Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 11130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 37(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 37(@300wpm)
Again, my words are met with silence, but it’s a loaded silence and I swear I can practically hear Sam’s voice telling me to woman up and embrace the adventure.
Which I will, of course. My adventurous side almost always wins out, no matter how hard my mother has fought to bring out the cautious side of my DNA.
Draining my POG and folding the box so I can slip the cardboard and bandana into the back pocket of my shorts, I rise, more excited about my passage through the stone than I should be. Maybe I’ve watched too much Outlander. Or maybe I’m still just a kid with a big imagination, even though I’m seventeen and determined to grow up, even if it hurts.
I’m thinking about growing up as I make my way down the steep rise, shifting my weight into my heels to keep from tumbling head over feet into the clearing below.
In some ways, I can’t wait for senior year to be over. I can’t wait to have the rest of my life stretching out in front of me, like a kick-ass game level filled with invigorating challenges and tantalizing rewards. I’m ready to make my own decisions, without my parents hovering over my shoulder, fretting that I’m going to ruin my life by majoring in the wrong kind of medicine or wearing jeans instead of khakis. I’m ready to speak my truth instead of running everything I say through the “will this make Mom freak out and yell at me in Korean” filter before I open my mouth.
But I’m also…sad.
I don’t think I realized how sad until the first day of coding camp, when the head of the program called out all the names of the juniors, asking us to stand so the younger campers would know who to come to if they had any questions. We’re the old guard, the kids on the verge of becoming grown-ups, with the sands of childhood slipping swiftly through our fingers.
When we leave camp tomorrow, we’re never coming back. Next summer, we’ll be on our way out into the world, charging forward into the next big adventure and leaving things like sleepaway camp behind.
I thought I was ready, but now…
The sensation that washes through me as I step through the narrow arch at the center of the stone feels a lot like grief. Like when my grandmother died, and I sat in her kitchen while Mom was packing up her things and realized Gram was never going to come shuffling in to make a pot of maple-flavored coffee ever again. She’d never sneak me a sip while Mom wasn’t looking or tuck stickers, she bought at the dollar store into my backpack. From now on, her sweet, wrinkled smile would only be seen in memory.
Even knowing how much pain she’d been in at the end and how at peace she was with saying goodbye, it was hard.
Bittersweet.
Bitter to have lost such a beautiful human, but sweet to have had her in my life and to know she lived hers so well.
It made me want to do the same, to seize every opportunity and relish every simple pleasure and collect amazing memories to share with my kids and grandkids someday.
Memories like the ones I’ve made with Sam…
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my hand flying to my mouth as I spot the shiny red cape with the big felt “W” on it laid out on the ground on the other side of the stone. My first thought is that it must be a reproduction—no way has Sam hung on to our old superhero capes from fourth grade for this long.
But when I crouch down, I see the felt is rough with age and the corner of the cape has a singe mark on it from the time I decided jumping over the firepit at Sam’s mom’s end-of-summer BBQ would be a very superhero thing to do.
Throat tight, I gather the cape reverently into my hands, wondering where that little fire leaper has been lately. I used to get in trouble for doing crazy things like that all the time, but somewhere along the way I just…stopped.
Stopped taking chances.
Stopped pushing my limits.
Stopped being the person that deep down I know I’m supposed to be.
“Hey, there,” Sam’s soft voice rumbles from my left.
I look up to see him circling around the stones, a pained expression on his face. “I’m sorry,” he continues. “I thought this would be a good surprise.”
“It is a good surprise,” I say, clearing my throat as the words come out rough and choppy. “A great surprise.”
“Then why are you crying?” he whispers.
“I’m not…” I trail off, swiping the back of my hand across my cheeks, relieved to find them still dry. I clear my throat again and stand up straighter. “I’m not crying. I’m just…having some feelings.”