On Saturday, we drove into town to go shopping. Dad pulled the truck into a parking spot and killed the engine. The broad white facade of McClatchy’s General, Beau’s dad’s store, loomed above us, its siding plastered with posters advertising Coca-Cola and Christmas toys. We didn’t shop at McClatchy’s often. Instead, we bought at Mr. Tanaka’s store, the much smaller—and usually cheaper—Japantown Mercantile. But Dad had to order seed from McClatchy’s, and the Merc didn’t carry shoes.

Charlie popped open the passenger-side door and slid out. I hopped out after him. Charlie had half a foot on me, and my dismount was much less graceful. The cold pavement was hard, unyielding, as it met the worn soles of my toe-pinching shoes.

It was past time for a new pair. And now that I’d caught up to Kiki, both in height and shoe size, I wouldn’t have to make do with her hand-me-downs. But that made me feel even worse—why did I have to grow now, when money was so tight?

“C’mon,” Kiki said, taking my hand. As Kiki danced me toward the store entrance, Dad slammed the driver’s-side door, rattling the truck like its next ride might be its last. In the gray afternoon light, my father looked older than usual, his inky black hair spangled with gray.

“Remember, Kiki.” Dad’s eyebrows crashed together. “We must buy conservatively. This extra seed …” He peered at Charlie, but Charlie kept his face blank. The seed had to be bought. They’d sort out the money later.

Kiki didn’t dare argue, but when Dad looked away, her mouth shifted into a pout, and she dropped my arm. “We’re going to end up in clearance stock,” she whispered, and she trudged toward the store—if you could call the way Kiki moved trudging. Even sulking, she was graceful, and her ebony hair shone in the winter light.

I turned to the displays behind the sparkling windows. Each table was bedecked with Christmas luxuries: walnut-handled knives, mannequins draped in silk scarves, a shiny red bike with a gold bell.

But none of them were anything compared with the camera. The shiny chrome Leica sat in a cream velvet box next to its buttery-smooth leather case. I leaned against the window, my breath billowing into a cloudy heart on the glass.

The photos I could take with such a camera! I let my eyes fall on the thick white notecard propped against the velvet: Price Upon Request. I’d never make that request. But maybe someday, after Dad paid off the farm, after we got Charlie to college, maybe then I could get a new camera. Not a Leica, of course, but a Kodak or an Argus. If the crops did well …

I frowned. “If the crops do well” was Dad’s favorite answer for everything.

“You coming?” Kiki huffed. I tore my eyes from the Leica. Dad and Charlie had already gone inside, and Kiki stood holding the door open, one hand on her hip.

“Coming.” I gave the slim camera and its delicate chrome buttons one last look, then followed my sister into the store.

The store’s warm air engulfed me, and a bell tinkled as the door closed behind us. Dad and Charlie stood at a table at the far end of the store, looking through the seed catalogs. Without thinking, I turned to the checkout counter, where Beau usually worked after school and on weekends. He wasn’t there, but his father was. Behind the counter, Mr. McClatchy scolded a cashier. McClatchy was a big man, at least six feet four and solid. Compared with him, the bald clerk was tiny.

“Who are you looking for?” Kiki asked, a smug smile tugging at her lips as she followed my gaze to the counter.

I glanced around, and my eyes fell on a display of shoes near the window. I swooped over to it and held up a pair of black lace-ups. “What do you think of these?”

It worked. Kiki flew to the display. “They’re a little too blockish, aren’t they? But what about these?” She pulled a pair of blush suede pumps from their stand in the front of the display. “Look at the cunning little toes. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”

I checked the paper tag hanging from the “blockish” boots—six dollars and fifteen cents. “Goodness!” I blurted. My voice carried over the hum of the store. I glanced over at the counter, where McClatchy still lectured the cashier. Neither had noticed my outburst. “We won’t be getting those,” I whispered.

Kiki glanced over. “Too much? Well, I don’t really like them anyway.” Kiki rubbed her finger over the pale, velvety suede. “I suppose these wouldn’t do,” she said wistfully.

“No, I suppose they wouldn’t. Not for working on the farm.” I let the weight of my voice fall over her.

Kiki made a face. “If only Dad would let us go to Seattle. We could visit the department stores. Can you imagine? The Bon Marché—or Frederick and Nelson!” She turned to the rack of shoes in front of us, disgust etched over her fine features. “There are so few choices here.”

I didn’t say anything. Kiki could be vain and ridiculous, but arguing never got me anywhere. Besides, if we could afford it, I would have loved to buy pretty shoes—not pumps, but Oxfords or penny loafers or something just for school. I opened a new box and slipped a pair of olive Mary Janes out of their paper wrappings, fingering the bright brass buttons.

“Saa-aam, look who’s here.” Kiki’s voice curled smugly around each word. I glanced up. On the other side of the window, Beau got out of his Studebaker. He paused, gazing at our truck, then started toward the store doors.

I felt a small, not unpleasant lurch in my chest. But I kept my voice light. “We really should be looking at work boots,” I said, ignoring Kiki’s smirk. I laid the shoes back in their box.

The door opened, and the bell chimed. I let myself glance up as Beau strode in. “You’re late,” Mr. McClatchy called from the counter.

Beau’s cheeks were rosy from the cold, and I noticed that he held his trumpet slightly behind him, as if shielding it from his dad. “Just a little.” He fumbled with the handle of his case. “Rehearsal went a couple of minutes over.”

Mr. McClatchy scowled. The trumpet was everything to Beau, and as far as anyone on Linley could tell, he had the chops to make it in music. But Mr. McClatchy said it was a waste of time.

Beau scanned the store. His eyes landed on me. He stowed his trumpet under the counter and walked toward me.

I turned back to the shoes. My face burned. I wished Kiki wouldn’t tease me. It made it so much harder to act normal.

“Sam?” Beau’s voice wavered.

I slipped the shoebox back into place. “Hi, Beau.” Was my face as red as his?

“Hiya, Beau,” Kiki said, a devilish gleam in the corners of her eyes.

I gave Kiki a scathing look and pretended to browse the shelves, drifting a few feet away. Beau followed me.

“Hey, I got the feeling you might be kinda sore with me,” he said.

I hesitated. “Really?”

Beau looked up, and his blue eyes met mine. “You’re not?” Beau picked at a strip of cellulose tape left on the shelf. “’Cuz in civics class yesterday … I dunno. And then at lunch, you seemed mad.” Beau peeled the tape away from the shelf, taking a few specks of paint with it.

“I just had things on my mind.” I turned to the shoes and let my fingers stream over the rows. Had he really not noticed how awkward that class was for me? Or how uncomfortable lunch had been?

Beau nodded. “Okay. Good. Anyway, did you think about that contest?”

For a moment, I felt irritated. He was so eager to think everything was fine. But explaining would only make me feel bad again. And this was the moment I’d wanted yesterday at the beginning of civics.

“Yes.” I let myself grin. “I’m going to do it.”

Beau swelled. “Good. Do you have a photo you want to submit?”

I shook my head. “No. I know the shot I want to take. But I need to find a way to earn some money so I can buy film.”

Beau tilted his head. “I’ll give you some.”

I shook my head. “No. I can figure something out.”

Beau gave me a look, both exasperated and amused. “Just let me get you the film.” I was about to argue, when he added, “Look. If you want, we can call it your Christmas present.”

I bit my lip. There was nothing I’d want more. “Really?”

He nodded. “Absolutely. Let me bring it to you—say tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Okay.”

Beau’s eyes darted to the floor. “And maybe … There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” His voice dipped low. “Privately.”

My tongue felt fat and slow. “Privately?” What could he need to tell me? The unwanted thought of SueAnn came again into my mind, and my breathing quickened. Was he going to tell me they were official?

My stomach clenched. I didn’t want to know. But if I hoped to keep him as a friend, I had to let him tell me. “S-sure, okay.”

“Let’s meet at our spot,” Beau said, his voice going back to normal. “Say ten o’clock?”

I nodded.

“Swell.” Beau’s blue eyes bored into mine, and my heart crashed against my ribs. I was almost sure that tomorrow he would tell me he was going with another girl. And that would mean losing him, at least a little.

I took a deep breath and pretended to check the price tag on a pair of shoes that were much too large for either Kiki or me.

“Beau!” Mr. McClatchy called from the other side of the store.

Beau sighed. “All right. I’ll see you then, Ace.”

Ace. My feelings bubbled like froth on the shore.

Kiki glided up beside me, again holding the pink pumps. Her eyes glittered. “What was that all about?”

I swallowed. “Nothing.” Nothing, I repeated to myself, trying to bury my feelings. I turned to the shelves in front of me. Three rows of black lace-up work boots stood at attention, lined up from the largest to smallest. Aside from sizing, they were identical, as boring as they were useful. All I had to do was find the right size.

“Come on, Oneesan,” I said, using the Japanese word for “older sister,” something I only did when I was trying to sweet-talk Kiki. “You know these will be better for the farm. And”—I checked the price tag—“they’re less than half the price.”

Kiki groaned, but put down the pumps. “Someday I’m going to own at least four pairs of shoes. And I’ll tell you this—not one of them is going to be for working on the farm.”

“And yet somehow the farm will survive.” Kiki and I turned. Charlie stood behind us, grinning. Kiki stuck her tongue out, but that only made Charlie’s grin spread.

I laughed. I couldn’t help but adore Charlie—for my whole life, he’d been everything that Kiki wasn’t for me. He’d let me follow him all over the island, treating me like a favorite brother, taking me fishing and hunting and cliff-jumping even though I was four years his junior. He’d let me in on everything. Maybe that’s why I minded his secret so much now.

Charlie picked up a shoe, tossing it with his withered right hand. “Shoe hunt going badly?”

My lips twitched. “No, we’re doing great.”

“We’re doing okay,” Kiki huffed.

“It’s about time you got new shoes,” Charlie said, without a hint of regret over the money that wouldn’t go to his college fund. “Make sure the soles are real rubber. If we end up going to war, they might have to last the duration.”

I checked the soles and loosened the laces. Kiki grumbled under her breath as she did the same.

I slipped off my own battered shoes and pulled the boots over my feet. They were heavy, stiff with newness. I stomped around a few times, rocking back and forth, testing their fit against my heels and toes. Kiki bent down—a curl fell prettily over her frowning face—to check the leather toes of her pair.

“They’re perfect,” I said, pulling them off and tying the laces together.

“They’ll do,” Kiki sighed, gazing back at the pale pink heels.