My Personal Book Collections

25 August 1981.

The wind blew hard, whipping Newport Harbour 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. “Please, Dana? Come on, you tough us right! What good are sailing lessons if we can’t handle a little chop?”

“What do you think?” Dana asked, glancing across the Boston Whaler.