Page 37 of The Summers of Us

“I heard she foundtwo,” he whispered.

We gasped so loudly Mrs. Ainsworth probably heard from her widow’s walk. It spilled into a fit of laughter so loud that Iknewshe heard it. I hoped it helped her miss her husband less.

We stood where the waves stole shells from the shoreline, where the sand looked like coffee grounds. How long would it take the sand to swallow us whole? Probably an hour, maybe thirty minutes. During the rewind of a wave, a litany of coquina clams showed themselves before they shimmied away from the sunlight.

“Is that the shell on your necklace?” Everett asked.

I nodded. “They’re called coquinas.”

“Where do the holes come from?”

“Moon snails. The clams close up when they get scared, so the moon snail drills a tiny hole in the shell and sucks the clam right out, Matilda Ainsworth style.” I touched my necklace, felt its coolness on my fingertips. “Then the shells are left behind, ready to make necklaces with.” I’d checked out a few books about shells during trips to the library with Blair and Hadley. I had to know more about the shells I carried like summer around my neck all year round. “So, technically I’m wearing a crime scene around my neck and calling it summer.”

He laughed. “The best kind of summer.” He picked up one with a hole in it. Coral lines orbited it like Saturn’s rings, its underbelly the color of rose quartz. “It’s hard to believe something died in this.”

“Well, that’s life. Sometimes ugly things happen and leave beautiful things behind.” I shrugged and studied the shell in his palm. “It’s nice.”

He looked at me. I couldn’t read the expression in his face, but then he shrugged and put the shell in his pocket.

A patch of seagulls flew overhead, then landed halfway between us and the pier. I wanted nothing more than to disturb their peace, run as fast as my feet would let me, watch them fly away.

“Tag, you’re it!” I tagged Everett, then took off.

The wind blew through my hair, sending blonde strands down a trackless rollercoaster. I whipped around mid-run, catching a glimpse of Everett taking off for me and the seagulls. The seagulls were farther away than they looked, a mirage against the flat, dark sand. This scene demanded a flowy white dress and long, wispy hair. I didn’t have either, but I did have my legs and breathless laughter and my hair clipped at my shoulder blades but still flying. I ran open-armed across the sand where the wind and sun and salt air opened their arms back for me.

For us.

For the sun that pecked at everything. For whatever that feeling in my chest was when I looked at Everett. I screamed and refocused my attention on the path ahead. The seagulls took off like an explosion across the sky, splitting before our very eyes, gone in an instant.

I let him catch up, spinning on sandy heels. He tagged me but miscalculated his force, sending us both tumbling down to the sand, like dandelion puffs in the air after the wind made a wish. We were dizzy and out of breath and smiling at each other on the same patch of cold, itchy sand. It was still early summer, so the heat hadn’t yet killed all the things that swayed thin in the air like dandelions.

Did the wind wish for love or joy or stability?

Would I have wished for the same things?

“What’s something nobody knows about you?”Everett asked.

The bike trail was alive with the magic of a summer night. Insects chirped from the canopied trees. A purple sky peered through the leaves. The air pressed like cool oyster shells against our skin. After golden hour at the beach turned to twilight, it was time to head back home. We grabbed our bikes, but neither of us bothered to hop on. We set off on foot from Ocean Drive to the dark, secretive bike trail.

We weren’t likely to beat the streetlights home, but I’d tell Blair we lost track of time.

I didn’t feel like talking to the wind this time.

Not with Everett walking beside me.

“Summer is the only time I really feel alive,” I said casually, like I wasn’t baring my soul.

“I think I already knew that.” He laughed. “You’re like if summer were a person.”

I laughed, embracing the feeling of summer, warm and endless in my wake. Clammy air, purple twilight, insect songs. “Then my plan is working.”

He smiled. “I love summer, too.”

Then my plan isreallyworking. “What else do you like?”

His eyes left mine and focused on the winding trail ahead. This was serious business, talk of grander things than summer itself. “Standing ovations.” He snickered like that was supposed to sound silly. “And then when the applause starts to sound like something entirely different.”

Today our only applause was the buzz coming from the trees, cheering for two teens about to miss curfew but slowly meandering anyway. “I like when people crack their knuckles before they do something important.”

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