Page 10 of Summer's Echo
“Chicago Chicago or thesaditty suburbs?” I teased, carefully enunciating my last words for effect.
He froze mid-sweep and shot me a look so sharp you’d think I’d insulted his mama. “Chicago Chicago,” he blurted, adding an unmistakable firmness to his tone. “Southside, you know what I’m saying.” His voice dropped a little, the bass almost daring me to challenge him. “What do you know about Chicago anyway?” His gaze locked on mine.
“My daddy,” I shot back.
He shrugged confusedly. “Okay…your daddy what?”
“He’s from Chicago…Southside, too. The ghetto,” I said, lowering my voice dramatically.
He leaned against the desk, his tongue idly running over that damn lip again, while we allowed the silence to brush over us like a soft, well-worn blanket. We were the only two people in the room, but right then, it felt like we were the only people left in the world.
“Um,why did y’all move to St. Louis?” I asked, feeling a bit of nervous energy creep into my voice.
He jerked, almost as if I’d broken him from a trance, his eyes refocusing on me. “My dad got a new job at the university,” Echo responded, hanging the broom on a hook.
“Um,which one? There’s more than one, ya know,” I teased.
“My bad,” he said. “Washington University. He’s a professor. Mathematics.”
“Oh, so he’s smart smart,” I joked.
Echo snickered, nodding. “Yeah, I guess you can say that. What about your parents?” he asked, curiosity brightening his face as he hopped on top of the desk.
“My dad retired from the Navy, and now he owns an auto repair shop and fixes up old cars. My mom is an office manager at a real estate office.”
For a second, I felt a little embarrassed. His dad was a college professor, and mine hadn’t even gone to college. But I shrugged it off. My parents worked hard, and my brother and sisters and I never lacked anything.
“That’s pretty cool,” Echo said, and to my surprise, he seemed like he meant it.
I nodded. We wandered around the room for a minute, neither of us really wanting to end this question-and-answer session. “What about your mom?” I asked after a moment.
He shook his head, a faint shadow passing over his expression. “She doesn’t really work anymore. We moved so much, it was hard for her to keep a job.” His voice was quiet, edged with something unspoken.
I nodded, offering a small understanding nod, sensing it was best to let it go.
“What do you think of St. Louis so far?” I asked.
He shrugged, glancing down at his Carolina-blue-and-white Jordans. “I haven’t seen much of it yet. We only moved about a month ago, and my room is barely unpacked,” he said.
His voice was missing its usual edge of confidence, replaced by something subdued—resignation, maybe. I sensed he wasn’t thrilled about the move, but he was trying to play it cool. I didn’t miss the quiet frustration, though.
“That’s gotta be tough. Leaving your friends, your school…your senior year,” I said, my voice rising with each word as I imagined myself in his place.
He let out a long breath, his mind clearly drifting to some faraway place. “Yeah, man, don’t remind me.” Echo’s tone was low, almost resigned, then he shrugged, trying to brush it off. “It is what it is, though.” But the way his voice trailed off told me it wasn’t as simple as that. I found myself just watching him—this boy who had left behind his whole life to start over… again. He tried to wear a mask of indifference, but I saw something else—a quiet, reluctant strength that tugged at my heartstrings.
In that moment, I wanted to be his friend. I wanted to show him that St. Louis could be more than just another stop on his journey—that maybe, one day, he could find a reason to love it, a reason to call it home.
Chapter Six
Echo
That One Summer in 2004
Another couple of weeks with Summer and I working together with the Creative Crew, she’d finally eased up a little and let me take the lead during class a few times. It felt good to do what I loved, especially since we had the right software now. I’d been itching to start teaching the computer drafting class, and it was worth the wait. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of donors Camp Quest had on their side because each kid had their own tablet to create their projects. That kind of luxury would’ve never been available at my old camp.
Even Summer seemed excited to learn some of the techniques I was teaching the campers, which was a miracle in itself. It felt like we’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Every morning, we had breakfast with the same group of counselors before walking to the art room together. By lunchtime, the vibe was the same—easy, like we’d been doing this forever. Like clockwork, I’d casually toss out a flirty line or two, just to watch her eyes roll in that way only she could, or she’d hit me with her best hard-to-get mean girl act. And then there were those damn dimples, caving in despite her effort to play tough. I knew she secretly loved our playtime. I know I did. We ended every class the same way to—our game of questions. Each round pulled us closer without either of us wanting to admit it.
After class today, we walked our campers to the quad where ice cream was being served. Instead of hanging with the other counselors, we took a walk, drifting toward one of the wooden swings near the lodges. We sat side by side, swaying while she enjoyed an ice cream sandwich, while I ate a Drumstick.
