This Summer
Five Summers
Sloan Harlow
Playlist: “Cruel Summer”
Four Summers Ago
I pretend to study my feet as I curl them into the snow-white sand. I pretend that I am not peering above the chipped black nail polish of my pinkie toe, studying Will as he walks toward me, shaking the ocean water from his dark waves, the Florida sun bleaching his long torso a blinding silver.
Will drops onto the towel beside me, flicking beads of sand and salt water into my face.
“William!”
“Sorry.” He grins, looking anything but.
I sit up and inspect my slim, battered copy of Anne Sexton’s Love Poems, flipping through the marked-up pages, each annotation filled with my quiet longing. “If the pages get wet, I can’t read it—”
“I know, Alex.” He cocks his head at me, and his eyes are the exact color of the Atlantic Ocean. Will has no earlobes—it’s the third thing I noticed about him at the beginning of the summer term, how his ears look exactly like bass clefs, each shell a perfect curve that leans away from his temple.
With his wet hair plastered to his skull, I can’t resist reaching over and lightly tugging at that flap of cartilage, sun-pink and prominent.
“Hey!” He swats at me. “I said sorry.”
“Not really. Not for the right thing.”
“What is the right thing?” Will pouts, leaning back on his elbows. Water gathers in the furrows of his stomach, the hollow in the center of his chest. He squints one eye at me, the swoop of his upper lip infuriating. Somehow, the ocean water doesn’t erase his cologne but elevates it.
“Apologize for being vain enough to wear cologne on a beach day with friends.” I swipe a finger across his neck. “Who does that, Will?”
Will raises a brow and reaches over, swiping a finger across my lips. When he holds it up, tinged pink, looking triumphant, I harrumph.
“On a beach day with friends. Such vanity.” Will shakes his head gravely, laughter dancing in his eyes. “Alexandra, who are you wearing lipstick for?” Something flickers across his face. “Jonah?”
“Of course not!” I feel twelve as I flick sand at him with my foot. “I’m wearing it for me. You gonna tell me you’re wearing your cologne for you and not…Emily?” My skin feels hot and crispy from the sun, yet the warmth that spreads over my cheeks overtakes it, heavier and far less pleasant.
Will brushes the sand off his leg and wipes my lipstick unceremoniously on his swimming trunks.
We both look off to the ocean to see our two other friends, my roommate, Emily, and Will’s roommate, Jonah, frolicking in the water.
Will’s eyes look transparent. A blue so clear, like no color I’ve ever seen.
It was the second thing I’d noticed about him.
He’s your best friend, I remind myself.
I breathe in and pull my long, earth-colored hair into a tight high ponytail.
“You’d be cute, you and Emily,” I say.
Will turns to me, and suddenly, his eyes aren’t quite so see-through. “You think so?”
I snort. I want to tell him that, if they went out together when we’re back in Atlanta, in lieu of starting freshman year like the rest of us, they’d be snapped up for a runway or get enlisted in some weird very-hot-people army. Will and Emily were sculpted for each other.
The sky’s turning the colors of a melting sherbet: raspberry and orange. Will’s and my favorite. We watch the leaping waves get sleepy, the water starting to lap closer and closer to our towels in lazy pulses. Will nudges my foot.
“How’d you do on the final, anyhow?” he asks.
“Will your parents keep playing nice for the rest of our visit, or are we bringing you back to the dorms in a body bag?” When I tilt my head at him, the sun is low enough that I no longer have to squint.
I think about pranking him, but the long, slow smile is already happening on my face, and he’s already returning it.
“Alex—” His eyes light up.
“My final grade,” I say, “was an eighty-five.”
“Hell yeah!” Will clasps my bare shoulder. When he squeezes, I can feel each finger like a separate brand. I laugh, and my salt-stiff ponytail brushes his arm.
“Well, it’s all thanks to you,” I say, my skin hot all over.
“Please.” Will waves a dismissive hand and lies down, arms behind his head. “You’re a genius. You just don’t like math. Or showing up to class.”
“I mean it,” I say, tucking my knees to my chest and looking down at him. “Thank you, Will.” The smile he gives me is too much. I have to turn away, watching the sun bleed into the horizon.
“I told Jonah that he’ll need to prepare for your poetry readings,” Will says.
“Like he needs to brace himself for them?” I huff, stung.
“No.” Will’s voice goes quiet. “Like he’ll need to show up early to get a good seat. That way the sound is good on the video when he records it.” I can feel his eyes on me. “I told him he should record them.”
“Oh,” I whisper, throat tight.
It is moments like this that I resent the very first thing I noticed about Will Gray: No matter how much we could ever love each other, a boy like this would only ever love me as a friend.
Three Summers Ago
“Come get Doritos with me,” I say to the group. Will looks up from his spot next to Emily on the picnic blanket.
“I’m gonna guard the blankets, babe.” Jonah casts a skeptical eye at the crowded sprawl of the city park.
“The fireworks are starting soon,” Emily says. “I don’t want to miss any. Will?”
Will’s face is flushed and happy as he leaps to his feet. “To the Doritos!” he shouts, and, giggling, we carve a precarious path around the screaming children, families, and splayed legs.
“You’re a drunken menace,” I say when we finally spill onto the paved path that borders the giant lawn.
“Wrong.” He taps my nose. “I’m a tipsy menace.” I shiver, but I tell myself it’s because of the rare warm breeze that brushes past just then.
When we reach the vending machine, I grab a water, a Sprite, and a Fanta, then watch as our chips fall from the coil, one after another. Will waves a pack of Twizzlers at me, smiling.
“How will I enjoy them without a five-hour Scorsese movie to accompany them?” I say dryly.
“We’ll make do.” Will bops my forehead with the package as he beams down at me. I can feel sweat pour down the back of my dress even though my shoulders and arms and neck are bare.
I try not to think of Will, and how his sweat smells clean and fresh. How sometimes, when the humidity is clinging to his bare neck and thighs, I wonder what it might taste like.
“I grew up with Florida summers; how is Atlanta’s kicking my butt? I’ve been soggy since the end of May,” I whine as we amble back. “Em doesn’t sweat. And when I sweat, it’s disgusting.”
Will blinks down at me. “You’re not disgusting,” he says.
The first boom of fireworks shakes us both. We look up at the fuchsia burst in the sky. My heart makes a fist in my throat.
“That’s hardly a compliment,” I say.
“I’m serious.” Will’s damp waves fall across his brow. “Even when you leave sweaty butt prints on your chair in psych.”
“I should never have told you that!” I whip my head so my ponytail flicks his chin.
Three big booms shudder my sternum. We watch gold, red, and blue sparks skim the tops of the skyscrapers that surround us. When we reach the edge of the sprawling lawn, Will pauses and peers hard at my face.
“What?” I frown.
“That’s crazy.” He sounds awestruck. “I can see the fireworks in your eyes. I’ve never seen anyone’s eyes do that.” Another boom. I feel it crack deep in my chest. Will’s grin is crooked. “It’s cool. Really cool.”
I suddenly feel terribly sober.
“Yeah.” I turn to the landscape of families and blankets, away from the night sky. “That is cool.” I spot Emily’s bright yellow dress, Jonah’s beautiful broad shoulders. “Come on,” I say, leading the circuitous way back. “Our dates are waiting.”
Two Summers Ago
Will opens his door and makes a face when he sees me.
“So…the date didn’t go well, I’m guessing?”
“Bingo.”
Will eyes my dress as I brush by him into his apartment. When I catch him staring, he quickly drops his gaze. We tiptoe past his roommates’ closed doors to his room at the end of the hall.
I sit in his desk chair, and he flops on his bed. He’s wearing a white shirt and blue plaid cotton pajama bottoms. I need to look away, because it makes my stomach hurt.
There’s a lingering silence between us. It’s been happening more and more lately. I don’t know why, but it feels like my fault.
“Can I crash here tonight?” I whisper.
Will scratches at the back of his head and squints one eye up at the ceiling. He clears his throat. “I don’t have any clean pajama bottoms.”
My cheeks get hot.
“That’s fine,” I say. “I’m—I’m wearing boy shorts.” I tug at the hem of my dress. “I could just wear that old Harvard shirt you’ve got? It’s long enough that—”
“Yeah. Sure.” Will bounces to his bare feet and digs through his wardrobe. I can’t see his face, but I can always see his ears. The tips angle away from his head, and they’re bright pink.
Will’s been single for a few months. Emily transferred to a school across the country. Neither wanted a long-distance relationship. I’ve been single for most of the summer, after finding Jonah in bed with another girl.
Will and I have slept in the same place before. We’ve pulled all-nighters together.
It still isn’t a big deal, I’m sure, to Will.
But this is the first time in a long time that we are both single and alone together.
It’s hot tonight. The city heat is pressing against the glass, sneaking through the AC, making me restless.
I kick off my covers. I try to fall back asleep, but it’s too hot and I’m too antsy. When I glance at the clock, it says 3:00 a.m.
“Fuck,” I whisper, rubbing my eyes.
“I can’t sleep, either.” Will leans over, his head propped on his hand as he gazes down at me.
For a moment, we just stare at each other. I don’t need to glance down to know that my shirt, from all my tossing and turning, has ridden up past my belly button.
“Why can’t you sleep?” I whisper.
“Thinking,” he says.
“Me too,” I say.
“What about?” Will’s eyes are as black as moonlit water.
I swallow my humiliation and go with honesty.