Page 5 of Summer’s Echo

Summer

Echo Honor Abara was my best friend—shit, my best-kept secret.

I willed my paralyzed limbs to steadily turn, to face the voice that had pranced in my memories for far too long.

My glasses were still smeared with dried tears, distorting the image before me, but I didn’t need clarity to recognize him.

The stretch of his long, lean frame was forever embossed into mypsyche, a silhouette that time could never erase.

But it wasn’t his body that had me captivated.

It was the quiet intensity of his eyes.Echo watched me in silence, his gaze soft yet piercing—the kind of look that had always unnerved me.

Even as a teenager, he possessed a subtle forcefulness.

His unspoken power provided him the ability to see past all my defenses and straight into my soul.

Echo wasn’t just looking at me, he was reading me, peeling back every layer without uttering a single word.

Somehow, he left me feeling both vulnerable and safe all at once.

His velvet pools followed my slight movements with a calm and deliberate focus.

Words were unnecessary. The silence between us was louder than any conversation we could have aloud—harboring secrets and speaking truths that language could never fully capture.

I shook my head, attempting to dispel the image of him that felt both surreal and all too real.

It had to be a dream, a beautiful hallucination.

There was no way Echo Abara was standing here, at Camp Quest, at our spot.

How did he find me? How did he know I’d come here? The questions swirled, unanswered, in the back of my mind.

“Echo,” I stammered, his name sticking in my throat.

“Wha–What’s good? What are you doing here?

” I stood frozen, realizing this, in fact, wasn’t a dream.

My best friend, the one person who knew my heart better than anyone, was standing before me—a real flesh-and-blood human.

It had been about year—twelve long, agonizing months since I’d last seen him.

Echo paused, tilting his head slightly, his narrowed eyes searching mine, always able to decipher my unspoken words. “Everybody’s looking for you, Sun,” he said softly, the words laced with compassion.

I swallowed hard, nodding. “But you…you knew where to find me.” The realization sent a flush of warmth to my cheeks. “How did you know I’d come here?” I blinked rapidly, trying my best to see him clearly through foggy glasses and the haze clouding my thoughts.

“It didn’t take long to figure it out. This has always been your hideaway—our spot.

Your safe place.” Echo chuckled, a low, soothing sound that tugged at my heart.

“For weeks during that one perfect summer, this place was our solace. Then it became our Saturday getaway when our parents drove us crazy during senior year.” His voice carried a warmth that made the memories feel close enough to touch.

“So, I couldn’t think of any other place you would want to be…

under the circumstances,” he added, his tone gentle, cautious.

With hesitant steps, Echo closed the distance between us, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his suit pants. It was as if he was anchoring himself against the pull we both seemed to feel, a gravity neither of us could name.

“Summer, are you okay?” he asked, concern etching every handsome line on his face. His voice was steady, but the crease in his brow revealed a deeper worry. “I’m…everyone is worried about you.”

I nodded, but didn’t answer his question. I couldn’t—not yet. “Did anybody follow you, E? Did you tell anyone I was here?” My words spilled out shaky as I glanced over his shoulder, scanning the trail, expecting an angry procession of family members.

“Nah. Come on now,” he said, shaking his head. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you. Your parents’ spot is basically Find Summer headquarters. I snuck away once I realized where you’d be.”

Echo moved closer to me, unsure of my state, but his steps betrayed his uncertainty.

He carefully studied my face, searching, almost pleading, for any clues of what was circling through my head.

When he finally reached me, he gently cupped my chin, his touch featherlight but purposeful.

His thumb grazed my cheek, nearly drawing the truth straight from my soul like a sorcerer.

It was a gesture so familiar—so much like the Echo I remembered—that I nearly broke under its spell.

“Sun,” he said, his voice cracking just a little, “you need to call your parents, or I can call them for you. They’re worried sick. Can I tell them you’re okay—just let them know you’re safe?”

Unshed tears welled up as I buried my face in the palms of my hands.

The mention of my parents sent a sharp ache through my chest. It started subtly, like a faint buzzing under my skin, but within seconds, the sensation grew louder.

The soft whimpering I tried to contain escaped my lips; the sobs tore through the silence, loud and unsettling.

My heart pounded violently, slamming against my ribs, the rhythm erratic and out of control.

It was happening. The magnitude of my situation finally shattered the fragile calm I’d been clinging to all day, releasing a wave of panic that erupted deep within me.

Unable to speak, I leaned into the warmth of his hands, letting them cradle the heaviness of my despair.

Through the chaos, his quiet, comforting voice whispered calmly, “Breathe. Just breathe, Sunshine.” Following his lead, finally, I nodded, giving him permission to make the phone call.

Echo tilted his head slightly, his expression softening as he reached for his phone.

I watched as he dialed, my heart heavy but grateful, knowing that for a moment, I didn’t have to carry this alone.

When I’d made the decision to basically run away this morning, I didn’t pause to consider my parents: their worry, their heartbreak, the gnawing fear as the minutes ticked by, and their daughter—their baby girl—was nowhere to be found.

Making my parents proud had always been my life’s mission, but in this moment, I was certain I had failed.

The weight of Oliver and Teresa’s disappointment pressed heavily on my heart.

My chest tightened as guilt clawed at me, but Echo’s calm presence kept me grounded.

I studied his face, trying to piece together what he was doing here while hearing the heartbreak in my mother’s raspy tone.

Immediately, I felt myself shrink, retreating into the self-conscious little girl I thought I’d left behind.

Summer

That One Summer in 2004

It was a sweltering hot Saturday morning in June, the kind where the heat clung to your skin even before you’ve stepped outside.

Our eighties ranch-style home sat on a cul-de-sac in a quaint mostly Black neighborhood.

The cinnamon-colored brick with chestnut-brown shutters was shaded by the mature oak tree in the front yard where little pig-tailed girls jumped double Dutch and sweat-laced boys tossed a basketball in a makeshift hoop.

I groaned as the sun peeked through my window, its unwelcomed warmth dragging me from the bed I had no desire to leave.

Regret hit me like a ton of bricks. Why had I stayed out so late at the midnight drive-in with my friends watching Training Day ?

Then again, Denzel Washington was worth every minute.

Still, I was paying the price today as I wrestled with my sluggish body.

Lifting the blinds, I rolled my eyes. Sure, the neighborhood kids were cute, but their boisterous cackles creeping through my window were getting on my last nerve.

With a sigh, I rolled out of bed, catching a blurry glimpse of my reflection in the dresser mirror.

I slid on my glasses to get a closer look.

Time for my daily round of self-criticism.

I stood there with my hair wrapped in a satin scarf, wearing an old New Edition t-shirt and yellow panties.

Carefully, I unraveled the scarf from my head, finger-combing my relaxed hair, allowing it to fall loose around my face, brushing my shoulders.

I loved the new auburn-brown hue that complemented my smooth caramel skin and coffee-colored eyes perfectly.

For a moment, I smiled wide, admiring my dimples, which pierced the centers of my cheeks.

But, as usual, I studied the things that I hated.

Okay, maybe hate was a strong word, but I focused on the things I strongly disliked—my glasses, large breasts, the slight jiggle in my stomach and hips, which seemed too grown for a girl still trying to figure herself out.

The pretty smile that I loved faded, and I sighed.

Why was it always so much easier to see the flaws?

Just as I spiraled down the endless road of negativity, my mother’s voice echoed in my mind.

“You are beautiful, special, and worthy,” she would always say in the steady and reassuring tone that I needed.

I whispered the mantra to myself: “I am beautiful, special, and worthy.” I repeated the words over and over, reassurance washing over me until the bad thoughts faded, disappearing just as fast as they’d come.

Besides, I had bigger and better things to focus on today.

I was heading back to Camp Quest, the sleepaway camp in Brighton Falls where I’d spent every summer since middle school.

For the last three summers, I’d been a counselor there—it was my escape, my happy place.

I’d just wrapped up my junior year of high school with a strong grade point average, and I couldn’t wait for all the class of 2005 shenanigans my upcoming senior year would bring.

But first, there was one more summer at Camp Quest—a summer that already felt like it was going to be something unforgettable. I could just feel it.