I let out a harsh little laugh, thinking what a joke that was. Matthew was popular, he made friends in every single situation he had ever been in. He had moved to our town at the beginning of sixth grade and had quickly risen the ranks of the popular kids. He was a star athlete, standout student, had loads of friends, and constantly had girls throwing themselves at him. I was the one who had a hard time feeling like I fit it. Being an introvert meant I preferred to be by myself more than with others. Sure, I had plenty of friends and seemed to be in the popular social circle with the same group of kids that Matty was in; but I always felt like an outsider looking in. I hated parties and going on road trips to games. I liked staying home and reading. Or just hanging out with Matthew. By ourselves.
Matthew had a quiet side to him, too, though, which is one reason we gravitated towards each other. Sometimes it seemed that we spent more time in each other’s silent company than we did talking. Not that we didn’t talk, of course. But we were able to communicate with one another using fewer words than we could with our classmates. So, while, yes, I liked to be by myself, I preferred to be alone with Matty more than anything.
And now those times were going to end. We were sixteen years old the day Matthew found out he was moving. And it was back before cell phones and the internet, so there would be no texting or emails or social media. Considering we never phoned one another as it was (we lived kitty corner across the street from each other, so we always knew when the other was home) calling likely would not happen, especially long distance. And the chances of him writing letters seemed slim to none. Matty was my best friend, yes; but he was also a teenage boy who was about to be thrown into a whole new life. He was leaving in three months; and I knew deep down that my chances of talking to him, much less seeing him after that were unlikely.
I took a deep breath, determined to get ahold of myself. I wasn’t going to waste the precious time Matty and I had left together by crying in my kitchen. I put my head up, turned around, and said, “Well, I guess we’d better have the best summer ever before you go, right?” I forced a smile on my face before wiping away my tears.
Matty pulled me to him and hugged me tightly. “Yes, Leah,” he said, “we’ll make this the best summer ever.”
And it was the best summer ever. After school ended in early June, our friends mostly scattered to be summer camp counselors or to take vacations with their families. In junior high, summers had been filled with baseball games and tennis matches, us girls spending hours watching the boys compete. However, those sports were played in the spring during high school; leaving the summer months mainly free until fall sport practices began.
Matthew and I were left mainly to ourselves, and we made the most of our time together. We took advantage of our families’ memberships to the local country club, where we hung out by the pool most weekdays, occasionally jumping in to cool off, only to have a lifeguard yell at us for splashing. We would eat sandwiches and chips for lunch from the concession stand at the club, which we charged to our parents’ accounts; and we drank ice cold pop directly from the cans as we sunned ourselves poolside, laying on the white plastic lounge chairs that we covered with the plush towels provided by the club.
We would slowly start walking home from the country club in the late afternoon. Even though we both had cars, we lived so close by that we always walked. Some days we talked non-stop, other days we were quiet and just took in the slowness of summer. Occasionally, Matty would mention something about moving, such as talking about the house his parents had just bought or that he would have to wear a uniform to his new school. I wish I had gotten him to open up about his fears of moving; but I was so wrapped up in my own emotions that I would try to change the subject. I didn’t want to hear anything about his new school, his new house, or his new life. Finding out later how much he’d struggled adjusting to California made me feel ashamed for being so selfish. But, again, we had both been just kids. We didn’t know how to deal with our own feelings, much less help the other cope.
On rainy summer days, we usually headed to the local shopping mall. We both had our licenses along with cars of our own, but Matty always drove us. We would grab lunch at the food court and then walked around the open, air-conditioned space. The mall was quite large; it had three levels and nearly one hundred and fifty stores; and it was quiet during weekdays with the crowds reserved for the weekends. We would stop to play a few games in the arcade; air hockey was our favorite. Matty always indulged me extra time to browse in the book shop, and I reciprocated by going with him inside the huge sporting goods store.
What was funny looking back at the last months we spent together
