My — Favourite Season Summer

“Pool?” Sam asked, shaking his wet hair like a golden retriever.

But the best part, the beating heart of summer, came last. my favourite season summer

“Pool,” I confirmed.

The air conditioner was a lie.

The sound of a basketball dribbling on the driveway pulled me off the bed. My best friend, Sam, was already outside, his tank top stuck to his skin. “You coming, or are you gonna hibernate until August?” he yelled up. “Pool

We sat on the curb as the wind arrived, hot and frantic, flipping the leaves of the maple trees inside out. The first fat, warm raindrops splattered on the asphalt, smelling of dust and ozone. And then the sky tore open. The air conditioner was a lie

The municipal pool was a miracle of chaos. It smelled of chlorine, coconut sunscreen, and cheap hot dogs. It was a roiling mass of splashing kids, where the lifeguard’s whistle was the only law. We didn’t swim laps; we waged underwater wars, holding our breath until our lungs screamed, wrestling for a single, sunken quarter at the deep end. We flew off the high dive, not as boys, but as Icarus, arms wide, stomach dropping, before slapping the water with a crack that left red welts on our chests. It was glorious.