Summer Doesn't Last Forever

by Magdalene G. Jones

  “Good one,” Amias whispers in my ear.

  I look over my shoulder and grin, “Thanks.”

  He winks and keeps watching. The slideshow ends with a picture of a wave splashing over angry me, and Drew’s grinning face breaking through the water. Everyone laughs. I stick out my bottom lip.

  “They didn’t choose the one of me pushing you in,” I pout to Amias.

  “I guess they decided the fire extinguisher picture humiliated me enough.”

  My lips twitch.

  “Well, I think we can all agree on the most creative team,” Jeff steps forward. “Ryan and crew, come on up!”

  My team cheers and runs up to receive our fake medals. We watch with laughter as each group wins an element of the game. And finally, the ultimate winners—Abi, Lena, and Rachelle’s boyfriend’s team—are awarded their cringy trophy. Rachelle’s boyfriend tries to give it to her, and we all laugh as she whacks him with it. We laugh harder when he pecks her cheek, and she whacks him again—harder—, with a pointed glance at the leaders.

  Yes. I look around the room. My eyes fall again on Amias. He raises his medal in salute. I chuckle and scrunch up my face at him. Yes, I’m glad I came.

  Chapter Six: The Impromptu Party

  A few more days pass and little changes. We keep playing. Keep praying. Keep causing small amounts of trouble because Maya is indeed in our bungalow, and there is sometimes no stopping her. But there’s more joy and excitement in this routine than I have experienced in years. There’s nothing better than homey, ordinarily-extraordinary adventures.

  I follow Drew and Genevieve into the “cafeteria” and the explosion of noise and chatter. I nod my thanks to Drew as he holds the door for me.

  “So then,” I continue my story, raising my voice to be heard, “my friend, Adam, shoves me into the pool. He is brutally reprimanded by his mother, while I attempt to dry off. Moral of the story, don’t wear jeans if you are going to a pool with ten-year-old boys around. And best friends are formed from weird circumstances.”

  Drew chuckles, “Nice.”

  “You should’ve expected to become friends with Amias then,” Genevieve grabs a plate and hops in line.

  I restrain a wince at the word “friends” and the reminder of our . . . unique meeting.

  “What?” Drew glances between us.

  “Ohhh,” Genevieve smirks. “You didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?” Amias joins us.

  “Nothing!” I slap a hand over Genevieve’s mouth. “Bad roommate. Don’t give out personal stories.”

  “My apologies,” Genevieve smirks under my palm.

  She moves my hand, and I relent. There’s a moment of select silence as noise rings from everywhere except our little group. Drew and Amias frown in confusion. We step up to the food, filling our plates.

  “So, Amias,” Genevieve starts amiably and then finishes in a rush. “How did you meet Tarni?”

  “Genevieve!” I whirl away from the salad bar.

  Amias laughs, winking at me, “I’m hurt, Tarni. You haven’t told anyone about our perfect meeting.”

  I can’t help it. I stick my tongue out at him. He laughs again, gesturing that I need to push my glasses back on my nose. I make a pouty face but do as he suggests.

  “Just because we are friends doesn’t mean it’s not embarrassing.”

  “Oh, I know. You are too easily embarrassed to let that go for a long while.”

  My pout deepens, and Amias shakes his head.

  “This make you feel better?” He bends his knees, planting his chin on my shoulder.

  I give him a withering glare, but he ignores it.

  “Let me set the scene for you,” he looks back at Drew.

  “Ammmiaaas,” I whine.

  We shuffle forward as the line moves, Amias still crouching like a hunchback and digging his chin into my shoulder. I can’t imagine how ridiculous it must look to everyone else. My face—already burning—grows so hot I want to plunge it into Greek yogurt. Amias ignores my plea.

  “Here I am, on the plane from Istanbul to Athens. And this girl with fluffy hair exploding out of her bun appears in the aisle, trying to get to her seat. I move out of the way, and she takes the spot beside me. I can tell she’s uncomfortable, so I put in my headphones and try to get some sleep.”

  “Oh no,” Drew begins to laugh.

  I mutter under my breath about stupid boys.

  “I wake up as the plane is about to land. And I have an unexpected predicament,” Amias nudges his head against mine. “This girl. Is fast asleep. On my shoulder. And her little brother is filming me with his Kindle.”

  Genevieve and Drew slap hands over their mouths to cover their cackling. I stare at the floor, ready to crack my plate over Amias’s head.

  “I couldn’t decide whether I needed to kill you or my brother first,” I snatch some meat and a roll.

  “Yeah. So, I am debating whether to wake this girl up, but I am scared to death. And exhausted. And am too stunned to do anything at all. When she does wake up, it’s right after we land, and I book it. Then she trips on my suitcase, making me have to catch her,” Amias finishes with another laugh.

  If only I could laugh at myself as naturally and un-judgmentally as he does.

  “That’s the best, and I’m done,” Drew grabs a cup and fills it with coke from the soft drink machine.

  “I’m not done,” Amias says, still leaning on my shoulder.

  I sigh heavily—all I can manage with my plate full.

  “I thought I’d never see strange-mystery-girl again. But as I walk to our first session, I see fluffy hair. And I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it was her. And I was doomed.”

  Drew and Genevieve laugh again, nearing hysterics, and make their way towards one of the long tables. I follow, but Amias moves his head from my shoulder.

  “Tarni.”

  “Yeah,” I drawl and face him.

  He leans from side to side, cracking his back, “You want to know the real reason I didn’t wake you up?”

  “Sure,” I roll my eyes.

  “You were crying—even in your sleep. And well, I didn’t think it would be fair to wake you yet.”

  I blink at him. Shocked. A strange urge to cry rises through my chest.

  “You cared that much when you didn’t even know me?”

  He smiles gently, “Contrary to your belief, Tarni Bird, you are an easy person to care about.”

  He pats my shoulder and strides away, clutching his back. I stand there for a moment. Then grin.

  “Stop being a baby with your back. I’m not that much shorter than you!”

  “Whatever, Seabird.”

  I laugh and shake my head, following him. My heart warms. Maybe . . . being embarrassed isn’t that bad. I sit at the table and look around.

  Rachelle laughs and hugs Lena while Rachelle’s boyfriend heaves his eyes to the ceiling. Abi leans over Drew’s plate and snatches one of his chips. He grabs her hands, but she laughs and escapes. Brynn and Kelly cheer further down the table. Genevieve shouts at another girl above the ruckus, and Amias joins Abi and Drew’s argument. Maya snaps pictures of everything. Laughter and wonderful smells surround us. The color yellow bursts from the floor beneath my worn-out sandals, and I lean back in my seat with a smile.

  Maya faces me, holding up her camera, “Smile big, Tarni Bird!”

  And I laugh again for the camera. Because even if I can’t be best friends or close with these people . . .

  They are my friends. And they care for me.

  And that’s worth celebrating.

  :•─.•─:•─.•─:•☾☼☽•:─•.─•:─•.─•:

  I sit on my bunk in my bungalow. Abi and Maya have left to play handball, leaving Genevieve and me alone. I stare at my empty messages, left on read again. I fight the panic expanding through my stomach.

  It’s okay, they will answer.

  I exit messages and open Instagram. I scroll through my feed, clicking
the like button. Over and over and over again, while my distracted panic waits to pounce.

  A picture appears, and my heart drops down to my toes. My mouth dries.

  Adam. Adam never posts on his Instagram.

  And it’s a girl.

  She’s pretty, making him laugh. They hold hands and smile widely in every shot.

  I drop my phone. It bonks against the floor. I lay back on my bed, staring at the bottom of Maya’s bunk. The pictures circle through my mind, each one feeling like a punch to the gut.

  “Tarni?” Genevieve looks up from a book.

  I lick my lips, confusion knotting my stomach and throat. We never said anything, but I thought . . . I thought . . . He hasn’t mentioned a girlfriend.

  “Tarni, is there something wrong?”

  Tears burn my eyes, “Not really.”

  Of course, Adam has a girlfriend. Everly and I were the only English-speaking girls he hung out with before. Even if he liked me once, he has more options now. And if I am honest, my crush for him has been fading.

  But that doesn’t matter.

  He forgot about me.

  It took him five months, and he doesn’t feel the need to mention this girl. Despite the deep friendship we have always had. Maybe he never had a crush back or never felt as deeply as I did. But he would have said something if he still cared at all.

  “Tarni,” Genevieve sets a hand on my arm.

  I face her, wiping my eyes.

  “Talk to me,” she rubs my back.

  I inhale, “I had a crush on Adam. And now . . . he has a girlfriend. I’m ridiculous. Ignore me.”

  “No, Tarni, you are fourteen. Let yourself be sad about a lost crush.”

  “I’m ridiculous because I expected him to like me from the States,” I give a humorless chuckle. “I mean, I thought . . . I hoped . . . I am so clingy.”

  “Tarni, if he were right for you, he would have.”

  I look down, “I can’t force that expectation upon anyone.”

  Genevieve falls silent for a moment, “You can’t expect people to be loyal?”

  “Not that. Just . . . ,” I rub my hands together. “I can’t expect people to be best friends, crushes, whatever when they move away and have more options.”

  “Yes, you can. You should. They fail you by not remaining friends.”

  “Those are unrealistic standards, when you are me, Genevieve.”

  She is silent again.

  “It’s fine,” I pick my phone off the ground. “Adam is my friend, even if he doesn’t like me or tell me everything.”

  “Tarni,” Genevieve stands up. “You are worthy of the loyalty you give.”

  I look up, my heart aching again, “I’m not that loyal, Genevieve.”

  “You are defending this boy even though he has failed you.”

  “He didn’t fail me.”

  “See?” She crosses her arms.

  I bite my lip. I want to believe Genevieve, but I am not loyal enough. How many times have I wished that I could forget my friendships altogether?

  “Thank you, Genevieve,” I lay back on my bed.

  I go back onto Instagram, ignoring my aching heart. I like Adam’s post and add a comment.

  Omg!! This is too cute!!!

  I submit it and roll onto my side, staring at my phone screen. Adam has been an amazing friend. It’s stupid to say otherwise just because I’m salty about a not-even-relationship not-even-breakup. I take a stabilizing breath.

  The door flings open, and Maya and Abi run in. Giggling.

  “Guys! You’ll never guess -. Oh,” Maya’s laughter freezes.

  “What is it?” Abi glances between us. “What happened?”

  “Tarni just found out her crush has a girlfriend,” Genevieve says before I can open my mouth.

  “Oh, Tarni,” Abi clicks her tongue. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Should we follow and unfollow him on Instagram to make a point?” Maya takes off her shoes and walks over.

  I crack a smile, “No. Thank you, though.”

  I stand, rifling around for my pen and journal. Maya picks them up for me and puts them in my bag.

  “I’m going to take a walk,” I take my bag from her. “Then maybe a hot shower.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Abi leans against the wall.

  “If you want to talk with us after you’ve processed a little more, we’re here,” Genevieve squeezes my hand.

  “I know. Thank you,” I put on my shoes, wave, and step out into the sun.

  The sun shone into my skin and loosened my anxious thoughts. I wiggle my feet in my sandals. Warm. So, so warm. My weary doubts melt away replaced with hope. I march towards the hotel building. My dreary thoughts flood me again but are constrained by the brightness surrounding me.

  I walk through the lobby into the unnaturally quiet lounge area. I ignore the others sitting there and walk over to a bench. I gaze down at my journal. And keep staring. I shut my eyes, trying to recapture the sun’s warmth.

  3:14 P.M. 8/6/19,

  Back on this Yellow Pillar Bench,

  It’s funny how you can feel betrayed by someone you trusted, even when their betrayal IS NONEXISTENT! Adam has a girlfriend. So what? So what that he didn’t tell you? So what that he doesn’t care enough to give you the dignity of a warning?

  That’s all his decision. It’s your choice to decide what you will do.

  I tap my lips with my pen, hesitating. What should I do?

  So, you cared about him. Why? Because he was (literally) there when no one else was? Because he was a bit of a diamond in the rough? Because you thought he would change for you? Ha! There you go. If you wanted him to change, you never cared for him. Adam is far better off without you. With someone who cares for who he is and not for who he could be.

  My heart aches as I stare at the yellow page. What kind of idiot had I been? What kind of manipulative, bratty -.

  “Hey, Tarni.”

  I jump and look up. Amias smiles at me.

  “Heya, Amias,” I try to smile back.

  “I was wondering if -,” his eyebrows rise. “Are you okay? You look . . . distracted.”

  “Distracted is a good way to put it,” I sigh drearily. “I’m all right. Just missing my friends in the States.”

  “I’m sorry,” Amias points at my journal. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I make a face. “It’s just my journal. Full of me being dramatic. I process things through writing, so I carry my journal with me everywhere.”

  He nods and holds up his phone, “Yeah, I don’t feel comfortable unless I have a way to write music and a way to listen to it.”

  “You write music?” I sit up straighter.

  “I play around a bit.”

  “Can I hear it?”

  He hesitates, but only for a moment. He sits beside me and opens his phone. He goes to his voice recording app, hands me his phone, and plugs in his headphones.

  “Listen to . . . this one. It’s my best so far,” Amias points for me.

  I lean against the pillar and put in his headphones. A scratchy guitar plays in my ears. Then Amias’s lovely voice. I smile, shutting my eyes as he sings about the mysteries of waterfalls, seasons, and the color green.

  The song isn’t perfect. His recording tech is horrible, his melody doesn’t make sense, but his heart rings through the crappy recording. The poetry fits into my brain like a key, unlocking something I hadn’t seen before.

  The song finishes, and I open my eyes. Amias’s anxious expression makes me laugh.

  “It’s lovely, Amias. It has a few snags, but I like it.”

  “Really?” He takes back his phone and earbuds. “What did you like about it? What needs work?”

  “Your voice is beautiful, and I love your word pictures. You pretty much cover every art form because it sounds so good you can see everything. I think adjusting the melody on the bridge so that it’s more . . . unique would help. And your poetry is captivating but sometimes
doesn’t fit the lyrical rhythm,” I push my glasses back on my nose. “I love it! You have a wonderful gift.”

  Amias blushes, “Thank you.”

  We fall silent.

  “You know . . . ,” Amias fiddles with his headphones. “You are the first person outside of my family that I have shared this with.”

  “I’m honored. And you should share it more,” I squeeze his shoulder on an impulse.

  “Thank you,” he ducks his blond head a little.

  I fight a grin at his flustered-ness. He doesn’t seem to be the easily flustered type. It’s . . . sweet.

  “Do you write anything other than your thoughts?” Amias points at my journal again.

  “I write a little poetry but . . . ,” I sigh and shake my head. “None of them are . . . I write from my thoughts. So, reading over them makes me depressed. One day, I’ll write something worth sharing.”

  “I think even your depressing ones are worth hearing.”

  “Of course, you can say that because you haven’t read them.”

  “Fair,” he chuckles and hops to his feet. “You want to see if someone will play four-square with us?”

  “I don’t play four-square,” I wipe my hands on my grey jeans.

  “Why not?”

  “Well . . . I haven’t played since I was . . . ten.”

  “You don’t remember how?”

  “Not really. I was mocked. I mean, not mocked,” I clear my throat. “Teased. Playfully teased, but as a ridiculously sensitive ten-year-old . . . Oh, you know. My friends are amazing, but they aren’t perfect.”

  “I see,” Amias tilts his head.

  Seizing my chance, I ramble on, “They have always been good at pushing me, Adam especially. He would push me to be a stronger person and not take myself too seriously. And Everly -.”

  “Tarni,” Amias leans a little closer. “As much as I appreciate the love you have for your friends, I want to hear from you. Do you want me to teach you to play again? No one will mock you here.”

  “They didn’t mock me,” I frown at the four-square “court” taped down to the marble floor.

  “Right. Sorry. Do you?”

  I meet his blue eyes, and my heart warms. He wants to hear from me. Unlike . . . a lot of people. Or how a lot of people have made me feel.