All the Promises of Summer

She sneaked and sat on the bench beside me. It was our last week on campus. Our senior year was ending, summer was approaching and with it the rest of our lives. We were facing the wide lawn as the late morning sun shone through the canopy of old acacia trees overhead.

“Thanks for what you did for me. That was sweet, asking our lab class to sing,” I chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll ever get another chance to have people wearing lab gowns and goggles sing me happy birthday.”

“And don’t forget the money I raised for the party,” she smiled. “That’s on Friday night.” She had passed a hat for a small party to celebrate the end of the school year.

She was wearing that hat now, a wide-brimmed straw hat that framed her face, so beautiful against the warm light. Her smile held all the promises of summer.

I held her hand and she didn’t move.

“What is this rumor I’ve been hearing,” I said, “that I have a big crush on you?”

“Is that a bad thing?” she asked, without looking at me. “What did you say?”

“I said it is true,” I answered.

She snuggled up to me, and her smell was like a whiff of sweet jasmine in the night.

“Liar,” she said and turned to face me. Her face was very close, and her breath smelled even sweeter.

I kissed her lips, probing for answers.

She kissed back but her answer was not definite.

She suddenly stood up. “Stay here, I’ll get us some ice cream,” she laughed. “For your birthday.”

And she turned and, with her hat, walked into the summer.