Tasting Summer Novels & Stories

Summer handed me another drink. “Caleb is fine,” I said and took a big sip of the sweet but burning liquid. It tasted like cherries, but had a weird aftertaste to it. My head was feeling well-buzzed after one cup, and although Emma scolded me for having another drink, Summer gave me a can of beer. “You look like a doll!”

I steered the conversation away, my mood slightly subdued. Summer’s expression shifted at the mention of Ignatz, her eyes showing hesitation. "Come on, we’re best friends. There shouldn't be any secrets between us, right?” I nudged her, a bit irritated but mostly just showing concern for her love life. "I’m not sure about my feelings for Ignatz. I like him, but I'm not entirely sure if it's in a romantic sense." Summer’s previous heartbreak with Claude had made her cautious, understandably so. Despite her composed exterior, that experience had deeply affected her.

He was driving me insane with that slurping sound, sucking on the watermelon with juice dripping from his chin, targeting his seeds like a sniper. People's obsession with talking loudly and making wild hand gestures, the crowd smelling of sticky sunscreen, skin rubbing against skin... Welcome to the sensory overload capital of the world. And of course, my sunscreen wasn’t one of those "tear-free" formulas either—it was burning its way right into my sandy eyes!

Over summer break, right after graduation, my parents, Stuart and Rachel Powell, decided the whole family would take a road trip together. But the moment I hauled my suitcase up to the car door, Mom's hand shot out to stop me. "There's no room. Maybe you should just sit this one out." She glanced back at the seat behind her. "Aiden doesn't want you along, either. He's not feeling well right now, so give way to him." My knuckles went white on the suitcase handle, and my throat turning bitter. Aiden was the biological son they'd lost years ago and only just found again. Ever since he came back, everything that used to be mine had gone to him. Slowly, I'd been pushed to the margins of t

And I was especially excited to see their big Summer Fest, the one where they welcomed summer in a traditional Irish way. The cool air started to seep into the car, but you could clearly feel the summer approaching quickly. And with the summer, my birthday also came. It was almost eerily quiet, too quiet. On payday, you could usually hear people partying, having fun, and getting rowdy, but you could hear nothing but the quietness of the night. The slam of the cardoor was deafening.

I hate summer. Don't get me wrong - I love sunshine. I love fireflies and clear, starry nights and drinking iced tea in the shade. I'm not usually a grouch, I swear. But people who believe that's what summer is - the iced tea and fireflies and all that - haven't experienced a real Atlanta summer. Or at least they haven't inherited the overactive sweat glands that I did. Thank you, Blankenship genes.