creature scrabbling at the edge of the tub. “It’s kind of cute, though.”

“Don’t let its looks fool you,” Caroline told her. “Otters are gross. They leave dead fish and poop everywhere.”

“Let’s name him Oscar,” Jackson said. “Oscar the otter.”

At that moment, the creature flung its oily body up and out of the tub. Its muscular tail slapped against Caroline’s bare legs and dotted her skirt with dirty water and sand.

“He’s getting away!” Austin yelled and made a dive for the scuttling critter.

“What’s going on in there?” Their mother’s voice rang down the hall.

Caroline grabbed Sierra’s hand. “Let’s get out of here before all hell breaks loose.”

“Caroline?” Mom met them on their way out. “What are your brothers up to now?”

“Dunno,” she said. “We’re going to the clambake now. See you later!”

“Be careful,” Mom called. “Don’t forget to wear your helmets. Boys! What in the world . . . Get that thing out of my house!”

Caroline grabbed a pair of cutoff shorts from the clothesline, then made a beeline for the bikes. “Stupid brothers. Jeez.” She tugged on the shorts and used the soiled skirt to scrub at the muddy streaks on her legs.

“Is your house always like that?” Sierra asked.