Page 40 of The Summers of Us

Watching Hadley be so unapologetically herself made me want to take lessons about the waysof the world from a six-year-old. Watching her was like opening up a fortune cookie and finding some way to shape its words into my life. My first fortune would be:Laugh at yourself.After that would come a million more:

Don’t worry about other people.

Find happiness in small things.

Don’t be so stupid.

It was simple. So simple, really, that it was all a six-year-old knew. I was just like her when I was six, because there was nothing else to be—no reason not to live by those simple rules. But with growing up came the reality that fortunes weren’t all pink. You found it harder to live life so carefree. You got stained by blackened fortunes that dictated the rest of your existence.

You didn’t have a dad to spend July and August with.

Your dad was sober—not from alcohol, but fromyou. Only you didn’t think fourteen-year-olds could be vices.

You said a stupid, mean thing to your friend at a jellyfish tank. You ruined a beautiful, blue moment when all he was doing was being nice.

Of course he was being nice. It was what he did. According to Haven during off-season phone calls, he couldn’t stop talking about you. He was excited to see you again this summer.

According to Haven, helike-liked you.

That thought presented itself as some fortune you’d wish you hadn’t cracked open, because that meant you had to open up another that said:

Youlike-liked your friend back.

That couldn’t happen. Too many fortunes before had made that clear.

Hadley ran across the yard with the book of constellations. I smiled and held my hand out for the book. She was out of breath, sitting next to me with her cheek all sweaty on my arm.

“What’s a constellation?” I pointed to the constellation on the cover, quizzing her from last night’s bedtime read and all the ones before.

“Star shapes in the sky!”

“That’s right. Good job!” I flipped to the first page.

At this point, I could read it with my eyes closed, but I kept them open to watch the glittery stars wink at us in the sun. Hadley traced each one with her finger.

With each passing page, I told the story of Orion, how his hunting ego got him trapped in the galaxy for eternity. The Big Dipper and Little Dipper and their constellations, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, who lived in the stars as the mistresses of Zeus, cursed into bears.

Hadley’s favorite part was next: the zodiac constellations. I read through all twelve, stopping at the Gemini page to remind Hadley that Haven and Holden were Geminis who were real twins, just like the constellation. She always smiled at the coincidence.

I reread her favorite page, the one about Sagittarius’s life as a centaur named Chiron. He spent his life teaching archery. One day, he was accidentally shot by a poisonous arrow and chose to trade his immortality with Prometheus, who was doomed to a life of suffering for his own crimes. In return for his generosity, Zeus turned him into the stars we saw today, allowed to spend eternity without suffering.

Hadley looked up at me. “That’s my zodiac.”

“Thatisyour zodiac.” I smiled and tapped my finger on her nose, right above her Kool-Aid mustache. “He is a lot like you. Smart and kind.”

“This is yours.” She paged back to Scorpio which she found only because she memorized the shape of the constellation. “You protected everyone from Orion’s meanness.”

“You’re welcome.” I laughed. Was being compared to a murderous scorpion a good thing?

“Thank you!” An idea spread across Hadley’s face. “We should draw us on the driveway!”

She ran in again for sidewalk chalk. I flipped back to Sagittarius just as she returned. We covered the driveway with shapes from the sky. They looked good—so good, in fact, that I hoped they looked down happy to see themselves reflected in our jagged driveway.

We ended up drawing every constellation in the book, then I challenged Hadley to a game of tag around the driveway sky. When we ran ourselves tired, we lay in the grass, squinting up at Scorpio and Sagittarius, invisible behind the day sky.

On our way back into the house for an afternoon nap, we picked some weeds from the front yard. But to us, weeds were not weeds, just misunderstood flowers perfect for a windowsill.

We were lying on a blanketoutsideunder a band of stars.

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