2. Kat thrives on being the star of the show, and we both like it better that way.
I keep scanning the pages and find a picture of Kat executing a wicked serve as the star of the tennis team. Well, shewasthe star of the tennis team. Still would be, I guess, if she was staying around. They made it all the way to State last year, mostly because of her—and I cheered her on from the sidelines the whole way. I don’t really understand tennis, but I know that Kat was one of Kingfisher’s best players.
I quickly turn the page, refusing to mope—not when we’ve got such a fun night ahead of us. I can cry and wallow tomorrow after she leaves, and the day after that. In fact I’ve got a whole, lonely summer ahead of me.
Finally I find some photos of Kat and me together. We’re at the top of the Arts and Music page, holding up our creations from ceramics day in art class. Kat’s taller, with stick-straight white-blond hair that stands out way more than my auburn waves. She’s wearing her favorite pink skirt that’s too short for school but that she never got in trouble for, while I’m in my standard T-shirt and shorts. She’s holding up a bowl, and I’m holding… I think that was supposed to be a vase? I glance at my closet, wondering if it’s buried in there somewhere beneath shoes and stuffed animals I don’t sleep with anymore but can’t seem to get rid of.
We’re also in the STEM section, in action at our table for the science fair. The project (Why Do Some Marine Organisms Glow?) was my idea, but Kat did most of the talking—and this photo made the cut because she’s mid-sentence while explaining the bioluminescence phenomenon to the school principal. Since I’m the science geek, we initially agreed that I’d be the presenter, but after nervously stumbling over my words when the first judge stopped by, Kat thankfully took over.
My favorite picture is the one of us outside at lunch, laughing. Halfway through the year the head cafeteria lady came back from maternity leave suddenly obsessed with making the school menu healthier. Burgers were replaced with sweet-potato patties, and Breakfast-for-Lunch Day—which used to be my favorite because hello? Biscuits and gravy?—became oats with hard-boiled eggs.
The day this picture was taken was the first Turkey Dog Tuesday. (RIP, Taco Tuesday. We loved you.) The meat (I use that word loosely) was so dry and bland, we couldn’t eat it, and Kat tossed it into the trash.
“What’s Mrs. Yates thinking? That turkey is seriouslyfowl.” Kat froze with a ridiculous smile on her face, waiting for us to laugh. “Get it? ‘Fowl’ because turkey’s a bird?”
I burst out laughing, and we moved straight to that wheezing, silent laughter when one of the guys sitting with us said he still didn’t get it. The funniest part isn’t captured in the picture, but I’ll never forget it. We’d just caught our breath when Kat tried to make a gobble sound, and it was so ridiculous, I laughed hard enough that lemonade came out of my nose. Everyone else looked at us like we were crazy, but our friendship has always been like that—the two of us in our little bubble, us against the world.
“What’s so funny?”
I look up to find Kat in my bedroom doorway. She’s wearing a yellow sundress that goes perfectly with her hair, and a sheer white long-sleeved shirt tied around her waist.
I grin and hold up the yearbook. “Remember when you turned me into a human lemonade fountain?”
She laughs. “Who could forget?”
I set the book aside and stand up, smoothing the front of my favorite cutoff jean shorts. I considered wearing a dress tonight too—to pretend to be festive and celebratory for Kat’s last night in town, which is the opposite of how I feel—but in the end I decided to wear what I’m most comfortable in. Shorts, a tank top, and Birks. I’m nothing if not consistent.
“You sure you still want to go? How will you survive without Turkey Dog Tuesdays?” It’s totally too late for Kat to change her mind, but I wish she would. I put on my biggest, most convincing smile. “Fowl, yum.”
Kat theatrically puts a hand to her heart. “Don’t make this harder than it already is!” Then she adds in a more serious tone, “Being away from you is the part I might not survive. Promise me again we’ll text every day.”
Yes, Kat’s leaving me—and sooner than she even has to. Heritage Prep, the fancy school with the top-tier tennis program she’s moving to upstate New York for, doesn’t start until the fall. But her dad wants her to start working with the coaches early, or something.
It’s only June. Summer, the best time of the year, is just getting started.
And Kat won’t be here.
“I literally can’t remember a summer we didn’t spend together,” I say, turning away from her to squint out toward the ocean.Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, I tell myself. Am I lucky that this feels like the worst thing that’s ever happened to me? Probably, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I catch her reflection in the window, and except for when she first broke the news that she’d be heading west several months early, this is the first time I see her look really sad. I know she’s excited about her new adventure, and I don’t blame her. Still, it’s nice to see proof that she’ll miss me, and I rotate back toward her for a quick hug.
“Forget I said that. No crying.”
“Okay, okay.” She sniffs and nods. “So, what do you wanna do tonight?”
I step back and rub my hands together. We’re getting a later start than I’d like, but I can’t blame Kat’s mom for wanting her to have one last dinner at home. “I’ve got it all planned out—all our favorite spots. A sunset selfie, the swings, and ice cream on the pier. Then we’ll come back here for movies and popcorn. But first? We go to the beach by the dunes. Like we used to, remember?”
She grins. “That sounds perfect.”
I hold up my phone and wiggle it. “Plus, I made us a playlist. An absolutely perfect masterpiece.”
“Of course you did,” Kat says with a good-natured eye roll. I have a playlist for just about everything. Now that I think about it,that’swhat should have been in the yearbook:
AMELIAMADDEN
BEST ATCURATING THEPERFECTPLAYLIST
I grab my favorite sweatshirt—oversized, gray, with “CAPE COD” embroidered in big navy-blue letters—and my tote bag containing my purple instant camera, and call out to my mom as we head through the back door, letting her know we’re leaving. I don’t wait for her reply as we step into the cool sea air. It’s June and not super warm yet, and when the sun goes down, it’ll cool off even more. The light chill on my skin feels good, but I can’t wait for that first hot summer day.
