"Why? She looked comfortable," Brenda replied, an annoyed edge coming into her voice.

"And what are you doing swimming down here?" Carrie asked. "Do you have your lifeguard certification? If Ian had a cramp or something, could you have saved him?" "Chill out, would you?" said Brenda. "The kid can swim fine. He's not going to drown, Carrie baby." Carrie felt like slapping the girl. She was completely irresponsible and then had the nerve to be insolent and defensive about it. "I think you'd better go upstairs and get dressed," Carrie said with suppressed fury.

Brenda glared at her and walked away, dripping onto the cement floor. "b.i.t.c.h,"

Carrie heard her mutter loudly under her breath.

It took every ounce of self-control Carrie possessed to keep from tossing the girl into the pool. She looked over at Ian, who was gazing back at her sheepishly. At twelve, he had more sense then thirteen-year-old Brenda. At least he knows he's done something wrong, thought Carrie.

Ian perched on the side of the pool. His short, spiky blond hair glistened with water. The blond tail that had been left long in the back dripped water down his thin shoulder. "Are you mad?" he asked.

"Not at you," said Carrie, setting Chloe down and squatting down to talk to Ian.

"Not really. I mean, Brenda was supposed to be in charge. But, Ian, you know you're not allowed down here without an adult." "I was with Brenda," said Ian.

Carrie sighed. Technically, he did have a point. Brenda was the adult authority figure for the night-as laughable as that was. "Come on," said Carrie, extending her hand to Ian. "You're supposed to be in bed." Ian scrambled out of the pool and Carrie handed him a towel. He was a handsome boy, but small for his age.

He'd just turned twelve in June and was very anxious to start growing. Claudia had told him that boys often shoot up in one summer. That had made Ian hopeful that this would be his summer. His dearest wish was that when he began seventh grade in the fall he would no longer be the shortest kid in his cla.s.s.

Upstairs, Brenda was waiting for her father to come pick her up. She was wearing a pink mini with a matching halter top, which was cut short at the midriff.

Carrie paid her quickly. "I'll wait for my father outside," said Brenda. She turned to Ian. "So long, Ian baby. It was fun." Again, Carrie noticed Ian's eyes light up like a puppy who had just been offered a bone. "Bye, Brenda," he said, following her every move as she walked toward the door.

Chloe yawned and yanked Carrie's hand. "I'm tired." Lifting Chloe, Carrie watched Brenda shut the door behind her. This is just great, she thought dismally. There goes a thirteen-year-old girl who's hotter and s.e.xier than I am.

Maybe it is time to do something with my image, after all.

"Hi, guys!" Carrie called as she made her way across the crowded porch of the Play Cafe. Sam and Emma were seated at a small table on the open deck of the popular hangout. Carrie hadn't seen them since the concert two nights earlier.

But finally, late Monday afternoon, their three schedules had coincided, giving them time off together.

"Howdy, stranger," Sam said as Carrie tucked her oversized beachbag under a chair. "You look tired and hungry and thirsty. But you're in luck. We already ordered for you." "Thanks," said Carrie, taking a seat. The Play Cafe was known for its live rock music on the weekends, its great burgers, and its terrible service. "I am kind of tired," Carrie added. "I was with Ian and Chloe at the beach all day yesterday, then I sat for them at night, and I took them to the beach again today. Finally Claudia picked them up from the beach because someone invited the family to a barbecue." "I can't believe we haven't seen each other for two days," said Emma. "Is it my imagination, or is the summer getting busier and busier?" "It's definitely getting busier," said Carrie, twisting her hair back and fastening it with a clip. "Every time you turn around the town is sponsoring some outdoor concert or tournament or show. Which is great, but not great, if you know what I mean." "I do know what you mean," said Sam. "It's great for the kids, but not for us. It very seriously interferes with my side jobs." "What side jobs are those?" Emma asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Partying and patrolling the beach for guys!" Sam answered, as though the answer should have been obvious.

"Oh, of course! Why didn't I realize?" laughed Emma.

"Get with it, girl," Sam joked. She turned to Carrie. "The monsters told me you were a real b-i-t-c-h to their little friend Brenda the other night. Good for you. I hate that kid. She's always over at the house." Carrie told her friends about the state of affairs she'd encountered when she returned to the Templetons' house. "Thirteen is such a weird age," she added. "For some kids it's old enough to babysit. My thirteen-year-old sister babysits and she does a great job. She's so mature and responsible. But other thirteen-year-olds-like Allie and Becky-still need a babysitter themselves." "Allie and Becky need a zookeeper," quipped Sam.

Just then a young, harried-looking waitress named Patsi arrived at their table with a tray of food. "Three burger deluxes with everything. Three chocolate shakes. And one Death by Chocolate cake with three forks," she said, reading off their order as she hurriedly placed it on the table.

"Why didn't you just order a tub of lard so I could apply it directly to my hips?" moaned Carrie.

"Sam ordered before I got here," said Emma, who was by nature a light eater.

"Come on, you two, you only live once," said Sam, biting into her burger.

"Sure." Carrie laughed ironically as she picked up a fry. "If I have only one life to live, let me live it as a gigantic blimp. Why not?" "Hey, you should thank me for ordering only one piece of cake," Sam defended herself.

Suddenly Emma tapped Carrie's arm excitedly. "Look, Billy Sampson just got here.

He's over there." Carrie spotted Billy coming up the porch steps. He wore jeans and a neon-green sleeveless T-shirt. His cheekbones were highlighted by a touch of new, pink sunburn. "G.o.d, he's gorgeous," sighed Carrie, swooning back in her chair.

"You are a dim and hopeless child," chided Sam. "Sit up straight and get with the program." Immediately Sam began waving her hand over her head. "Yo, Billy!"

Billy's face lit up when he spotted the girls. "h.e.l.lo, ladies," he called, returning Sam's greeting as he headed toward them. Almost instinctively, Carrie sat up straight in her seat.

"Lose the shirt," Sam muttered between clenched teeth, referring to the frayed green camp shirt Carrie had thrown over her blue tank suit.

"I can't just take it off," Carrie muttered back. "That's too obvious." Just as Billy was almost at their table, Sam swung her hand out, splattering a milkshake all over Carrie's shirt. "Oh, I am so sorry!" Sam apologized insincerely.

Carrie jumped to her feet. "Sam!" she cried, but in the next second she realized Sam had done it on purpose. It was all she could do not to burst into laughter, even though she was also kind of annoyed. "I guess I'd better take this shirt off," she said.

"Yes, I guess you'd better," Sam agreed sweetly.

"A little accident there, huh?" noted Billy, pulling a chair up to the table and sitting on it backwards.

"I am so clumsy sometimes," said Sam. "I don't know what to do with myself."

Carrie undid her shirt and stuffed it into her beachbag. All around her girls sat confidently in shorts and bikini tops. What was wrong with her? Why was she so nervous about being seen in a tank suit? She wished she weren't so modest, but she couldn't help it. She'd always been that way.

"How was the party?" she asked Billy.

"Fun. Too bad you couldn't make it," he said. "Graham and Claudia even came by for a little while. Listen to this: A friend of theirs who owns a recording studio over in Portland came to the concert. His name is Sid Klein. He likes our sound, but he says that our demo is too amateurish. He's going to let us use his studio to record another. He's doing it as a favor to Graham. And get this: Graham says he'll listen to the new demo. If it's any good, he'll talk to the execs at his record company for us." "Graham is very generous and he could really help you a lot," Carrie observed.

"You're telling me. One session in a first-rate recording studio can cost a mint. Our last tape was done in a studio, but not a first-rate one. We knew the sound could have been better but it was the best we could do at the time. This will be a giant difference." "I thought your tape sounded great," Carrie said loyally. She meant it, too. It was true Howie had a terrific sound system, but that could only do so much. She'd really been impressed with the music when Howie played the tape.

"Yeah, well, I hope you'll think it sounds even greater when you hear the next one," Billy told her. "This could be a big break for us. Maybe even bigger than Graham letting us open for him Sat.u.r.day." "That's fantastic," said Emma. "Sounds as if you're really on your way to the big time." "I'm keeping my fingers crossed," Billy said. He looked around the restaurant. "I'm starving. Has anyone seen Patsi?" "She's come and gone," Sam told him. "You know her-once she's delivered your food, you might not see her again for hours, months, years even."

"That's the truth," Billy agreed. "I'd better go find her." As he got up he added, "You guys don't mind if I join you, do you?" The three girls spoke at once.

"Of course not!" "Nope!" "Uh-uh." Billy smiled. "Thanks. I'll be right back."

Sam jabbed Carrie's shoulder excitedly as soon as he'd gone. "See, I told you he likes you," she whispered. "Did you see the way he was looking at you?" "I'm a mess," Carrie groaned, feeling stupid with her hair pulled back. Still, inside she was fluttering with excitement. He had been looking at her more than at Emma and Sam. She casually reached up and undipped her hair.

Sam dumped the contents of a small cosmetics bag onto the table. "Go to the ladies' room while he's gone and spruce up. Let's see, what do you need? Here's mascara, some lipstick, and some purple eyeshadow." "I can't. He'll notice,"

Carrie protested. "Besides, I never use that stuff. I'll never get it on right."

"Well, brush your hair at least!" cried Sam, frustrated.

Emma dug into the pocket of her baggy floral-print shorts. "Here," she said, laying three small makeup cylinders on the table. "This is just clear lip gloss, translucent blush gel, and clear mascara. It just glistens up your lashes. It's my beach makeup. It won't be too noticeable." "Okay, I'll give it a try," Carrie said. It seemed the easiest way out. After all, the last thing she wanted was for Sam to make a scene.

She couldn't entirely avoid it, though. Sam took a small bottle of spray cologne from her cosmetics bag and began squirting Carrie. "Get out of here," Carrie said, waving Sam away. "It stinks." "It does not stink. It's alluring!" Sam corrected her. "It says so right on the label." "Well, keep it off me, okay?"

Carrie said lightly, getting up.

As Carrie made her way to the bathroom inside the restaurant, she was aware of several boys at different tables checking her out. She didn't know them and wasn't interested, but still, it gave her a pleasant thrill to be ... what was the word? Admired? l.u.s.ted after? Oh, maybe they're looking because they can't believe how much I reek of cheap perfume, she scolded herself. Don't get such big ideas, girl.

Carrie crossed the cool, shadowy dance area where bands played on weekends. Rays of soft, late-afternoon light cut across the floor from the windows. The room was an oasis of calm and quiet compared to the bustle on the porch and in the indoor dining-and-pool-room area next door.

At the far end of the dance floor was one of the rest rooms. Carrie had discovered that on weekdays that bathroom was usually empty even when there was a line for the ladies' room in the dining area.

In the dingy, badly lit bathroom, Carrie put on Emma's makeup. She did look nice. Herself, but better somehow. She almost sparkled. Then she bent forward and brushed out her hair until it shone.

Not wanting to be gone too long, Carrie stuffed the makeup into the pockets of her jean shorts and left the bathroom. Crossing the dance floor, she stopped just before stepping onto the porch. Two thin mirrored panels fIanked the doorway. Carrie inspected her image one last time.

The sight she saw made her stop short. Responding to the chill of the bathroom, her nipples had gotten hard. They stood up clearly and firmly beneath the nylon of her suit. Don't be such a prude, she scolded herself. Another girl might not have given it a second thought, but Carrie's innate modesty stopped her from going outside like that. What do I do now? she wondered.

She didn't have time to worry about it for long.

"There you are," said Billy, stepping into the room.

"Oh, hi," said Carrie, fl.u.s.tered.

"Listen, I wanted to talk to you alone." He leaned up against the wall. His eyes swept over her, lingering for less than a split second on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then moving up to her eyes. Once again, his gaze was like a strong hand running up the length of her body. It kindled a warm glow deep inside her.

"Would you like to come to a party at the recording studio in Portland? This Sid character is throwing it and he invited the band," he told her. "I couldn't ask everybody since it's not our party, but it would be great if you could come."

"It sounds like fun," she answered, trying to keep her voice level. "I've never been to a recording studio. When's the party?" "Tomorrow night." Tomorrow night!

No! Carrie was supposed to sit for Ian and Chloe the next evening. But she couldn't tell him that. It would be the second time in two days she'd turned him down. He'd think she wasn't interested. Maybe Emma or Sam could sit for her.

Graham and Claudia might not mind that. "Sure, I can go," she said.

"Cool," he replied, smiling. "I'll pick you up around nine." "No," she said quickly. "I'll meet you at the ferry. Graham and Claudia are funny about people coming to the house." "Okay," he agreed. "We can take the nine-thirty ferry to Portland. I'll meet you at the ticket house." "Terrific," she said. At that moment Patsi pa.s.sed by outside the door.

"Excuse me," said Billy. "I'm still trying to catch her. Do you want anything?

Another milk-shake?" "Uh, no, that's okay. I mean, thanks." Carrie felt like she was babbling. She was so nervous! "You sure?" Billy smiled at her and her heart did a little flip. "It's no trouble . . . maybe a c.o.ke or something?" "A c.o.ke would be great," Carrie told him. "Thanks." "I'll see you back at the table,"

Billy said, launching himself after Patsi. Then he paused and turned back for a moment. "By the way, you look dynamite in that suit," he told her.

Carrie smiled. "Thanks." "Yes!" she whispered triumphantly when he'd gone. "Yes!

Yes! Yes!" He did like her. More than like her. He was attracted to her. Maybe he'd realized it for the first time just now. The hair, the makeup . . . her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. It had all worked in her favor. He was turned on. There was no doubt about it. It was written all over his handsome face.

Tossing back her hair and squaring her shoulders, she walked out onto the porch.

"What happened to you?" asked Sam when she returned to the table. She and Emma had finished their burgers and were starting on the chocolate cake.

Carrie leaned forward excitedly. "He asked me out." "That's wonderful. Where?

When?" asked Emma.

"To a party at a recording studio in Portland tomorrow night," Carrie breathed blissfully.

"Oh, totally cool," crooned Sam.

"There's just one problem," Carrie began. "I'm supposed to-" Carrie was interrupted by Billy's return. "I'm going to have to skip the burger. It'll take too long and I really can't be late for band practice, because Pres has to cut out early. So long, ladies." He cast Carrie a special, warm look. "See you tomorrow." "See you," she replied.

"So, what's this problem?" Sam whispered anxiously as Billy walked away.

"The problem is that I have to take care of Ian and Chloe tomorrow night." "Why don't they give it a break?" Sam cried, throwing her hands up in disgust. "Don't those two ever stay home? Why did they even bother having kids?" Carrie felt guilty. She liked the Templetons, even if they were-in all innocence-ruining her love life. "They love the kids. They just like to go out a lot. That's how I came to have this great summer job." She sighed. "Anyway, I was thinking that maybe one of you could sit for them. Claudia and Graham know you. I don't think they'd mind. I'd pay you," she added.

"Oh, Carrie, you wouldn't have to pay me. I'd do anything for you. But I can't do this," Sam said. "The monsters are having a party and their poor, dear dad has a date." The twins lived with their divorced father. "I swore up and down that I'd be available tomorrow night." "What about you, Emma?" Carrie asked.

Emma's rueful expression made Carrie's heart sink.

"You have a date with Kurt," Carrie surmised.

"Oh, no. I'd break a date if it were that. Kurt would understand. No, Jeff and Jane are entertaining a big client tomorrow night. It could mean millions of dollars for their law firm," Emma explained. "They need to have the kids completely out of their hair. They want me to feed them, bathe them, and get them to bed without a peep." Folding her arms on the table, Carrie dropped her head onto them. "I want to die," she mumbled.

"Come on." Sam tried to comfort her. "We'll think of something. What about getting that twerp Brenda back?" Carrie lifted her head. "No way. She was awful, and anyway I told Graham and Claudia that she was too immature to sit again.

Besides, she's probably going to the party at your house." "That's true. What else can we do?" Sam mused.

"It's a shame that Ian isn't just a little older," said Emma. "He's almost old enough not to need a sitter at all." "I know," Carrie agreed. "And once the kids are asleep, it's just a big waste of time. I mean, Chloe woke up the other night because she was on the couch. When she's in her bed and tucked in she doesn't ever wake up. Ian either. They both sleep like logs." "Do you think Ian could handle an emergency?" asked Sam.

"Probably," said Carrie. "He's pretty mature for his age. Besides, those security guards are always just minutes away. Their beeper number is taped on all the phones. Why?" "Who would really know if you just ducked out for a little while?" suggested Sam.

"I couldn't do that," said Carrie, aghast at the idea. "That would be ... awful.

Oh, I just couldn't." Emma furrowed her brow thoughtfully. "I don't know. Ian is almost old enough to babysit. And the isIand is completely safe. Especially where you are, with the special security. But I know how you feel. The idea makes me uneasy, too." "No. No way. I can't go out and leave them," Carrie said firmly.

At that moment Patsi arrived with Carrie's c.o.ke. "Billy paid me for this already," she said as she set it down. "Anybody want anything else?" "No thanks," said Carrie, poking her cold fries with her fork. "I think I've lost my appet.i.te- forever." "Well, that's one way to diet," said Patsi, clearing the dishes. "What's the b.u.mmer?" "She had a date with Billy but she can't go because she has to sit," Emma said, filling her in. "Do you think a twelve-year-old is old enough to take care of himself and a four-year-old?" "On this isIand, yeah,"

said Patsi confidently. "I was taking care of my five brothers when I was twelve, and I come from the South Side of Chicago." "Waitress!" a guy called from his table across the porch.

"One minute," Patsi called Taack irritably. "Here is el checko, thank you very much, and I hope you solve your problem," she said, laying down the check. "By the way, how did you get Billy away from that ding-dong Kristy Powell? I thought she almost had him in the bag." "She may have him yet," said Carrie glumly.

"Oh, well. Good luck," Patsi said as she went over to wait on the table that had summoned her.

The girls paid their check and left the Play Cafe. Carrie had the farthest distance to go. She walked her bike until Emma and Sam turned off. Then she hopped on and pedaled the rest of the way home. It was nearly six-thirty and the sunlight washed the sh.o.r.e road in gentle tones of gray-blue. She loved this time of day, the stillness of it. The only sound was the occasional cry of a seagull as it circled over the ocean in search of its supper.

The last leg of her journey, pedaling up Thorn Hill, was the most difficult.

Many of the wealthy people on the island had oceanfront property, but Claudia had told Carrie that she and Graham preferred the isolation and the spectacular view from atop Thorn Hill.

When she got to the house, the family was still out. Graham and Claudia liked to keep their household staff to a minimum during the summer. The cook, housekeeper, and driver all worked part-time during the day. That afternoon, gardeners had worked on the perfect lawn and brilliant flower garden, but they'd left by now. Carrie had the house all to herself.

She wandered through the open, airy rooms filled with expensive contemporary furniture and art objects collected from around the world. What a fabulous life these people had-so glamorous and fascinating.

Carrie compared Graham and Claudia's life to that of her parents. Her mother and father were both pediatricians, and the parents of five kids. Carrie was the oldest. They had money, but not on this scale. And they worked hard, very hard.

Besides their regular practices, both of them put in a great amount of time at a clinic where they worked for almost nothing. Most nights they came home exhausted and burnt out. The idea of partying the way Graham and Claudia did would have been totally alien to them. In fact, her parents would probably consider Graham and Claudia's life frivolous.

And maybe it was frivolous, Carrie considered as she climbed the stairs to her room. But it was exciting. Oh, so exciting. Her parents' earnest seriousness suddenly seemed like a dead weight dragging her down; the principles she'd been brought up with felt like a burden she could no longer bear. Be polite to everyone. Follow the rules, but stand up for what's right. Take responsibility for your actions. Say what you mean, but be diplomatic. Be honest. Work hard.