A swoony, patriotic romance with Gilmore Girls charm—follow First Daughter Abby as she dives into a summer of surprises, small-town magic, and sparks with the boy who shakes up her world. What if the person who turns your world upside down is exactly who you're meant to find? All First Daughter Abby Alzona wanted was one normal night. But one impulsive pizza order later, she’s front-page news—and officially exiled to a Wi-Fi-free country inn for the summer, along with her little sister Elle. The inn belongs to Gabriel Calabrese’s family: he’s sarcastic, camera-obsessed, and definitely not dazzled by presidential perks (also, kind of the reason for the whole pizza fiasco). But Abby’s determined to make the most of her time away from the White House—with a summer bucket list full of things real teens get to do. Pool parties. Picnics. Maybe even a first kiss. As she and Elle dive into small-town life, Abby starts to see what makes Gabriel tick. And maybe, just maybe, she’s falling for him. . . . "Dador’s YA debut is a cozy romance that thoughtfully explores community, familial expectations, and living for oneself. A charming summer romance full of fireworks and sweet moments." — Kirkus Reviews As a former wedding planner who works in government relations, Celeste brings her love of romance and public service to her stories. She’s an active member of SCBWI and was a semi-finalist on the pilot episode of America’s Next Great Author. Celeste, like most of her main characters, is proudly Filipino American. Stars, Stripes & Summer Nights is her debut young adult novel. Chapter 1 “Smokeshow” and “hot guy” are phrases you don’t typically hear during Mom’s work parties, but of course my sister missed that memo years ago. Fortunately, we’re in the privacy of my upstairs bedroom, away from spying eyes and gossip-hungry ears. I lower my phone, where my feed shows most of my classmates at end-of-the-school-year parties. Not me. I’m mentally preparing myself to keep an eye on the “rambunctious” member of the family. My head tilts sharply as I beckon my little sister away from my bedroom’s second-floor window. The royal-blue curtain, which Mom’s designer selected, provides a stark contrast to Elle’s sparkly citrine-yellow ball gown, the gown she and Mom eventually compromised on. Since I’m the “dependable” one, no one had to weigh in on my dress. My white-gloved hands flatten my lavender sheath dress against my thighs—very Jane Austen meets Jackie O. It’s classic and maybe a little predictable, but I prefer playing it safe. A stubborn strand of my sister’s brown hair has fallen from her updo. “Tsk tsk,” I say as I tuck it back into place for the millionth time. Oblivious, Elle continues to talk about the “hottie” outside like a reporter live on the scene. I sigh. Freshman year has turned my sister boy crazy. To her, the “American dream” refers to a cute guy. For the rest of my family, it’s what everyone in this country deserves. I force all five feet, two inches of myself to stand tall. “Young lady”—my voice is overly crisp and clipped as I impersonate our mom—“you mean attractive and smart .” Elle smirks as she fans herself with her neon-green nails, a color she picked despite my repeated suggestions for Essie’s Ballet Slippers—my go-to pale pink. “Nope. I definitely mean smokeshow,” she says. “Smokeshow? Hay naku. Is something burning?” I throw up my hands, this time imitating Mom’s sister Tita Karra’s sonorous accent when she slips into Tagalog to scold us. Elle’s giggle is my reward. Only Elle knows that imitating voices is my thing. I’ve got several governors and many of our teachers down pat. Impersonations are one of the few things that have gotten her—and if I’m being honest, also me—through the years and years of monotonous VIP functions. I wrestle Elle’s sequined dress straps back into place; she was too busy with her amateur red-carpet fashion analysis of our guests to notice. “Hold on,” I protest as she turns away. “He might be gone,” Elle groans as she rushes back to my window to press her nose against it. My pearl earrings jostle as I shake my head at my sister. “Like I said, total hottie,” Elle continues. “Loving the dark wavy hero hair. And sweet! Are those Chuck Taylors with his tux?” Exhaling loudly, I stand behind her and follow her gaze, where guests in predictable black tie and grand ball gowns parade about our manicured lawn below. It’s a perfect June evening, meant for showing off the historic grounds of our home under the star-spangled night sky—but most guests aren’t stopping to smell the fragrant flowers in our rose garden, they’re rushing to get inside to the party instead. “None of these guests strikes me as hot unless balding and boring is your thing,” I say. She huffs. “He must be inside already. I’ll find him when we get downstairs.” My cheeks flush. That’s the last thing I want her to do. An awkward encounter with one of Mom’s VIP guests orch