Page 99 of The Summers of Us

The sun sets pinkon our familiar Sapphire Beach Boardwalk, the final flicker of the day holding out to let us admire the summer silhouette. The line that cuts the ocean from the sky fades into dusk.

Now teeming with neon lights, carnival dings, and a boisterous Ferris wheel blinking in morse code, it’s a wonderland of woozy food, woozier rollercoasters, and the wooziest thrum in my chest.

Old gum splatters on the wooden planks. Or brand-new gum, stomped completely black in one day, depending on who you ask. The boy I would ask walks next to me, his hands in his pockets, his face glowing in the lights.

I find freedom in the wind blowing against my skin.

When the photo booth comes into view, spontaneity courses through my veins. It feels like the moment was gifted to me from Hadley somewhere in the stars in response to the sand dollar.

“Let’s go to the photo booth!” I grab Everett’s hand, pull us in there as quickly as my ankle allows after I finally rested it this afternoon. For the first time this summer, I am the carefree, silly, happy girl from last summer.

Behind the curtain, Everett and I wedge onto the bench. It’s so small that I have to sit sideways. I’m already facing him when the camera starts to count down. I grab the side of his neck, whisper into his ear, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Hm?” he whispers when the first flash goes off.

I smile, press our foreheads together during the second flash. The universe trapped in his eyes expands. A million galaxies work to steady my heart about to explode.

“I’m not scared anymore.” I pull his face to mine.

The universe rips at its soft, fabric seams when I kiss Everett Bishop.

Everett cups my cheek, sinks deeper into the kiss. Our noses jump over each other’s. I pull his shirt into my palms and bring him closer to me. I didn’t think this space could feel any tighter, didn’t think kissing could feel so much like floating in outer space.

He pulls back first, stares at me, his smile curled up on one side. I’m already staring back at him.

We leave the photo booth like nothing happened, but there’s no denying it when the photo booth spits the photo strip onto the sandy wooden planks.

Four photos, memorialized in black and white, progressively blurrier smudges of hands and cheeks, two smiles pursed into one another. Sharp jaws, forehead kisses, closed eyes—a rollercoaster of emotions on our faces, all landing softly at the end.

Sometime during the slow unfurling of nerves, the long taffy pull of our kiss, two more photos were taken. The lightbulb burned our second kiss into forever.

I look up at Everett, feeling the blend of guilt and softness and anticipation that normal people call love. “I’m sorry I was scared for so long.”

“Quinn.” He wraps his hand around my neck, stroking his thumb on the bit of skin in front of my ear. “Nothing matters but right now.”

Everett lifts me to the balls of my feet for another kiss.

Beyond the secret cloak of the photo booth, in the bright, beautiful world, Everett and I kiss away six summers of guilt and softness and anticipation.

Just like that, the anti-gravity feeling rushes back—the weightlessness I only feel outside of fear’s evil grasp.

In the breathless air after, he takes my hand in his, lets them dangle at our sides. He brushes fallen strands of my hair behind my ear. “I wanted it like this.”

New spontaneity takes over this time: the first bite of cotton candy, the stuffed animal in the crane that empties your wallet, the will-they-or-won’t-they dance of the carousel horses.

The idea spills out like sunset. I point to Tsunami, lightbulbs tracing its curves against the navy-blue sky. “Let’s go ride it.”

“Really?”

“I would love to ride Tsunami with you,” I want to say.

“I would love to ride Tsunami with you,” I do say.

We run hand in hand toward the line, kicking dust in the face of old fears, old times. Our armsstretch out to hug new worlds, new opportunities.

Tsunami won’t be our first rollercoaster ride.

Nor will it be our last.

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