sodapop Curtis didn’t think much about time, but that summer made him wish it could last forever.

He met her on the first day of her holidays, at the edge of the creek where he and the gang liked to hang out. She was trying to balance on a log that floated just enough to make her wobble, and fall right into the water. Soda dove in before she could even hit the mud, laughing as she sputtered and tried to save her soaked sundress.

“You okay?” he asked, holding out a hand.

“I—I think so,” she gasped, grinning despite the water dripping down her face. “Thanks… hero.”

From that moment, they were inseparable. They spent the weeks sneaking through empty lots, racing bikes down dusty roads, and daring each other into stupid, thrilling stunts. Soda laughed more in those few weeks than he had all year, and she laughed louder than anyone he’d ever known.

Now it was the last night. The sky burned orange and pink as the sun sank behind the old mill. They sat on the roof of an abandoned garage, legs dangling over the edge, sharing the last can of soda they’d bought together.

She nudged him and said softly, “Promise me you’ll keep being… you. Don’t let life make you someone you’re not.”

Soda smiled, heart thudding, and grabbed her hand. “I promise,” he said. “I’ll stay me. And I’ll remember this night, every bit of it.”

The night air smelled like summer and smoke and adventure. They watched the stars appear one by one, neither speaking for a long time. When she finally left the next morning, she was gone with the sun, leaving only the memory of laughter and fireflies in his chest.

The last night of summer ’69—the summer he’d never forget.