"Well, it's the truth. I know my way around guys, but I didn't always. I'm going to have to take you in hand and give you some serious pointers. Stand up."

Carrie rolled her eyes, but she got to her feet.

"First off, you're standing all wrong." "I have good posture," Carrie defended herself.

"I'm not talking about posture. I'm talking about att.i.tude. Pick up your chin, stick out your b.o.o.bs."

Carrie did as she was told. "I feel ridiculous," she muttered.

"You look hot," said Sam. "But your arms are a problem. They're just hanging there. Always keep them bent. It makes you look like you're holding a cigarette or a drink, even though you're not. You get the cool effect without trashing your health." Sam placed one of Carrie's hands on her hip and crossed her other arm over her body so that hand touched the same hip. "That's better," she said.

"Did you read this stuff in a book or are you making it up?" asked Emma.

"These are tried and true guy-getting fundamentals," Sam said in an offended tone. "Now you have the stance. Let's concentrate on your face. It's completely wrong." "Thanks. That makes me feel great," said Carrie, still holding her "cool" position.

"It's okay, we can fix it," Sam a.s.sured her. "Here's what you do. Pucker your lips as though you're about to give a big kiss. Now relax them a little." Carrie did as she was told. "Excellent," said Sam. "And remember to lick them a lot.

Wet lips make guys crazy." "I don't know about this," said Carrie. "I feel like a dope." "Trust me. I know what I'm talking about. Now I'll give you my real secret. The eyes. It's a system all my own that I've perfected. You should listen to this, too, Emma." "Speak, oh great one," Emma quipped.

"Don't laugh. This really works. Here." Sam opened her blue eyes wide. "You look at a guy like this when he says something he thinks is clever. It shows you're really impressed." Next, Sam narrowed her eyes and looked off to the side. "This one says, 'I'm losing interest, work a little harder.' You use it once you're sure the guy likes you. It makes it seem like you might get away. It hooks them good.

"Now I am about to show you my secret weapon," Sam continued as she lowered her chin and then gazed up at Carrie and Emma from beneath heavy lids. "This look is the killer. Only use it if you're ready, willing, and able. It drives guys insane with l.u.s.t." Emma and Carrie gazed at each other in an imitation of Sam's come-hither look. Then they burst out laughing.

"Laugh! Laugh all you like," cried Sam indignantly. "But I'm telling you, this stuff works." "Are you going to use this . . . technique on Flash Hathaway?"

asked Carrie mischievously.

"Oh', yuck! No!" Sam recoiled at the idea.

"You know, he was at the party. He was dancing with Kristy," Carrie told her.

Sam's face darkened. "Really? I bet that little tramp is after my modeling job!

Maybe I will have to use one of my looks on him, after all. Just the 'Oh, wow!

That was clever!' look, though. You can get a lot of mileage out of that one without actually doing anything. It's a great stalling technique." "I guess it lets you stroke a guy's ego instead of something else," laughed Emma.

Carrie gave Emma a playful slap on the arm. "You're getting as bad as Sam."

"Maybe I'm just growing up a little," Emma replied seriously. "It's like this summer is some kind of turning point for me. One thing I'm sure about: whatever I do, whatever decisions I make at the end of this, my'life will never be the same." Carrie expected Sam to make a crack, but she didn't. She was gazing out at the ocean. "I know what you mean," she murmured absently. Is she thinking about the future, too? Carrie wondered.

Leaning back on her elbows, Carrie let her own thoughts drift. All right, so her first attempt at being the new Carrie had been a disaster. That didn't mean she should give up. In a way, the problem had been that she'd been so afraid of the new role that she'd tried to hide behind the alcohol. Maybe the key was to do it straight. No matter how nervous she was.

"Do you really think I stand a chance against Kristy?" she asked.

"If you dont roll over and play dead, yeah," Sam answered. "In a way, I'm in the same position you are. The only reason Kristy would give Flash the time of day is because she's after a modeling job. But I'm not going to just sit back and see what happens. Maybe Flash is only looking for one model. And maybe he'll pick Kristy if I don't do something about it. I think it's time for me to take a little direct action." "Be careful. I don't trust him," Emma warned Sam.

"I can handle Flash. He's got what I want-a chance to break into modeling. And I'm not letting any twit named Kristy take it away from me. I think Carrie should have the same att.i.tude. Direct action beats pa.s.sive nonaction every time." "What do you mean, direct action? You think I should ask Billy out?"

Carrie asked.

"What have you got to lose?" "My pride, my self-respect, and my mind when he says no," Carrie suggested.

"That's what I mean," said Sam with a devilish smile. "You don't have much to lose." "Aaagh!" Carrie cried, laughing. "You are impossible!" "I think you should ask him out," Emma agreed. "As it stands, you think you're not going to see him again anyway. So there really isn't anything to lose." "I'm going to do it," Carrie resolved. "I'd really like a chance to ... ah ... redeem myself. And this may be the only way to do it." "Good girl!" said Sam, getting to her feet.

"I'd better get going. Mr. Jacobs has another date and 'he wants me home by ten to supervise the monsters." "How was the party?" asked Emma as the girls climbed the stairs back up to the boardwalk.

"A living h.e.l.l," Sam answered. "Can you imagine me having to stop kids from making out in the closets?" "No," Emma giggled.

"I felt ancient, like I was an old biddy or something. I spent the whole night running around breaking up lovebirds, confiscating beer cans and cigarettes, and generally being a killjoy. I mean, that's what I was being paid to do. So I did it." "I'm glad Ian and Chloe are younger," said Carrie.

"Yeah, at least you caught Ian one year before the big thirteen. He's still manageable," agreed Sam.

"Not completely, though," said Carrie. She told them what had happened on the beach the morning after her disastrous date. "He was crabby for the whole day,"

she concluded.

"Poor kid," said Sam. "I had the opposite problem at his age. The kids used to call me Stork, 'cause I was so tall. At the time it really hurt." "Yeah, I felt sorry for him," Carrie said. They walked on for a while without talking. It was now dark, the boardwalk busy with people out for the evening. A warm breeze blew while the waves crashed steadily against the sh.o.r.e.

"What are you going to do about Claudia's missing shoes?" Emma asked after a while.

"Hope she doesn't miss them until I save up enough money to replace them," said Carrie. "I know she bought them in that nice shop over at the Sunset Inn," she added, naming the most exclusive hotel on the island. "They must have another pair like them." "What will you do if she misses them before that?" asked Emma.

"I don't know," Carrie admitted. "I just don't know." The next day, Carrie sat on her bed counting out the money she'd earned so far. In one pile she put fifty dollars. That would be enough to pay for dinner in a restaurant. She hoped so, anyway. If she asked Billy out, she wanted to be able to pay.

In another pile was eighty dollars. Would it be enough to buy Claudia a new pair of shoes? Not in a million years, she thought. She'd been fooling herself to think she could ever replace the lost pair. A visit to the shop at the Sunset Inn had made that quite clear. She couldn't believe the prices. The most inexpensive shoes there were two hundred dollars.

Before this summer Carrie hadn't even realized that they made clothing and shoes that cost hundreds, even thousands, of dollars. It just hadn't ever sunk in. Of course, she'd known there was such a thing as designer clothes. But it had never dawned on her that real people actually paid so much money for them. Carrie knew for a fact that Claudia owned a pair of heels that had cost over five hundred dollars! Carrie remembered the day Claudia had brought them home. Carrie's first reaction was that it was absurd-maybe even immoral-to spend that kind of money on shoes. Naturally, she couldn't tell Claudia that, so she had simply admired the shoes. And though it now made her a little uncomfortable to admit it, even to herself, the truth was that she'd felt more than a little bit superior to Claudia that day. At least her own values were in place.

Now, just weeks later, things ho longer seemed so clear-cut. She'd learned that Claudia and Graham did a lot of good things with their money. Graham had donated a music scholarship to a college. They gave a lot to charity. Claudia was even chairwoman of the Artists' Coalition for the Homeless. So, if Claudia wanted five-hundred-dollar shoes and could afford them, who was Carrie to judge her?

More to the point, who was Carrie to borrow and then lose them?

"They're just shoes, for heaven's sake," Carrie muttered, gathering her money off the bed. She'd always had a strict conscience. It tormented her when she did things other people might not think twice about. If she snapped at someone unfairly, or even pilfered a pen from someone, she could expect sleepless nights.

"Put it out of your mind," she commanded herself. This hyperactive conscience was something that was going to have to be discarded if the new Carrie was to emerge. "It's a new world,"

Carrie told her reflection in the mirror. "Goodbye, goody-two-shoes." She moved to her bed and looked at the white slim-line phone on her night table.

Graham and Claudia had provided her with her own phone number and unlimited use of the phone. "Consider it part of your pay," Graham had told her. "Try not to call Hong Kong too often, if you catch my drift." Gathering her courage, Carrie called local information. "Do you have a number for Billy Sampson over on Dune Road?" she asked the operator.

"The listing is under the name of Presley Travis, hon," said the operator before giving Carrie the number.

"How did you know that?" asked Carrie as she wrote down the number.

"It's a small isIand. It didn't take long to learn who lives over at that address," the operator told her knowingly. "It seems I get at least one call a day from some girl trying to locate one of the fellas at that house. What are they? Some kind of musicians or something?" "Yes, they are. Thanks," Carrie said, then hung up. Terrific. I'm about to become one of a zillion groupies who chase the guys in the band.

"Oh, what the heck!" Carrie took a deep breath and punched in the numbers.

"Flirtation station," answered a familiar male voice.

"Hi, Pres. ThisisCarrieAldenis-" "Not the Carrie Alden!" Pres teased. "Not the original party animal? Not the dance-till-you-drop, go-big-or-go-home girl herself?" "I made a total a.s.s of myself, didn't I?" Carrie found the nerve to say.

"Look at it this way: you're not the first person who ever got clobbered by alcohol. And, frankly, I've seen a lot worse. A lot worse. People who would really surprise you." Carrie appreciated his att.i.tude. Pres was making her feel a lot better. "I suppose you want Mr. s.e.x Appeal, huh?" he said.

"I guess so," Carrie laughed. "Is Billy there?" "I'm wounded," Pres teased. "I was referring to myself. But if you insist on second best, hold on." Carrie stayed on the phone and waited.

"h.e.l.lo," Billy said, coming to the phone.

"Hi. It's Carrie. I'm calling because I was wondering if you'd want to ... but I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, after the way I got so drunk the other night and all ... but I was wondering-" "Hang on a second, okay?" he interrupted her.

In the background Carrie heard a male voice shouting something. "What?" Billy bellowed back. "I'm sorry," he said, speaking into the phone again. "Frank is yelling something at me and I can't hear you. Give me one minute and I'll be back." Carrie took a deep breath. You sounded like a real idiot, she scolded herself. Try not to act like a total pea-brain when he comes back.

Then, suddenly, a brilliant idea came to her. She would simply pretend that she was Sam. Back in high school Carrie had acted in a couple of school plays.

She had a little experience in taking on another character. By pretending to herself to be Sam she could shed the old Carrie once and for all. She'd know exactly what to say and do.

"Hi, sorry." Billy came back on the line. "Listen, what Frank was telling me is that we've been invited to a midnight beach party after our gig at the Play Cafe Friday. Would you like to come hear us play and then go over there with me?"

"Friday, Friday, what do I have to do Friday?" Sam had instructed Carrie not to leap forward with a yes if Billy asked her out again. And she really did need a minute to think. There was something she had to do Friday.

"The clambake down at the beach," she said, snapping her fingers. "I promised to take the kids. Graham and Claudia can't go because Graham just gets mobbed by fans at public events. But it should be over before you finish playing. I'm sure I can get there before midnight." "Great!" he said. "I still want that photography lesson. Things have just been sort of crazy with us these days, with the new demo and all. We were back in the studio yesterday working on it. We're going to send it out with a press release and stuff like that." "That is fabulous! That is so incredible. You'll be rich and famous soon," Carrie said, remembering Sam's advice to act impressed.

Billy laughed, but he sounded pleased. "Calm down. We haven't even finished the demo yet. I hope you're right, though." Carrie heard the sound of more shouting in the background. "I'd better go," said Billy. "We're heading over to the studio to lay down more tracks. It is so great working with Sid's equipment. You won't believe the difference in the sound." "Well, I can't wait to hear it," she said flirtatiously. "And I can't wait to see you again." Somehow Carrie's version of Sam seemed a lot less cool than the original Sam. Would Sam have been so obvious? Still, it seems to have worked, she thought.

"Okay, got to go. Bye!" he said quickly.

Happy with the way things had worked out, Carrie headed out of her room and down the hall. The family had gone out for the day on a private yacht owned by a friend of Graham's. She had the day all to herself. The sound of her phone ringing made her run back. "h.e.l.lo," she answered breathlessly.

"It's only me," said Sam. "The monsters found two unsuspecting boys to go bike riding with today. Mr. Jacobs actually wanted me to go along, but the three of us practically got down on our knees and begged him to change his mind. Can you imagine? Anyway, I now unexpectedly have the day off and I know you do, too."

"Good. You can help me buy a new bathing suit," said Carrie. She went on the tell Sam about the beach party. "Did you call Emma yet?" "She's not available till two. I'll call her back and tell her to meet us at the Cheap Boutique.

They're having a big sale this week and they have great suits." "Terrific," said Carrie. "I'll meet you down there at one o'clock." Carrie picked up the novel she was reading and headed out to the deck. The drone of Mrs. Ball's vacuum cleaner sounded from the living room. In the kitchen, pans clattered as Mrs.

Hanover, the part-time cook, prepared that night's dinner. The Templetons kept such irregular hours that Mrs. Hanover came early every other day, and then just left the meal in the refrigerator. Claudia stocked up on frozen gourmet dinners-or the ever-reliable take-out-for the days when Mrs. Hanover didn't come.

As Carrie crossed the living room, a letter on the coffee table caught her eye.

Mrs. Ball had picked up the mail from the post office box in town. At the top of the pile was a letter addressed to Carrie. She recognized the handwriting immediately. It was from Josh.

She picked up the letter and stuck it into her book. When she was settled into a lounge chair on the deck, she ripped it open.

Dear Carrie, Hi. Was glad to get your last letter. I hope things have settled down between you and your friend Emma. Don't be hard on her. It sounds as if she just didn't want to lose your friendship. You're a special person. People like to be around you, so maybe they say and do dumb things, thinking it will make you stick around. Hey, it sounds like I'm talking about myself, doesn't it? I guess I am. This summer seems so weird without you. I'm used to the two of us doing everything together, so it's hard sometimes. I've been out on a few dates, but nothing special. I know you and I said we were going to stay friends. And I'm trying-I'm writing you this letter, aren't I?-but it's hard. Real hard.

You're my friend, but you're more. I miss the more part. Sorry, don't want to guilt you out. But my offer to get pre-engaged still stands if you find yourself interested after the summer is over. I miss the fun we had. I miss touching you.

I miss you.

Love, Josh.

Carrie blew aside a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. Josh made her feel so special and loved. He always had. What was the matter with her? Why couldn't that be enough?

Another girl would be glad to have him. He wasn't gorgeous, but he had a nice face and a strong, athletic build. He'd been president of the Varsity Club in high school, and he'd been their fastest track runner. But he wasn't a superjock, or a macho jerk. He was quiet and thoughtful, and he laughed genuinely at all her jokes. Everyone liked him. And Carrie personally knew of two girls who would gladly take her place.

I've been out on a few dates. Carrie reread the line. It wouldn't be long before some girl grabbed him; if not this summer, then at Stanford University in the fall. How would she feel then? She might be letting the nicest guy she'd ever meet slip right through her fingers.

Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the warming rays of the sun. All right, Josh. We'll get back together. It mil just be me and you forever. How would it feel if she said that?

Safe.

Comfortable.

Like a kind of death.

That was the problem. She'd told him they were too young, that they both needed to date a little before they made a decision. At the time she'd thought she was being honest. But now she knew there had been more to it.

Way down, she had known she was looking for something Josh could never give her.

She was looking for someone to make her feel the way Billy did. Alive. Reckless.

s.e.xual.

Folding the letter, Carrie slipped it back in her book. She'd write to Josh, but not just yet. It was important to think more about exactly what she wanted to say to him. Instead she turned to her novel and read for a while.

At twelve-thirty she went down to the garage and got into the Jaguar. The letter from Josh had gotten her down. The Jaguar always cheered her up. Soon she was driving along the sh.o.r.e road with her hair blowing and nothing on her mind but the beauty of the clear isIand bay.

Sam rode her bike into the parking lot of the Cheap Boutique just as Carrie pulled in. The Cheap Boutique was a wood-frame building on the less-chic bay side of the isIand. It was inexpensive by Sunset IsIand standards, if not exactly cheap. It did boast a terrific selection of trendy, funky clothing, much of which was very affordable.

In an attempt to hide her wealth, and blend in with the regular kids, Emma had completely reoutfitted herself at the Cheap Boutique shortly after arriving on the isIand. Sam shopped there so frequently that she was on a first-name basis with the salesgirls. But Carrie had never bought anything there. She'd come with all she needed, half of it from the L. L. Bean catalog, the other half from the Gap. Good, basic clothes-nothing too flashy or remotely daring.

"Got the Jag, I see," Sam remarked, chaining her rented bike to the bike rack.

"I got a letter from Josh," Carrie said as she joined her. "Now I've got the guilts about breaking up with him. I hope I did the right thing." "Yeah, I guess it's hard," Sam said sympathetically. "I mean, you were each other's first, and all. But, come on, Billy is here and Josh isn't. Besides, Josh is the past and Billy is the future. Let's go find you the most mind-blowing bathing suit on the face of the earth." They climbed the wooden stairs and stepped into the cluttered store. Posters and Day-Glo art decorated the walls, and rock music blared from the sound system. Racks of clothing were jammed closely together.

Hats, scarves, beach bags, and jewelry hung from pegs on the wall.

"Hi, Sam," a salesgirl named Beth called out from behind the register. "What are you on the prowl for today?" "My friend Carrie needs a bathing suit guaranteed to fry the male brain at fifty feet." Beth laughed. "Oh, is that all? All our suits are on sale. They're at the back of the store by the dressing rooms.

Holler if you need help." Sam grabbed Carrie's wrist and pulled her to the back.

With her keen eye, she began sorting through the rack. "Too small, too boring, bad color for you, oh, yuck, horrendous," she mumbled as she picked through the large selection of suits. Every once in a while she'd pull one out, study it, then wrinkle her nose with distaste and return it to the rack. Carrie felt like a shopping novice as she slowly looked over the bathing suits.

At the end of five minutes Carrie and Sam had each pulled three suits out of the rack. Carrie held up hers to show Sam at the same time Sam held up the three she'd picked.

"You're kidding!" the two girls said in unison.

"Oh, Be-eth," Sam called out in a high, singsong voice. "I need your he-elp."