Page 61 of The Summers of Us

come outside

An ominous text if from anyone other than Haven, but this must be related to our itinerary. Instead of replying, I slide my sandals on to find her in her golf cart idling in my driveway. There’s no time to recluse with Haven on my side.

“Pinky promise this will be worth your time.” Haven’s still in her bikini from a surf lesson earlier, her hair choked into a claw clip four sizes too small. From her earlobes hang small earrings she made last week when she found two fraternal red scallops.

I buckle in. “It better be. I was about to have another one of my shelling dreams.”

“What shell?”

“A sand dollar as big as my hand.”

After eight whole summers, now on my ninth, I’ve still never found one. Haven has two on her dresser, which she credits to the freezing winter mornings on the beach she and Jorge brave in the off season.

Haven takes us on the back road that runs parallel to the sound. It’s my favorite stretch of the bike route we established as kids. We zoom past lawn ornaments we used to give silly names to, string lights making shapes of people’s balconies, and mine and Blair’s favorite book mailbox.

Past a small bridge over a patch of marsh, Haven slows as we reach our destination.

The exterior of Sunset Scoop is a bright pink, like someone dropped bubblegum ice cream on the roof to melt in the sweltering heat. I’m half tempted to play the game Blair taught me—get as many free samples as I can before they refuse—but I know what I want today.

Once we both order, we sit at a picnic table in the light of the neon sundae sign. Haven sets down a paper bowl overflowing with ice cream scoops.Try all the flavors at Sunset Scoop, one of her itinerary ideas.

“How many flavors have you had so far?”

She conducts roll call with her spoon. “Pistachio, triple fudge brownie, snickerdoodle, and coconut crunch, so this will make 27. I’ll have to cut into my college savings soon.”

I slide my cotton candy scoop across the table. “Make it 28.”

“How’d you know that’s why I brought you?”

I stick my tongue out at her.

“Now tell me what’s going on with you and Everett.”

I shove the spoon into the center of my ice cream scoop to ignore what hearing his name makes my chest do. “You brought me out here to eat my ice creamandinterrogate me?”

She takes an innocent bite of my cotton candy. “No.”

I sharpen my eyes at her.

Finally, she shrugs her shoulders in defeat and rests her chin on inquisitive hands. “Fine. Everett was moody today when he came by to work out with Holden, so I figured something must have happened between you two.”

Haven’s my best friend, so even though all of me doesn’t want to talk about it, I explain everything to her. From my drunken blunder upstairs at Everett’s, to the very problem with me considering it a drunken blunder, to my unplanned sleepover, unplanned nightmare, and then Everett coming to and leaving the pier before the sun rose.

“Good for him.” She cups her hand over her mouth, eyes widened. “Sorry, but itisnice to see him put his foot down.”

“No, I know.”

“So, what’s the problem? Why couldn’t you just kiss him while the sun rose? That shit’s romantic and you know he wanted to.”

“I don’t know.” I groan with my head in my hands. “Everything was so fresh after my nightmare, and it feels like I’m living the same old story over again.”

She throws an assured hand in the space between us, lets it do the talking. “One time, when I was much wiser than I am now, I told you something that I thought would stick. Remember?”

Of course I do. She knows this too, but it’s more fun for her to play a part. “I deserve a rollercoaster,” I say like a mantra one begrudgingly tells a mirror.

“God, I was so smart, what happened?”

“You aremuchsmarter now.” I smirk around my spoon to play my own part. I don’t have to say his name; she knows what I mean.

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