Page 104 of The Summers of Us

I close my eyes, ready to continue a years-old tradition, but it doesn’t feel right. Just like conch shells don’t really tune your ear drums to the sea, cheek eyelashes, birthday candles, dandelion puffs to the wind don’t really change your fate.

Shooting stars are just meteors.

Wishes are just acknowledged desires.

Rollercoasters are just wooden structures.

I don’t need such illusions. Not anymore.

I open my eyes to the real world before me. The eyelash is already lost to the wind.

“What’d you wish for?” Everett asks.

“Nothing.” I smile. I think he believes me this time. “What’dyouwish for?”

“Same.” He grabs my hand, strokes my index finger with his thumb. “There’s nothing left to wish for.”

The sun has finished painting everything in its path, leaving both of us golden in the morning light. I’ll miss this pocket of sand and salt and sunlight, but the sun rises everywhere.

Even in the darkest places.

I’ll be back, Piper Island.

Pinky promise.