"Do you think things will be different this year?" Maya asked, her voice barely rising above the rhythmic clicking of the insects. She was braiding a length of tall grass, her fingers moving with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times.
: Sneaking out to the back porch to share cold drinks and memorable snacks, whispering about the things they wanted to do before the "cruel month" of September arrived. Last Days of Summer
: A tradition where they leaped from the highest point of the old quarry, hitting the cold water with a shock that made them feel electric and alive. "Do you think things will be different this year