Page 20 of Summer’s Echo

Summer

Summer break was officially over, and my senior year was in full swing.

While I was excited about everything that was ahead, I’d somehow managed to overload myself—again.

Between student council, volunteer hours, and the endless assignments from my classes, I was barely keeping my head above water.

But to my surprise and relief, Echo had become my steady calm in the chaos, the anchor I didn’t know I needed.

He’d worked his way into my tiny circle of best friends, right alongside Hailee, Trinity, and Brooke.

Our playful, flirtatious banter still lingered in the background, but we never crossed that line.

Sometimes I wondered how I felt about adding another boy to my ever-growing list of “just friends.” I’d always been the girl who could hang with the guys, talk smack during a game, and hold my own in any debate.

Maybe that was the problem—since I acted like one of them, they treated me as such. Echo was no exception.

Although he didn’t attend my school, he only lived about fifteen or twenty minutes away.

We were practically inseparable, as my mother liked to remind me.

“You act like you can’t go a single day without talking to that boy,” she’d say, shaking her head with exasperation.

And maybe she was right. If we weren’t up talking until ridiculous hours, he was at my house under the pretense of helping me with homework, but he mostly just raiding the fridge like he lived there.

It wasn’t hard for Echo to win my parents over.

His charisma was like a magnet, drawing everyone in.

My dad had no problem with our friendship; in fact, he’d gained a new buddy to watch football with on Sundays.

My mom, however, wasn’t as easily convinced.

While she liked Echo, she didn’t love how much time we spent together.

“Are you supposed to be liking this boy?” she’d fuss, arms crossed like she was ready to interrogate me.

My answer was always the same. “No, Mama! He’s just my friend.” But deep down, there were moments when I wasn’t so sure myself.

Echo was just my friend. Okay, sure, we flirted now and then, but it was harmless—like how distant step-cousins might joke around at family reunions.

It was the perfect setup for both of us.

We got all the fun of a relationship—late-night talks, inside jokes, easy companionship—without the mess.

No guessing games, no pressure, no wondering if a kiss was coming.

And sex? Yeah, that was never part of the equation.

Not that I could deny it—Echo was cute. Borderline fine.

The attraction from camp had dulled—at least, that’s what I told myself.

Friendship was easier to hold on to, less risky.

Besides, it wasn’t mutual. Echo had a type, and I wasn’t it.

He’d moved past the crazy, sexy, cool type and started gravitating toward the slim-thick, light-skinned girls who always looked perfectly put together.

That was not me. Girls lined up for him—at school, in his neighborhood, and even mine.

But with me? It was always something softer, something safe. Something rated G.

Echo saw me—the version of me that existed beyond perfection, beyond performance.

Messy hair, old sweats, scarf tied up for the night—and I never felt self-conscious.

With him, I was never too much or not enough.

I didn’t have to impress, didn’t have to shrink myself down.

He accepted me, no conditions, no judgment.

And that feeling? It was a rare kind of freedom for a girl like me.

“Girl, where are you going now?” Mama’s thunderous voice rolled down the hallway as I tried to slip out unnoticed.

I sighed, already knowing where this was headed.

“Did you finish your paper?” she asked, but didn’t pause to give me time to respond.

“I don’t want to hear nothing about you being stressed because you didn’t give yourself enough time, Summer,” she continued, giving me that look that meant she wasn’t playing.

This wasn’t about the paper. This was about Echo.

Mama liked him— loved him, actually, although she played tough.

She was always talking about what a respectful young man he was, always piling extra food on his plate whenever he came over.

But no amount of good manners or full plates changed the fact that, in her opinion, he was still a distraction.

And maybe she had a point, but I wasn’t about to pretend I hadn’t been handling my responsibilities like I always had.

“Mama, why are you fussing?” I shot back, not really expecting an answer. “I’m going to hang with Echo. I already finished the paper. I just need to print it out, and that’ll take like five minutes.” I rolled my eyes, regretting it immediately.

“Well, you’ve got five minutes right now,” she said, teasing but with an edge that warned me not to push it. “So go finish.”

“But Mama—”

“ But Mama nothing!” she interrupted, cutting her eyes at me. “Now…Summer Sierra. And roll your eyes one more time—you’ll be sitting right here with me and your daddy for the rest of the night!”

I groaned under my breath but headed back to my room.

Mama wasn’t one to bluff, and I wasn’t about to test her patience tonight.

These were the moments when being the baby of the family was both a blessing and a curse.

I stomped away like a six-year-old, hating that my mother knew me so well.

She was right. The paper was mostly finished, but I still had to add the cover page and reference sheet.

Not that I was going to admit that to her.

“ Ugh. She gets on my nerves,” I muttered under my breath, making sure my bedroom door was closed. I wasn’t trying to be grounded at home and to get popped in the mouth.

With a few minutes to spare before Echo showed up, I reached for my sketchbook, hoping it would steady the restlessness humming beneath my skin.

I told myself it was just another hangout, just another night of friendly, easy conversation.

But the truth was, knowing he was on his way always did something to me—like I was waiting for something I couldn’t name.

The moment my pencil touched the page, my thoughts drifted—not to the lines I meant to draw, but to him .

The way his presence carried an ease, a quiet warmth, like I never had to try too hard.

Even the first day we met, when I hit him with all the attitude I could muster, I still sensed it—that pull, that undeniable way he filled a space.

Making everything warmer, lighter. And I felt it every time.

It was comfort. Familiarity. It was safe. Maybe too safe.

A heavy thud from outside my window yanked me from my thoughts.

Echo . Jay-Z’s voice blasted from his car speakers, rattling the air like a personal announcement of his arrival.

I groaned, shaking my head because I already knew—without a doubt—he was handing my mother fresh ammunition.

As if I wasn’t already tiptoeing out of this house on borrowed grace, here he went, throwing gas on the fire.

Right on cue, Mama’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Is that Echo playing that loud music in front of my house?” she hollered, still carrying the edge of irritation from our earlier exchange.

“Oh, Lord,” I heard Daddy grumbled from the family room, his tone resigned. “Yeah, that’s him. Knucklehead .” He sighed long and knowing. I could picture him now, peeking out the window, shaking his head in mild amusement, fully aware that Teresa Knight was about to start firing verbal bullets.

I shot up from the bed and bolted toward the front door, determined to intercept Echo before my parents—especially Mama—could get to him.

Throwing open the screen door, I stood in the doorway, waving my arms like a maniac, trying to warn him, mouthing for him to turn the music down .

He, of course, was completely oblivious, still blasting Jay-Z.

My mouthing turned into a sharp, desperate screech. “Turn the damn music down, E!”

Mama missed nothing. “Oh, so you curse in front of your mama now? That’s what we’re doing with your new friend ?” she called, her voice laced with mockery.

Stepping onto the porch, I put my hands on my hips just as Echo stepped out of his car clearly enjoying himself , the slight tilt of his head and easy confidence making it clear that he was oblivious to the second of chaos he’d caused.

“What’s up, Sunshine?” he said, flashing that wide, mischievous grin.

“Boy, are you crazy? Now you know my parents do not play that!” I hissed, my irritation bubbling over.

“What?” he asked, his face scrunched in genuine confusion.

“Your music was loud as hell,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, my bad,” he whispered, looking sheepish now.

My tone dropped with a sharp warning. “Now, my daddy likes you, but keep playing, and he’ll quickly label you a li’l thug and threaten to get his gun,” I teased, but I was serious. “And Mama? She’s still on the fence about you.”

“Man, Ms. Teresa loves me. But real talk, I’m sorry, Sun. Let me come in and apologize,” he said, raising his hands in surrender.

Before I could respond, the familiar squeak of the screen door behind me announced that someone had joined us. I turned to see Daddy standing there, his face serious in a way that caught me off guard.

“How’re you doing, Echo?” Daddy asked, his voice calm but firm. “Now, that music was too loud, son.”

“Yes, sir. I’m doing good. Sorry about the music. It won’t happen again—”

Before he could finish, Mama appeared, practically nudging Daddy out of the way with her no-nonsense demeanor.

“Boy, don’t come down my street with that boopidy-bop music that loud anymore. You understand me?” she said, her tone as colorful as her vocabulary.