‘Let’s go with a year,’ I say.
We descend, but not before we take a photo of us together with the Parthenon behind us.
‘Wait, take one with the Polaroid, too,’ Sam says.
‘But I’ve got it on my phone.’
‘I like something physical.’
He winks, and I melt.
Taking his Polaroid, I follow his direction, taking a snap of us. The film spits out, and we let it develop. I’m beaming, and Sam… well, Sam is smiling, but he’s looking at me.
‘You didn’t look at the camera,’ I say, throat drying.
‘That’s all right.’
He pockets the photo, tapping it for good measure. We walk.
‘Do you remember how we met?’ I ask him.
‘Of course I do,’ Sam says.
‘Go on, then.’
‘Day one of primary school. We both had chickenpox. Why our parents sent us to school with chickenpox, I don’t know.’
‘Neither do I,’ I say. ‘They did things differently back in 1999. But I know that some other kids went down with it.’
‘We started a trend,’ Sam says.
‘That we did.’
A Greek flag on a pole flutters in the weak breeze, rippling delicately above our heads. We stop for another photo with the Parthenon behind us, the side without the scaffolding this time. I take one last look to drink it all in, the blue skies behind marble pillars, the mountains and terracotta rooftop homes splashed with green foliage in the distance.
Sam’s arms cross, as he observes the horizon.
‘Pretty hard not to be friends with someone you’ve been in quarantine with,’ he says.
‘It helped that I had my Pokémon cards with me. I don’t think you would have stuck around otherwise.’
‘True,’ Sam says. ‘I was only friends with you for your Pokémon card collection.’
Strolling slowly, the conversation turns back to our fake relationship.
‘We have to get our story straight,’ I decide.
‘In what way?’
‘How did we meet?’
‘When we had chickenpox.’
‘As adults?’ I ask. ‘I don’t think that will work.’
‘Oh, we need a fake meet?’
‘Yes.’
