THE WIND BLEW HARD, WHIPPING NEWPORT Harbor into whitecaps. Dana Underhill peered beneath the brim of her cap, assessing the situation. This was the last day of sailing lessons. All the kids were supposed to race against each other, she and Lily would hand out trophies, and the summer would be over. "Come on, Dana," the kids called, impatient to start.

"It's getting rough," she said, watching to see whether the harbormaster would hoist small-craft warnings.

"Please, Dana? Come on, you taught us right! What good are sailing lessons if we can't handle a little chop?"

"Yeah, Dana. Please?"

"You know we can do it!"

"What do you think?" Dana asked, glancing across the Boston Whaler. Her younger sister Lily's blond hair formed a wild, kinetic halo in the wind. Even at eighteen and twenty, they were inseparable. Sailing was their passion; teaching racing to wealthy young Newporters was just their summer job to pay for the art school they attended together.

"Summer's not officially over till we hand out these trophies," Lily said as the boat rocked.

The small fleet of Blue Jays jostled against the floating docks at the Ida Lewis Yacht Club. The sails were already rigged, the two-person crews installed beneath the exuberantly swinging booms. The sound was deafening: halyards clanking, sails thwacking, lines slapping. The young sailors were a study in grace under tension. Many summered on Bellevue Avenue or Ocean Drive, attended the finest prep schools, seemed -- with zeal foreign to Dana -- to consider competition a way of life.

"We sailed to the Vineyard last weekend in much worse," Polly Tisdale called.

"My father said if I don't come home with a trophy, don't come home," Hunter Whitcomb said. "Race or die!"

"Yikes," Dana said.

"Do fathers really say that?" Lily whispered.

"Not ours," Dana said. The sisters had learned to sail at Hubbard's Point, Connecticut, a sweet and comfortable family beach that was a far cry from yachting life in Newport.

Dana paused, crouched at the helm of the Boston Whaler, admitting to herself once again that she and Lily were the wrong instructors for this job, when her eyes fell upon Sam Trevor.

"Our boat's going to win," he said, his glasses crooked and his grin braces-bright as he stared with open adoration at Dana. The youngest kid in class, Sam had the jib, with Jack Devlin manning the tiller.

"You think so?" Dana smiled.

"Dream on, four-eyes," Ralph Cutler sneered. Barbie Jenckes, his crewmate, let out a haughty laugh. "You're not even supposed to be sailing here. You don't belong to the yacht club. You're just a little wharf rat..."

"Enough," Dana said dangerously. Barbie was almost right. Sam's family didn't have money. He went to public school. His mother worked at the local lobster company. Dana and Lily had spotted him hanging around the docks early in the summer, challenging them to a bowline-tying contest, and Dana had been unable to resist him.

The small and eager third-grader had had the air of a friendly beagle. Sweet and clumsy, with glasses perpetually slipping off his freckled nose, he had tied the worst bowline Dana had ever seen. She had picked up on his loneliness -- the facts that his mother worked, his brother was in college, and he was essentially alone for the summer. He missed his brother the way Dana would miss Lily, so she had found a place for him.

"Let me show 'em," Sam said to Dana, his eyes shining.

"This is the real thing," she said, holding his gaze. "High wind, a field of fast boats."

"Walk home, Sam," Hunter Whitcomb warned. "The rest of you too. This race is between Ralph and me."

"Speak for yourself, Hunt," Laney Draper piped up. "Though I do agree that Sam should be disqualified. He didn't even pay for lessons!"

"Dana gave me a scholarship," Sam said, a shadow of anxiety dulling his grin.

"Ralph's father raced here when he was young, and so did mine," Hunter said. "Our mothers too. How about yours, Sam?"

"Sons of fishmongers don't quite get it," Ralph said.

"That's mean," Lily said.

Dana watched the sons of Newport's two richest men eye each other across their bows as Sam jumped to his feet. Nearly capsizing the fourteen-foot Blue Jay, he grabbed hold of the mast to steady himself.

"She might clean fish," Sam yelled, his face red and glasses slipping, "but she'd be ten times prouder of me than anyone could ever be of you. She'd be crazy with pride. She'd be gigantic-huge-gargantuan with pride, you rotten snobs. Let us sail, Dana. I'm gonna show them..."

"Let him," Lily breathed.

Dana held his gaze, wishing he would sit down. Small and scrappy, his speech had brought tears to his own eyes. He slashed them away, not wanting the other kids to see.

Dana's heart swelled for him. She wanted to go hug him, but she knew that would only make things worse. The crews were laughing at him, and Jack Devlin -- his own skipper -- looked as if he wanted to jump ship from embarrassment. The wind hadn't dropped, but it hadn't increased either. Lily's eyes sparkled with emotion, leaving Dana no doubt over what she should do.

"Okay," Dana said, staring directly at Sam. "We're going to race." The entire class began to cheer, getting straight to work on their sails and lines, preparing to leave the dock.

"That's my sister," Lily said proudly.

"That's my friend," Sam replied, beaming.

"You ready?"

"You bet I am! I'm not going to let anyone down, Dana -- my mom or you. She's going to have my trophy on the fish case," he said, his cheeks scarlet as he tried to hold back hiccups.

"Just be careful," Dana called to everyone in the fleet, but especially to Sam, watching the boom nearly clip his head as he ducked beside Jack. Some of the kids waved, but most, including Sam, were already focused on the race.

WHILE JACK HELD the tiller, Sam worked the jib sheets. He was glad he had his back to Jack, because he didn't quite have control of his face. His cheeks and chin were still twitching from trying not to cry. Not just because of the things Hunter and Ralph had said about his parents, but because for a minute he had worried that Dana might listen to them and not let him race.

He should have known better.

Dana was his friend. They were special to each other. Sam didn't know how he knew, but he did. She had a sister, he had a brother. From the very first minute they talked to each other, they had started being friends. It was weird; he was only eight, in third grade, and she was a beautiful grown-up.

Unfortunately, their friendship had started with a lie. He had tricked her into letting him join the class. After watching sailing school for one week, he made his move.

It was July. Early one morning, before the students arrived, he started crabbing on the yacht club dock. His heart was pounding as he heard her footsteps coming down the weathered boards. His mother was always working, Joe was on some ship a million miles away, and Sam was bored and hurt in a way he couldn't put into words. Sailing looked so cool and free, something that would take him far from the darkness of his own home.

"What are you using?" Dana had asked.

"For bait? A fish head," Sam had said, remembering how he'd scavenged the bluefish head from his mother's pail, how she had yelled for him to stay out of the garbagev

"Do you eat the crabs you catch?"

"No, I watch them," he'd said. "I'm gonna be an oceanographer when I grow up. Just like my brother."

"What do you see when you watch crabs?" she had asked, crouching down.

He had shown her: the way they scuttle sideways, hiding in the shadows of his bucket, the way they use their claws to tear the bluefish flesh, their bottle-green color designed to camouflage them underwater, the fact they were cleaning machines eating anything that drifted to the bottom of Newport Harbor.

"And I thought they were just crabs!" When she smiled, her whole face changed. It was bright as the sun, Sam thought. Brighter than any summer day.

"What's your name?" she had asked.

"Sam Trevor. What's yours?"

"Dana Underhill."

She had paint around her fingernails and streaked on her sailing shorts. The colors were pale green and cobalt blue. When she saw him staring at her hands, she said, "Oops. Didn't use enough turpentine."

"A picture of the harbor."

"Are you an artist?"

"Trying to be."

"Wow. I thought you were just the sailing teacher." Flustered, he talked faster. "I don't mean just. I mean I think it's cool you're the sailing teacher. You don't know how much I wish I knew how to sail."

"Well, that makes us even. I thought you were just crabbing, and you're a future oceanographer."

That's when he hit her with the zinger: "I wish you could teach me how to sail."

"You do, do you?" she asked, beaming.

He nodded. Then, because the desire to learn was much stronger than he'd known, he said, "More than anything."

"I'd be very happy to teach you to sail," said Dana Underhill, and from that incredible moment on, Sam was a member of her class.

"Hey, Sam," Jack called now above the rising wind.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, perched on the gunwale, trying to hang out over the rough gray water, to balance his weight as the small boat heeled over. They were on a starboard tack, beating out to the starting line. Dana was driving the crash boat, and her sister Lily had just sounded the one-minute horn.

"Don't screw up," Jack warned.

"I won't," Sam promised.

"When I say 'ready about,' concentrate on the jib, okay? Don't be watching the weather, being Mr. Junior Scientist."

"Don't worry about me," Sam said, straightening his glasses and giving Jack a big smile. Jack's family had just moved to the area, so he didn't have any old friends to sail with. He almost always got stuck with Sam, and Sam didn't want to let him down.

Mainly, he wanted to do well for Dana. He glanced over at the crash boat, saw her see him and wave. He felt a shiver go down his spine, knowing she was looking out for him. After this race, summer would be over and she would go back to art school in Providence. At least she and Lily got to be together. Sam's brother was far away, on his quest to become an oceanographer.

"Hey, Sam," Jack yelled. "Eyes on the fleet, okay?"

"You got it, skipper!"

The centerboard hummed with their increasing boat speed. Sam felt the vibrations through his legs and spine. Lily sounded the thirty-second horn, and Sam hit the stopwatch. The boats began to maneuver closer to the starting line. Dana steered the Boston Whaler out of the way. She gestured to Sam, silently suggesting a tactic, and Sam passed it on to Jack.

"Veer that way." Sam pointed.

"We'll hit," Jack said, staring at the pack of boats.

"No, we have space," Sam said, estimating wind direction, current, and speed. "We'll be first across the starting line."

"Starboard," Jack shouted, sliding under Hunter's bow.

"Screw you," Hunter bellowed as he lost his wind.

"That one's for the fishmonger," Sam yelled, locking eyes with Hunter.

"You little shit," Hunter said, throwing the tiller across, coming about with a loud clatter and roar as the sails luffed, then caught the wind.

"Ten seconds," Sam called to Jack as they glided perfectly toward the start. "Nine, eight..."

"Ready about," Jack said. Trying to stay ahead of Hunter, he had misjudged the wind. Sam had an oceanographer's instinct for conditions, and he knew that Jack was making a mistake. But Jack was captain and Sam was crew, so he had to go along. He grabbed the jib sheet and tore it from the cleat. Doing so, he dropped the stopwatch, and his terminal klutziness kicked in. He bobbled the line. The wind ripped it from his hand and his arm went out to grab it. Like a lost kite string or an escaping balloon, the nylon line was just out of reach.

"Oh, God," he exclaimed. They were two seconds from the start, Hunter was passing, and Dana was watching. Without thinking, Sam lurched forward to clutch the white line.

"What the hell..." Jack shouted. Two, one: Lily sounded the starting blast.

"Sam, sit down!" Dana cried out, and it was the last thing in the world Sam Trevor heard before the boom came swinging across the beam with all the force of a freight train, cracking him in the skull and knocking him overboard.

"Don't take your eyes off him," Dana called, losing sight of Sam's inert body. Trying to prove himself cool, he had defied the rules and failed to put on a life jacket. His jeans were dark blue, the same color as the water, his jacket a faded shade of greenish-gray.

"Hurry," Lily cried.

Copyright © 2002 by Luanne Rice