The Summer of Falling Stars

The drinking fountain burbles its stream in a satisfying arc. Not too high, not too low. The pressure is just right. I put my lips to it and enjoy the refreshing water. It is typically ice cold! The coldest water of any fountain in the whole school. I take a couple more slurps, raise my chin and wipe the dribbles off my mouth. My last drink from that fountain. Check. My last walk down this hallway. Check. My last lunch in that cafeteria. Check. I have checked off item after item from my last-day-of-school checklist. My last math class. Check. My last recess. Check. My last use of the restroom. Check. Next year, I’ll be in junior high, and I will start a new checklist. First day of seventh grade. First Algebra class. First P.E. class. … I can’t wait. The guidance counselor told me last week that I’ll be enrolled in advanced classes. The subjects sound interesting — American Literature, World History, Space & the Universe. I’ll get to take electives in subjects I enjoy — Band, French...

I head outside and walk next door to Kendall’s back yard. My friend is sitting on a swing, waiting for me. I sit in the other swing. We have outgrown the swing set but it’s still our meeting point. “Hey,” I say. “Hey,” he says back. We used to see how high we could swing and how far we would go when we leaped out. Now, we mainly sit, spin them around and around, and make plans. “What are you up to?” I ask. “Getting over my dad’s lecture,” he says. “Hmm. What was it about?” “Staying in shape. Working out. Lifting. Running. Wrestling,” he says. “Apparently, those are my summer plans.” Kendall’s dad puts a lot of pressure on him to be a good athlete. Everyone calls him “Coach” because he coaches every youth sport in town — Pee Wee football, Little League baseball, junior wrestling. He claims credit for training Kendall into a football star and a wrestling champ. (By the way, I run track sufficiently and play tennis unsatisfactorily, but I am not a jock.) Coach is tough on Kendall. There’s...