Sixteenth Summer

A perfect person is easy to love. But when somebody likes all your imperfections, well, that's when you know they really mean it.

Sometimes I wanted to dance and laugh with my friends until midnight, and sometimes I wanted to screen all calls and hide away with a tragic novel and a bag of candy. Sometimes I spend an hour trying to pretty myself up, and sometimes I could barely be bothered to comb the knots out of my hair before I left the house. Sometimes I wanted to know what it felt like to tell a boy all my secrets. Other times, that seemed as impossible as waking up one morning to find myself fluent in a foreign language. Sometimes I felt better alone that I did with people. And sometimes that just felt lonely.

I wished on the moon, for something I never knew.

I don’t know what’s going to happen with us, Anna. But I’m always going to love you. That I know.

I looked for every loveliness. It all came true. I wished on the moon. . . for you.

As I pedaled my bike slowly home, I realized one more thing. I didn’t have to wonder if I’d ever be passionate or happy again. I was happy, even as I tasted tears on my lips, along with Will’s last kiss; even though part of me dreaded this day, my first without Will. I was happy because I knew I’d never forget Will. Even if parts of this summer faded from my memory over time, even if Will’s face grew vague in my mind, I’s never forget what it had felt like to be with him for a few short months. What it had been like to be sixteen and in love for the first time. I wouldn’t forget that – not ever.

I love you,” he said. He almost yelled it. “And I know that sounds crazy. That’s what you say at the beginning of something, not when it’s almost reached its end. But – I don’t care. I just want to be with you. Maybe it’ll only be for these next few weeks. Maybe it’ll be forever. We can’t know what’ll happen, Anna. All I know is I love you and…we should be together. We just have to be together. We need to be together.

...you never knew anybody completely. Not even yourself.

I loved being so consumed by Will. Adored it. But I kind of hated it too, because I felt like a huge part of myself had been wrested from my control. I mean, sometimes you just want to make a peanut butter sandwich without being overcome by your own passion, you know?

Then there was your voice Like a windup tin toy Like the sweetest nails on a chalkboard That I ever heard

Perfect is not only an illusion, it’s just no damn fun.

It was time to weather the bitter and embrace the sweet and suck the marrow out of all the time we had left.

It was thrillingly comfortable being with Will. But also uncomfortably thrilling.