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  Taylor was an average player. Okay, maybe even better than average. But DJ had totally psyched herself out right from the start when she’d allowed her anger and embarrassment to get the best of her over some close shots that she felt Taylor called unfairly. After that she was too rattled to focus much, and Taylor had her running all over the court just to return shots, many of which she missed. When it was all finished, DJ only had herself to blame—the worst way to lose.

  “Nice game,” said Taylor with a slight smirk as she reached over the net to shake DJ’s hand.

  DJ rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Back at you.” She just wanted to get out of here, and the sooner the better. She actually considered making a run for it, but knew that would probably look totally lame.

  “Hey, DJ,” called Conner from where he and the other guy were now walking over to join the girls. “Too bad for you.”

  DJ sighed. “I messed up from the start,” she said defensively. “After that it was all downhill.” She adjusted her ball cap and then glanced over her shoulder and across the street, trying to think of a way to make a graceful exit.

  Conner nodded, smiling at Taylor now. “Yeah, DJ’s a great athlete. I think you just caught her on an off day.” Then Conner kept looking at Taylor, gazing at her in a way that seemed to show she had gotten his attention…and was keeping it. Taylor smiled back at him, as if she knew she had him. And DJ seethed.

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s the case,” said Taylor in what seemed an overly seductive voice now, especially considering they were standing around on a public tennis court, drenched in sweat. At least DJ was drenched in sweat. Taylor still looked cool as a spring breeze.

  “Are you going to introduce us to your friends?” Eliza asked DJ as she and Kriti came over to join the foursome.

  DJ restrained herself from hitting Taylor, as she politely introduced her “new friends” to Conner, explaining how the girls were new in town but would be going to high school with them. She was so polite, especially considering how she felt, that she thought even her grandmother might be proud. Or not. She turned to Conner with a stiff smile.

  “I don’t think I’ve met your friend.”

  “This is Harry Green,” said Conner casually. “Harry and his family are old-timers here in Crescent Cove. They go back…like how far, Harry? To the Mayflower, or was it even before that?”

  Harry shrugged and made a half smile. “Something like that.”

  “My family goes back to before the Revolution,” said Eliza. She pushed her sunglasses up to reveal sparkling blue eyes as she smiled at Harry.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Harry, his gaze fixed on her. “Welcome to Crescent Cove.”

  “Thank you,” said Eliza. “From what I’ve seen, it’s a pretty little town.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “You sound like you’re from the south.”

  She nodded. “Louisville.”

  “I’ve been there,” said Harry. “I have some relatives, but Louisville is a whole lot bigger than our town. You think you can get used to a place like this?”

  “I love that it’s near the ocean,” she said. “Not that I’ve seen much yet. I just got here yesterday.”

  “Maybe you need a tour guide,” offered Harry. “Not that there’s much to see, but if you’re interested in a little tour, I’d be more than happy to show you around.” He jerked his thumb over to where a blue Jeep Wrangler with its top down was parked nearby. “That’s my ride there.”

  Then Eliza nodded in the opposite direction, where she’d parked her little white Porsche convertible, also with the top down. “I have wheels too.”

  Harry let out a low whistle. “Man, do you ever.”

  “Why don’t we all head to the beach?” suggested Taylor.

  “Great idea,” said Conner. “Town’s going to be crawling with tourists anyway, since it’s Labor Day weekend and all.”

  “And the weather couldn’t be better,” said Eliza. “So nice that it cooled down after yesterday.”

  “And we’ve got a great spot on the beach,” said Harry. “It’s a place that only locals know about.”

  “Sounds good,” said Eliza. She turned to Kriti. “You in?”

  Kriti shrugged, as if she was unsure. “I don’t know…”

  “Oh, come on,” said Eliza. “It’ll be fun. And school starts next week. This is the last of summer vacation; we need to make the most of it.”

  “Okay,” Kriti said. “I guess it might be fun.”

  “DJ and I need to go home and change,” said Taylor.

  “And we need to get some things,” added Eliza.

  DJ wasn’t even sure she wanted to go on this beach trip, plus she didn’t like anyone, especially Taylor, speaking for her.

  “I don’t know if I’m going,” she said in voice that sounded pretty grumpy, even to her ears.

  “Are you still pouting because I beat you?” teased Taylor.

  “No,” said DJ. “I just don’t know if I want to—”

  “Come on, DJ,” said Conner as he slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a warm squeeze. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”

  She was about to say something mean, but that was when she noticed he was looking right into her eyes. And for a moment, she forgot everything else—everything but that clear, gorgeous shade of blue, deep and clear, just like the Atlantic Ocean.

  “Okay,” she said in a much more civilized, almost demure, tone. “But I do need to clean up.”

  “No problem,” said Conner. “How about if we meet you guys at Carter House?”

  “Sounds great,” said Eliza cheerfully, digging around in her shiny white Prada bag. She pulled out her car keys that were attached to a large silver object. It looked more like jewelry than a key chain.

  “And, with six of us, we’ll definitely need to take both cars,” said Harry. He dangled his keys in front of Conner’s nose now. “You can drive my Jeep if I can ride with Eliza.”

  “Deal,” said Conner eagerly reaching for the keys.

  “Deal,” said Eliza, nodding at Harry.

  “Give us an hour or so,” commanded Taylor, as if she alone were calling the shots. “DJ and I both need to clean up.”

  “How about noon?” suggested Eliza after checking her watch.

  “See ya then,” called Harry as he and Conner headed back toward his Jeep.

  “This is going to be fun,” said Eliza as they walked across the tennis court toward her Porsche.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Taylor. “Those guys are both really cute.”

  Eliza frowned slightly. “Maybe we should’ve asked them to invite some more guy friends to come along. I mean this is kind of lopsided—two guys and four girls.”

  “It’s not as if we need to pair off,” said Kriti a little indignantly. “That’s certainly not why I’m going.”

  “Well, what about you, Taylor?” asked Eliza as she paused by her car. “Will you mind?”

  “Mind what?” said Taylor quickly.

  Eliza nodded toward DJ now. “Well, I sort of assume that Conner and DJ are a couple and that leaves you and Kriti both without—”

  “You assume wrong,” said Taylor as she set her bag and tennis racket into the front seat and then opened the door, pulled back the seat, and waited for Kriti to climb into the back. Then she got into the front passenger seat, the same spot she’d occupied on the way over. “DJ made it perfectly clear to me last night that she and Conner are only friends. Right, DJ?”

  DJ and Kriti were both seated in the back now. And, although what Taylor was saying was true in essence, DJ felt it was wrong and unfair, not to mention manipulative. Still, she wasn’t sure how to straighten this thing out.

  “Right, DJ?” Taylor turned around in the front seat to scowl at DJ now. “You did say that you and Conner were simply friends, didn’t you? It’s not like I’m making this stuff up, am I?”

  “I said we were friends,” admitted DJ. “But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t change. I mean, it’
s not like I can predict the future, but I do feel there’s something special between us.”

  “Well, that’s not how you sounded to me last night,” said Taylor. “You were all like ‘we’re just friends, and that’s all.’” She turned back around in the seat, speaking more to Eliza now. “If you ask me, that girl is flaky. She says one thing and then turns around and says something totally different.”

  “I am not flaky,” said DJ. “I was just trying to be honest. Conner and I aren’t officially a couple, but—”

  “But it’s a possibility,” offered Eliza in a kind voice. “Don’t pick on DJ, Taylor. I understand what she’s saying. Maybe she thinks something is developing.”

  “Maybe she’s wrong,” said Taylor.

  DJ gripped the handle of her tennis racket more tightly. It was all she could do not to raise it up and pop big-mouth Taylor over the head with it. Also, she was tempted to boycott this stupid beach party altogether—and she would have gladly—except for the disgusting thought of Taylor hotly pursuing poor Conner in her absence.

  DJ could just imagine Taylor grabbing Conner’s hand as they were walking on the beach. She’d probably be wearing a skimpy bikini that showed off everything, including what DJ felt certain were silicone breast implants, as she tackled the poor guy down to the sand and then rolled in the surf, forcing him to make out with her. That image alone would ensure that DJ went along with this little field trip. Not only that, but today might need to be the day that she made her big play for Conner. Certainly, she wasn’t really prepared for this. She had hoped their relationship, a really good friendship, might develop more slowly and steadily.

  Feeling discouraged and beaten, DJ looked down at herself. She was wearing a frumpy old pair of gray sweat shorts along with a worn and faded blue Gap T-shirt that was still damp with perspiration and stretched out and frayed around the neck. Even DJ realized this outfit was not the least bit attractive, even if it was comfortable. But she hadn’t been thinking of fashion when she dressed this morning; she had only been thinking of beating the snot out of Taylor.

  And she hadn’t expected Conner and his friend to show up like that. She wondered how Taylor had this figured out. Because who dresses up like that to play sports? Why would you want to get a nice outfit all sweaty? Well, obviously, girls like Taylor would. Girls like Taylor—and maybe Eliza and Kriti too—probably never went anywhere, not even to the emergency room to have a limb sewn back on, without looking their absolute best. They would probably freshen up their makeup while riding in the ambulance.

  “Because,” she could just hear her grandmother saying, “you just never know who you’ll run into.”

  Well, DJ knew one thing: if she was going to compete with Taylor—and that seemed to be the case—it was high time she cleaned up her act. Not that she expected Conner to be taken in by appearances. Just last night he had made it clear that he wasn’t that kind of a guy. Even so, DJ had seen him looking at Taylor. She was certain that he noticed the cleavage rising above her low-cut, snug-fitting, pink and white tennis shirt. She was sure he noticed those long brown legs in the short, short tennis skirt. Guys couldn’t help but notice that kind of thing. They were guys, after all.

  Still, DJ didn’t have a clue as to what she was going to do or what she was going to wear to get Conner to look at her that way. Then, just as Eliza turned into the driveway, DJ remembered something. She remembered how, only last night, her grandmother had solicited assistance from these three girls, hinting that they might share some of their good style sense with her poor misguided and fashion-challenged granddaughter. She had practically begged these girls to help DJ improve her appearance.

  As they walked into the house, DJ knew for a fact she would not be going to Taylor for help. That would be like asking the enemy if you could borrow a gun. No, she decided, she would go to Eliza. Privately. No way did she want Taylor to know what she was up to. She felt certain that Taylor would sabotage any attempt DJ made to compete with her.

  “Hey, DJ,” said Eliza as they paused at the foot of the steps. “Do you think it would be okay if we took something from here to eat at the beach? Or, maybe we should just pick something up on the way.”

  “We can probably find something here,” said DJ, thinking this was her chance. “Want to go see what’s available?”

  “What are you doing?” asked Clara as DJ and Eliza stepped into her territory. DJ quickly told Clara their plans, which got Clara off the hook for having to serve and clean up lunch. Clara’s eyes lit up. “Help yourselves,” she said, pointing out what was on-and off-limits. She even got them an ice chest. “Do you girls think you’ll be home in time for dinner?”

  DJ glanced at Eliza.

  “Maybe not,” said Eliza. “Is that okay?”

  “It’s okay with me,” said Clara happily. “Would you like me to inform Mrs. Carter? She went to town for a hair appointment.”

  “Yes,” said DJ eagerly. “That’d be great.”

  “And there’s some soda in the pantry,” said Clara in a lowered voice, as if she expected to get into trouble. “Mrs. Carter wasn’t too pleased that I bought it, but you could take it with you.”

  “Cool,” said DJ.

  “You girls run along,” said Clara. “I’ll get it all packed for you.”

  “Thanks so much,” said Eliza. Then as she and DJ were going up the stairs, Eliza said, “Clara is really nice.”

  DJ laughed. “Yeah, she’s nice because we’re getting out of her hair and now she has the day off.”

  “Oh, I get it.”

  “Uh, Eliza,” said DJ at the top of the stairs. “Can I ask a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  So DJ quickly explained that she was starting to feel a little out of place. “I mean it’s obvious that I have never taken fashion seriously. And the more Grandmother bugs me about it, the more I resist. Seriously, that woman makes me want to pull out my hair and scream. But now I’m wondering if I really do need some, uh, help.”

  Eliza laughed. “Duh, you need some help. I’m surprised your grandmother hasn’t taken you in for a complete psychological evaluation by now, because I know she thinks you’re totally crazy.”

  “The feeling’s mutual.”

  “Okay, maybe Mrs. Carter takes fashion a little too seriously, but good grief, DJ, you could volunteer to be a permanent placeholder in the fashion don’t section of Style magazine.”

  “That bad?” DJ sighed. “Is it hopeless?”

  “Where there is life, there is hope. But we better get started ASAP.” Right there in the hallway, Eliza looked carefully at DJ, scrutinizing every square inch of her. “Well, you have a lot going for you. You are naturally good-looking. The problem is you don’t do anything with it.”

  “Because I don’t know what to do.”

  Eliza nodded. Then she glanced toward the door to her room. “Kriti will probably get upset if I drag you in there. It’s already too crowded. It’ll help when we get some of our things moved downstairs. Inez is supposed to get on it today. In the meantime, let’s go to your room.”

  As DJ led Eliza to her room, she had some serious doubts. What was she getting herself into? And was it a compromise of her values? What about what she’d told Conner last night? What about his concern over high-maintenance girls?

  But her doubts were overshadowed by the image of Conner gazing at Taylor at the tennis court earlier, smiling at her with guy-like approval. She had definitely gotten his attention in a way that DJ never had. At least not yet.

  8

  “STanD rIGHT THere,” commanded Eliza as she practically shoved DJ in front of the full-length mirror on her closet door. DJ frowned at her own image. Talk about slumming. Next to Eliza she really did look like a fashion don’t. Eliza’s long hair was blonde and shiny. Her makeup was perfect. And her pale blue capri pants and white cropped top looked fresh and stylish, setting off her tan, which DJ suspected came from a bottle since she’d heard Eliza warning them all to use sunscreen t
his morning. Even Eliza’s sandals and pink-polished toenails were perfect. Picture perfect.

  “Let’s start with the hat,” said Eliza, snatching off DJ’s Dodgers cap to reveal her mousy brown roots and hair that was in need of a good long shampoo. Eliza made a face as she tossed the cap to the floor. “DJ,” she said in a scolding tone. “What is up with that hair?”

  “I know…it’s dirty.”

  “Dishwater blonde and dirty.”

  DJ didn’t say anything. She just looked down at her scuffed up blue and white Nikes—a leftover pair from JV volleyball, back before her mom died.

  “And your clothes. Do you even look in the mirror?” She forced DJ’s chin up with her hand. “Can you see yourself?”

  DJ looked at herself now. She saw a flush-faced girl in dowdy clothes and greasy hair the color of—what had Eliza called it? Dishwater? Ugh, that did sound terrible.

  “I’m a mess,” she admitted.

  “They say acceptance is the first step to recovery.” Eliza shook her head in a dismal way. “But I have feeling you’re going to need the whole twelve-step program.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A joke. It’s a joke.” Eliza leaned forward now and peered closely at DJ’s skin. “What do you use to wash your face?”

  “Soap?”

  “What kind of soap?”

  “The kind that’s in the shower.”

  Eliza’s brows shot up. “You use shower soap on your face?”

  “Soap is soap, isn’t it?”

  But Eliza’s expression suggested otherwise. In fact, if DJ hadn’t known better, she might’ve assumed that Eliza thought she’d been washing her face with laundry detergent or maybe Lysol.

  “Soap is soap, DJ,” she said in a tightly controlled voice. “But soap is not for the face.” She pointed to DJ’s nose. “Can you see those blackheads?”

  DJ felt alarmed. “You mean like pimples?” She leaned closer to peer at her nose and did notice there were tiny black spots on it. Maybe she’d thought those were freckles. She’d always thought it would be cool to have freckles.