There’s something about summer. Maybe it’s the way the sun casts shadows on the grass as the evening draws near, or how the world echoes with a sort of laughter that is embedded in your mind forever and ever. For me, it’s the memories of all the good times. When everything was simpler. The way I remember it, last summer was perfect. Or almost perfect.
I woke up early on a Saturday (or was it a Saturday? Everyday feels like Saturday in summer), to the sound of pancakes sizzling on a hot pan. I walked to my closet and found some old jean shorts and a T-shirt with a giant anchor emblem on it.
“Good morning, sweetie.” My mom’s head popped into my room as I slid on some green socks.
“Mornin’, Mom.” I grabbed the hairbrush off my dresser and swept my shoulder-length hair into a messy ponytail. “Have you seen my sunglasses?”
“Downstairs,” she said with a chuckle, “where you always leave them. Where are you going today?”
“Duckie and I are going to ride our bikes to the park. Then he’ll play basketball, and I’ll drink a smoothie and dance to my summer playlist.”
“Like usual? Home before dinner?”
“Like usual, agreed.” I nodded and gave my mom a firm handshake.
And with that, I was out the door, already playing my summer playlist on my mini speaker. I grabbed my bike from the garage, threw the speaker and a bag of pancakes in the basket, and pedaled, as fast as I could, to Duckie’s house.
Duckie is not a duck. He’s my best friend, and his real name is Levi. But when he was little, when we met, he was carrying this stuffed duck, and when I asked him what his name was, he got confused and confidently shrieked, “Duckie!” I still call him that. Or, I did, that summer.
The wind whipped my hair into my eyes as I pedaled. When I reached Duckie’s street, he was already on his bike, circling around the cul-de-sac, attempting to do some sort of trick.
“Took you long enough,” he said when I reached him.
“Hey, I wasn’t that late.”
“It’s all about punctuality,” he said.
I snorted. “Yeah, sure.”
Duckie grinned and rang the bell on his bike.
We rode on the sidewalk the three blocks to the park, talking about our plans for the summer. My mini-speaker played joyful tunes, and Duckie sang along. This was it. Everything was perfect.
Every time I relive that memory in my mind, I struggle to recall exactly what we talked about, or what music was playing, or the names of the streets we rode down. All I remember is the feeling of the warm sun on my back, and the smell of fresh cut grass, and the light breeze rustling in the trees. This summer isn’t like that. Everything’s different now. And I don’t know if I’m ever going to have another perfect summer.
Where on Earth is my other shoe? I wondered, as I flung boots and sneakers across the floor.
“Zo, what are you doing?” My mom stood in the mudroom doorway, holding a bagel in one hand and her purse in the other.
“I’m looking for my other pink shoe!”
“Just wear the black ones,” my mom said, sighing.
“They aren’t the same.”
A lot had changed since last summer. Now I went to a different school than Duckie and all of my old friends. My mom got a new job as a manager at the souvenir shop, and she was never at home anymore. Dad had never been home much anyway, as he worked long hours and was often gone on business trips.
“I have to go,” she said, patting my messy hair down. “Don’t forget to–”
“Close the patio door when I leave,” I finished. “I know.”
“Dishes are in the sink,” she called through a mouthful of bagel as she disappeared into the garage.
I quickly shut the patio door and laced up my one pink shoe. I looked around. No other shoe. I glanced down and saw a pink sneaker shoved under the corner of the black wire boot basket. After donning both shoes, I slipped out the front door, where my bicycle was waiting for me, leaning against the side of the house. This summer, I always rode down to main street to get a smoothie from Brook & Bean.
Brook & Bean was a new coffee and smoothie shop next to the library, and they served the best strawberry lemon smoothie. It tasted like sunshine and sweetness.
As I rode down the sidewalk, I saw a familiar face with a familiar grin.
“Duckie!” I called. Duckie was riding around in his cul-de-sac with another boy our age. I pedaled closer and skidded to a stop in the cul-de-sac.
“Hey,” he said with a small smile. He looked cool now. It was weird.
“Hi Duckie,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty good,” he said. He didn’t ask me how I was doing. He just looked at me like he didn’t know who I was. I suddenly felt very aware of my brown bear t-shirt and too-short leggings.
“We should hang out sometime,” I said.
“Yeah.” Duckie gestured to his friend. “This is Jonah from school.”
“Nice to meet you, Jonah from school,” I said, giving the other boy a mock salute. He nodded slightly. “Oh, I’m Zoe. I live down the street. Well, down the other street. I’m sort of a celebrity around here, I’m sure Duckie has told you all about me.”
There was an awkward pause. And a blank stare. Why did I say that? A trickle of sweat ran down my neck.
“Okay, well, I should probably go,” I said, feeling the awkwardness of the moment settle over me like an itchy sweater. I turned my bike around.
“Wait,” Duckie said. I turned back to him. Yes, I would love to hang out with you and your new friend! “Can you call me Levi, please?”
My heart sank to the bottom of my chest. Levi? He was Duckie! He was always Duckie! That was our thing!
“Yeah. Sure.” I pedalled away without looking back, ignoring the sound of the laughter behind me as Jonah did some sort of trick Levi thought was cool. I felt a bitter taste in my mouth and a lump crawling up my throat. My heart ached with the realization that Duckie was forever dead.
It all comes rushing back. The laughter and the sunshine. The feeling of the grass under my feet as I chased my best friend around the park, trying to get my bike helmet back.
“Duckie, give it back!” I was laughing so hard my side ached.
“Try and catch me,” he sang. “If you can, slowpoke!”
“Nobody calls Zoe Mitchell names!” I screamed.
“I just did!”
Duckie fell onto the grass dramatically, gasping for air.
“I win!” I said, grabbing the helmet from his hands and placing it on my bike.
“I want a snack.” Duckie looked at me with a fake pout.
“You just stole my helmet, why should I give you a snack?” I grabbed the pancakes from my bike basket and plopped down in the grass next to him.
“Pancake?” he asked. I begrudgingly flung him a pancake. He caught it and shoved it into his mouth.
“No syrup?” he whined, spitting crumbs everywhere. “Lame.”
I laughed, my voice echoing in my mind. I would never forget this moment.
“Give me your phone,” Duckie said, wiping his hands on his shirt.
“Why?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you gonna run around with it again?”
“No, I’m going to take a video, and see how many pancakes I can eat before I puke. Today will be ‘Pancake Day!’ It will be a tradition.”
“You just want pancakes again.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened the camera.
“Maybe!” Duckie took my phone, put it in selfie mode, and started filming. “It’s Duckie here with a pancake eating tutorial.”
I snorted, holding out the bag of pancakes. “For those of you who don’t know how to eat a pancake. Duckie’s an expert.”
“Aw, you don’t mean that,” Duckie said, swatting the air playfully. He grabbed a pancake, then another, from the stack, and placed them in his mouth. “Watch the technique,” he said, his mouth full. “It’s an art.”
“That is disgusting.” I made a face at the camera, and Duckie grinned, his teeth full of pancake. He grabbed another, and chewed all three pancakes before swallowing.
“Ewww,” I said. Then I laughed. I remember laughing like that. I was light and free in those days.
Duckie stood up, still holding my phone. He reached out his hand. I handed him a pancake.
“Watch and learn,” he said. He threw the pancake high into the air and caught it in his mouth. “Your turn!”
I opened my mouth. He tossed the next pancake above my head. I positioned myself for the landing until suddenly…
PLOP.
The pancake landed on my forehead.
“Uh, Zo?” Duckie deadpanned, pointing the phone at me. “You’ve got a little something on your face.”
“I was close,” I said, peeling the pancake from my face. “I basically caught it.”
Duckie paused the video. I don’t remember the rest of that day. We probably biked home, and I probably charged my mini-speaker. Maybe Dad made burgers on the grill, and Duckie stayed until dessert, when he went home to play board games with his sister.
Then I went to bed happy. Tomorrow would be another perfect day.