Betty wasn’t as glamorous as Liz, but she was all right. She’d heard it all her life. She stood five foot four, but little else about her was average. Her hair hung in soft curls without needing a hairdresser, though today she’d maneuvered it all into a red scarf and tied it like a bomb girl, with the knot at the top, pulling a few strands of curls forward to drift across her forehead. Betty’s curvaceous figure had sprung to life, so to speak, during tenth grade. The thing about Betty was that she was also a brain who’d earned all As and perfect attendance awards for her four years at South Haven High. She worked hard for her grades and was grateful for the peer recognition. Her classmates had voted her senior girl most likely to succeed and prettiest senior girl. That had clinched it. She had always thought she’d enter the Miss South Haven contest when she was eighteen, and her grandparents had encouraged it. With that confidence, coupled with the fact that the hands-down favorite, Nancy Green, was traveling in Europe, she might actually have a chance at winning.
Zaide thought she’d be a shoo-in.
“Win or lose, you’re my bathing beauty,” Nannie said.
Betty believed her, and she stood a little straighter thinking about the legacy of Miss South Haven, as well as the bragging rights and free publicity for her grandparents.
Three cars rounded the corner to the east, music blaring from the open windows. Summer was just a block away.
“How do I look?” Betty whispered.
“You look swell,” Doris said. “Like a real college girl. I wish I did.” Doris flicked at her short sandy-brown bangs, then dropped her hand to her side. Her plaid skirt was meant more for winter than spring, but Betty said nothing.
Instead of worrying about Doris’s clothes, Betty fretted about her own. Maybe she was a tad overdressed. Would the older girls mock her? Would the boys turn away? She’d brought shorts and tennis shoes to change into later. She didn’t have to unload cars and unpack steamer trunks, but she did want to blend in during the staff dinner in the dining room that evening.
Five cars pulled onto the resort’s circular drive, and three more turned the corner, all looking shinier and sounding noisier than ever—or Betty watched and listened more closely than she had before. Maybe next summer she’d take classes, or get a job at a magazine in New York. This could be the last summer she’d have the notoriety of her last name, with all its benefits and drawbacks.
The chrome and glass sparkled and danced like the lake at sunset, and exhaust fumes filled the air and held on to the music that blared from the radio.
When the cars were parked, the kids tumbled out. The wet, woodsy scent of aftershave mixed with the medicinal aroma of hair spray smelled as much like summer as Coppertone. Though she was dazed and overloaded, Betty didn’t want the spectacle to end. When the group started toward her grandparents, it broke her trance. In the Stern family, Betty would take second place to the staff and guests for the next few months.
She glanced across the lawn toward her grandparents but couldn’t see them anymore in the crowd. What Betty could see was that none of the other girls wore scarves. She’d felt grown-up and slightly scandalous when she’d opted for it over the pearl barrette Nannie had hoped she’d wear, but now she wasn’t so sure. Was she old-fashioned or fashionable?
Goose bumps scattered up her arms and across her shoulders even though it was seventy-five degrees. Michigan May could bring any kind of weather. At least there was no more snow.
It was then, the instant Betty thought about snow in May, that she saw a boy who made her heart shudder. Even from a distance, he was movie-star handsome—clean cut like all the boys but with a bit of a natural swagger that drew her attention the way a magnet draws nails. He wore tan trousers, a short-sleeved white shirt, and a tie. He had to be new. She would not have forgotten that face. Those shoulders. But she hadn’t seen him step out of a car. Was he an apparition? A manifestation of her dreams? He was bold in his fashion choice. None of the others wore ties. Now she recognized him! He looked like a young William Holden, dimples and all.
Betty unpinned her name tag and tore away her heritage, becoming “Betty S” instead of the more identifiable “Betty Stern.”
“Does my lipstick look okay?” She sent a silent prayer to Max Factor that it looked better than okay.
Georgia smirked. “Yes. It’s fine.”
Betty crumpled the half of the name tag she had removed and shoved it behind her belt buckle. Georgia watched.
“What? I just want to have a fun summer before college,” Betty said.
Georgia raised and lowered her sculpted brows. “He’s too old for you.”
“Who are you talking about?” Betty asked, her heart pounding with possibilities.
“The one with the dimple in his chin, smarty-pants.” Georgia pointed toward him with a tip of her head. “I know you, Betty. You’re going to get into trouble with that one.”
“Betty knows better,” Doris said. Sweet Doris. “What are you going to say if your grandparents see that?” Doris pointed to Betty’s name tag. “Do you want me to get you a new one? It’ll just take a sec.”
“They won’t notice,” Betty said. She looked at her William Holden talking to the other boys, but not standing in their circle. He smiled and nodded but kept a few yards between himself and the others.
Betty’s calves warmed as
