The Last Summer of Us

Maya found Chase by the pool exactly where she expected — sprawled on a lounge chair, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, phone abandoned on the concrete. The neighborhood cat, a scrappy orange tabby they'd dubbed Cheeto, was curled on his chest like it owned him.

"You're not gonna believe it," Maya said, dropping her bag beside him. Chase cracked one eye open.

"What? Your mom finally let you dye your hair blue?"

"No, jerk. My dad's job. We're moving to Chicago."

The words hung between them, heavier than the humidity thickening the air. Chase sat up slowly, dislodging Cheeto, who protested with a grumpy meow.

"When?"

"End of August."

That gave them exactly seven weeks. Seven weeks of pool days and Netflix binges and complaining about their parents and planning futures they'd suddenly assumed were guaranteed to unfold together. Chase had been talking about running track at State next year, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Now Maya wouldn't be there to watch.

"We should do something," Chase said, standing up. "Something big. Something we'll remember."

Maya nodded, her throat tight.

That night, they rigged a cable between two trees in Chase's backyard — some heavy-duty stuff his dad had left from a home improvement project that never happened. They spent hours weaving fairy lights through it, creating a glowing canopy where they sat until 3 AM, eating stolen ice cream and talking about everything and nothing.

"This is better than Chicago," Chase said softly.

"Everything's better than Chicago," Maya lied.

The cat appeared at the edge of the light, tail flicking, and settled between them like it understood. Like it knew that some friendships — the ones that form you, the ones that break your heart a little when they change — leave marks that don't fade. They'd still text. They'd still call. But Maya knew, with the certainty that comes with growing up, that nothing would ever be exactly like this again.

"Chicago's got pools," Chase offered, like it might help.

"But no Cheeto," Maya said, and they both laughed, because what else could they do?

Some endings are just new beginnings in disguise. But that night, under their makeshift universe of cable and lights, they pretended otherwise. They pretended that summer could last forever, if they only tried hard enough to hold onto it.