Page 3 of Summer’s Echo

Echo

I stared at Summer, taking in the sight of her red tear-stained eyes, puffy cheeks, and swollen lips.

It broke something inside me. But then, there was that smile—the faint curve at the corner of her mouth.

That familiar, bittersweet smile sent a chill down my spine, awakening memories I desperately wanted to bury, but they resurrected every time I saw her face—shit, heard the mention of her name.

She was here, in the flesh. After years of minimal contact, punctuated by social media stalking and distant updates through friends, I saw her again for the first time last year at a mutual friend’s wedding reception.

Her boyfriend—now fiancé—had been glued to her side, a quiet confirmation that the closeness we once shared had long since faded.

But here we were. Time had passed, lives had changed, but for just a second, this felt like an old, familiar rhythm.

But in reality, nothing was the same. So yeah, Summer’s question was valid. What the hell was I doing here?

When I boarded a red-eye flight to St. Louis last night, I couldn’t believe I was going through with this.

Attending Summer Knight’s wedding was exactly what I swore I wouldn’t—shit, I couldn’t—do.

The thought of witnessing her promise forever to another man…

take another man’s last name felt like a slow death.

And yet, this morning, I stood in my childhood bedroom knotting a tie and rehearsing how I’d sit in the church and pretend like my world wasn’t ripping at the seams.

“This is bullshit. Why am I torturing myself?” I’d mumbled, tugging the tie tighter than necessary.

Since I was seventeen years old, she’d been mine.

My best friend, my confidant, my homie. But life—and the life-altering mistake that changed everything had reshaped us—twisted our paths in ways I never saw coming.

The distance between us had grown jagged and unyielding, so vast that now she was about to become somebody else’s wife.

“You look nice,” my sister, Sadie, had whispered from the doorway.

I smiled, extending my arms to receive her hug.

When I’d arrived last night, the house was quiet.

My parents were in Chicago visiting a sick relative, and I didn’t realize Sadie was home.

She was the youngest of the Abara family, still living at home while attending college.

“My Sadie. How are you, baby sister?” I’d crooned, excited to see her after almost six months. I lived in Los Angeles, so my trips home were few and far between because my siblings preferred to visit me in the City of Angels.

“I’m good. Surprised to see you here,” she’d said, stepping into my open arms. “I thought you weren’t coming.” She’d raised her eyebrows in question, though her expression showed no genuine shock.

I’d shrugged, forcing a chuckle. “I guess I enjoy torturing myself.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she’d said softly. “Seeing her take this step may push you to do the same—to find your one true love.”

I stood almost a foot taller than my sister, so I’d peered down at her still wrapped in my arms as she gazed up at me.

My dark brown eyes locked on her pretty hazel ones, mirroring our mother’s.

My stare was heavy and filled with angst, but I’d smiled then kissed the top of her head.

“I already found my one true love,” I’d said, my voice steady and laced with quiet conviction. “One summer in 2004.”

Echo

That One Summer in 2004

I wanted to make a good first impression at Camp Summit Quest, so I made sure my jean shorts were ironed to perfection and my yellow Polo shirt was crisp.

My hair was freshly tapered under the Chicago Bears hat, and I was ready—at least on the outside.

Two months ago, my father had announced that he’d accepted a professorship at Washington University in St. Louis.

I wasn’t just upset—I was pissed. We’d moved three times since I’d started sixth grade, and Chicago was the first place I’d actually called home.

I’d been there since freshman year of high school, and the thought of moving the summer before my senior year? Ridiculous.

We’d been in St. Louis for nearly a month, and I was already missing everything about the Windy City—my school, my neighborhood, and most of all, my friends.

When we’d first moved to Chicago, I’d told myself I wouldn’t bother making new friends since I figured we’d move again in a year anyway.

But after a year, my dad got promoted, my parents bought a house, and for once, I thought we’d finally settle down.

Our old neighborhood was packed with younger kids, so my siblings made friends in no time.

It wasn’t until I discovered the neighborhood basketball court that I found my people.

That’s where I met my best friend, Marlo Hill.

He and a bunch of other guys were always talking about this sleepaway camp called Camp Wildwood Adventures.

I thought it sounded a bit childish at first—what teenager still goes to camp?

To my surprise, a lot of them did. So, for the past three summers, I’d headed to Camp Wildwood with my friends.

Now, though, I was missing out on our last summer before senior year.

I tried begging my dad to let me go back one more time, but he just gave me the look—a blank narrowed-eyed glare.

The look that told me to shut up while I was ahead.

Camp Wildwood sat on the edge of Milwaukee, just over an hour from our home in Chicago.

But for my father, the nearly six-hour drive from St. Louis was out of the question.

So here I was, stuck with Camp Summit Quest in the hill country of Missouri instead.

Supposedly, it’s like Wildwood, but somehow, I had a hard time believing it would measure up.

One thing’s for sure, Camp Wildwood Adventures and Camp Summit Quest weren’t your typical get-rid-of-the-kids-for-the-summer camps.

They were competitive, focused on prepping us for college and the real world.

Leadership workshops, team-building exercises, the works were the foundation of the experience. And we had a ton of fun, too.

As we pulled off the highway, we were greeted by the Camp Summit Quest sign carved into a big wooden fixture.

The long, narrow road ahead led us to a vibrant, nature-filled retreat.

The camp was nestled in a picturesque lakeside setting surrounded by towering trees.

It seriously looked like something straight out of a postcard.

I nodded. I had to admit, I was low-key impressed.

“Echo, this may be better than Camp Wildwood,” my mother said in her thick Nigerian accent. The joy in her tone was evident.

I nodded, unsure if I agreed with her, but muttered, “Yeah, mum,” not wanting to get into it.

As we got closer, I started noticing the hustle and bustle of the first day—campers everywhere, and more importantly, the fine girls in their khaki shorts and light blue t-shirts.

Their uniforms fit their curves like a glove, and I couldn’t help but perk up.

Dad pulled our SUV into a parking space in front of the information area. I slowly climbed out of the car, stretching my long legs. I’d shot up four inches over the past year, rounding out at six-foot-two. Glancing around, I took a deep breath, trying to psych myself up for this new adventure.

“You’ll find your way,” my father said, rounding the truck to join me on the passenger side. He was always a man of few words.

I nodded. Making new friends wasn’t my concern—I was used to being the new kid on the block—but I missed my crew from Wildwood.

I missed the pranks, hazing the incoming counselors, and sneaking away to the senior counselors’ swim party.

There was something about those summers I wasn’t ready to let go of.

Glancing around, I digested the space. Large trees surrounded the campgrounds, their branches swaying gently in the light summer breeze.

Wooden-frame buildings were sporadically placed throughout.

In the center of what appeared to be the campers’ lodging area was a grassy clearing lined with picnic tables under a pavilion, a slide, and old wooden swings.

It looked more like a park instead of a camp.

Squinting against the sun, I caught sight of a young woman hurrying toward us, her pace brisk and purposeful.

“Hello, and welcome to Camp Summit Quest. We sometimes shorten it to Camp Quest,” the petite, fair-skinned woman exclaimed, her voice practically dripping with cheer as she pumped my parents’ hands like she was trying to win a contest. “I’m Marissa, Camp Quest class of 2000 and the dean of counselors,” she added with exaggerated pride before turning her overly enthusiastic gaze on me.

“And you are?” Her chipper tone made me wince internally.

I arched a brow, barely suppressing an eye roll. Dean of counselors…okay .Clearing my throat, I replied, “Echo. Echo Abara.” My tone was measured, contrasting her sugary enthusiasm.

“Welcome, Echo Abara.” She chuckled. “We’re excited to have you here from Wildwood.”Her vibrancy didn’t falter for a second, and I forced a polite smile in response.