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“To see that disco movie? Yuck!” Lala pretended to gag herself again.

Claire hated when she did that — almost as much as she hated that she had to do whatever Lala wanted.

Unfortunately, while Lala could do anything she wanted, Claire was only allowed to go out if she was with Lala.

While Claire’s parents had been older, allowing her to do anything she wanted, her grandmother was even older, and she believed that girls shouldn’t go out without an escort.

Not that Lala was a virtuous escort, but her grandmother assumed that no hanky-panky — as she referred to making out — would happen if there were more than one couple in a vehicle.

Showed what her grandmother knew about Lala.

“Compromise?” Claire offered. “How about we go to the movie first, then The Pitts. No one’ll be at The Pitts until late, anyway.”

Maybe Lala was right. Maybe Thomas would be at The Pitts. And if Thomas were there, maybe Adam would be, too. Like he had been two years ago, before her world had been ripped apart.

* * *

Claire opted for a denim prairie skirt and an airy cream-colored peasant top, cinched together with a wide belt. As much as she hated sandals or even heels, for that matter, she chose a pair of Candie’s with a 4-inch chunky wooden heel so she wouldn’t be noticeably shorter than Lala.

She strolled into the living room, dancing to the old-time music as bubbles floated across the screen of the Zenith. Lawrence Welk ambled into view, doing a little jig as he gestured to the orchestra.

Leaning over the back of the recliner, she kissed her grandmother on the cheek. “Don’t wait up, Grams; it’s a double feature.”

She knew better than trying to sneak out without a goodbye or an explanation of where she was going.

Grams locking her out of the house the first time she hadn’t told her where she was going and then missing curfew, cured that practice.

Her parents had never cared. Then again, there wasn’t a lot to do in Talkeetna.

She looked up at the old clock over the mantel. They were going to be late — again.

“Claire?” Grams said, pulling on her arm so she could whisper into her ear. “You be smart. Don’t follow Lala’s lead.”

Claire snickered softly. “If you don’t want me to follow her lead, why must she always accompany me?”

“Two girls are safer than one, Claire-bear.”

“I know, Grams. Love you!”

Gramps popped an Old Milwaukee. “Pipe down, ladies. Welk’s on.”

Lala skipped into the room, dressed in the tight new Levi’s and a black-and-white striped halter top her mother had sent her.

Grams scrunched up her nose and mouthed, “ Tramp .”

Claire cocked her head and whispered, “Grams!”

Her grandmother shrugged.

Lala kissed her grandfather on top of the head, then plopped down on the arm of his recliner. “Can I have some cash, Gramps?”

The old man reached into the back pocket of his overalls and pulled out a tired-looking brown leather wallet stuffed to the seams. He removed a ten and held it up to Lala. “You better clean your room, or you won’t get any next week.”

“I will. I promise. Can I have a bit more?”

He removed another ten, handing her both bills.

“Thanks, Gramps!”

Claire rolled her eyes. He never denied Lala anything. Not that Claire was ever refused, but she rarely asked. Her parents had left her more than enough — something Lala didn’t like.

Grams reached for her purse on the floor. “You need money, Claire-bear?”

Claire shook her head. “I’m good, Grams. Thanks.”

Lala hooked her arm through Claire’s. “Come on, Claire-bear . We’re gonna be late.”

Claire grabbed her corduroy blazer and tossed Lala her pink satin bomber jacket.

Lala scooped her keys out of her black drawstring bag with gold letters and sprinted to her bright-red Blazer. The girl was a contradiction in terms.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Lala skidded to a stop in front of Roger’s house.

Seconds later, both guys ambled down the crushed gravel driveway.

According to Lala, they’d been friends since grade school, even though they looked nothing alike.

Not that looks have anything to do with guys being friends, but it seemed to Claire that guys cared more about having common interests and backgrounds than girls did.

One of the things Lala always bragged about was Roger’s height.

They were both tall — something Claire cared nothing about — but that’s where the similarities ended.

Roger had curly blond hair that brushed the collar of his flannel shirt.

His jeans were stained and worn thin at the knees, like he spent the afternoon working under his truck.

Probably had. Lala had told her he was sick of riding in the passenger seat while she drove them around.

Boyd, on the other hand, had slicked-back black hair, and clothes that screamed not from Alaska .

Like Roger, he wore jeans — but not the kind that earned their fade.

His were cornflower blue, practically new.

And Boyd wouldn’t wear flannel if it were stitched with gold thread.

Instead, he’d paired his obligatory Alaska denim with a long-sleeved polyester shirt, wide collar and all.

The rose-red and teal floral print looked better suited for a luau than the drive-in.

And — Claire had to purse her lips to keep from laughing — it was unbuttoned nearly to the middle of his chest, enough so others wouldn’t miss the gold chain resting in the hollow of his throat.

Roger walked to the driver’s door, lowering his chin and staring at Lala until she read his meaning. She scooted across the bench seat, then curled her body against his.

Boyd climbed in beside Claire, settling close. He eyed her from top to bottom, then flicked the edge of her skirt. “You going to a hoe-down, Claire?”

Claire offered him a closed-lipped smile. “You going to a disco, Boyd?”

Both Roger and Lala cracked up.

“Told ya,” Roger said, throwing the shifter into drive.

Boyd punched the back of Roger’s seat. “We’re going to a disco movie, so this shirt’s in style. At least I don’t look like I’m a working-class stiff.”

No one laughed. There wasn’t a lot of money in Wasilla, but Boyd’s family seemed to have cornered it all.

Noting that Boyd’s face had turned nearly as red as the buds in his shirt, Claire slid a little closer. “The first movie’s some fighting flick, so you both dressed for the night.”

Boyd rested a hand on Claire’s knee and squeezed. Her heart jumped — but not in a good way. The touch felt condescending somehow, like he was rewarding her for playing along.

* * *

Throughout the entire karate movie, whenever there was talking, Boyd was pawing at her.

Breathing on her. The moment the fight scenes resumed, he turned to the screen like it was sacred.

Normally, Claire didn’t mind making out with Boyd.

After all, he wasn’t hard on the eyes, as Grams referred to Boyd.

With his dark brows, olive skin, and hazel eyes, he looked like he might have a bit of French in him — or was it Italian?

But tonight, all she could smell — and taste — was cigarettes and stale beer.

He and Roger must have had some pre-movie party.

Not that it mattered, her mind wasn’t on Boyd.

Her brain… her heart… wherever these gut-wrenching feelings of loss and desire were coming from were tearing her insides apart.

All she saw when she closed her eyes was Adam — a boy she hadn’t seen in nearly two years.

A boy she didn’t even really know — not personally.

They’d shared moments, mostly their love of horses.

They hadn’t discussed what lay ahead for their futures — they’d only been kids.

In truth, she was still a kid — teenager — but with the griefs she’d already lived through, she often felt thirty-six instead of her short sixteen — almost seventeen — years.

Lala peeked over the seat and nodded toward the concession stand.

Heck yeah, I want to get out of here ! Claire screamed internally. She pushed down on the silver handle, then shoved the heavy door open.

“Hey!” Boyd grabbed her forearm. “Where ya goin’?”

Claire glared at his hand as if he’d burned her. “Lala wants me to go with her.”

Boyd splayed his fingers but kept his damp palm pressed against her skin. “Lala’s a big girl; she doesn’t need an escort.”

Lala poked her head around the door frame. “Lala is a big girl, but she also wants an escort. Don’t you watch the news, Boyd ?” Lala wagged her head and leaned against the vehicle — out of Boyd’s line of sight. She winked at Claire, then nodded for them to go.

Claire hopped out, slamming the door behind her.

Lala looped an arm through Claire’s and, together, they hustled across the dirt road, ignoring horn taps and cat calls from the movie-goers still sitting inside the cars.

“You wish!” shouted Lala. Her outspoken and gesture-fond cousin flicked a middle finger at a truckload of young guys thrusting their hips in their direction. “Jerk-offs!” She turned back to Claire. “Speaking of jerks … What the hell was that possessive crap?”

Claire shrugged. As much as she wanted to ditch Boyd, she wanted to see the featured movie even more.

Away from the line of cars, Lala pulled Claire to a stop. “We should just leave. Make an excuse. Then drive to Clara Mae’s ranch.”

Claire huffed. “This is why your step-father sent you up here, Lala. You’re incorrigible.”

“I don’t know what that means, Claire-belle, but it sure sounds like me.” She trotted forward, pulling Claire with her. “Okay, we’ll stay, but Tony Manero better be as cute and funny as Vinnie Barbarino.”