[Runner-Up of Junior Division] Summer Blues

By the time Zarin returned from Bangladesh, the August sun loomed over my East San Jose neighborhood, making it extra hot. “No matter,” Zarin said, “it’s not the heat that gets you, it’s the humidity.” She’d easily take ninety degrees in California over the monsoon that had bogged down her dadu’s Dhaka apartment all summer. 

My best friend carried my baseball bat as I lugged a watermelon in my red wagon to Commodore Park. Checking for ants, I spread a garbage bag in the grass and hoisted the watermelon onto the middle. It was round like a basketball, half-covered by a yellow sunspot, and its stripes were close together like a tiger cat resting on its haunches. Purr-fect. 

“If Dhaka’s anything like Saigon, it’s definitely cooler here,” I said. “Last time I went, I couldn’t stop sweating through my shirt.” 

“Speaking of shirts, can you do the honors?” Zarin said. “My mom will flip if she has to do my laundry again.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, since you work out and I’m jetlagged.” 

“All right,” I said, “but make sure you post it later.”

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She tied a bandana for my blindfold and walked me back a few paces. Then I kicked off my shoes, plunked the metal slugger in the dirt, and touched my forehead to the smaller end. 

“Ready, Lena? Lights, camera, action!” 

Bent at a right angle, I shuffled around the bat as fast as I could until I was dizzy. Zarin’s voice rang in my ears, and I pulled myself together to not totally embarrass myself in 4K. 

“Go forward! Right three steps! Turn to four o’clock! Okay, stop! Now smash it!” 

I swung down with all my might. The recoil from the bat told me to strike again and again until a satisfying burst of juice sprayed my feet, and my best friend burst out laughing. 

• 

We had met in seventh grade. Everyone was new to junior high, and Zarin wasn’t even in most of my classes. Nevertheless, I sat down next to her at lunch. She offered me some of her mother’s chicken biryani. I asked her why she brought her own lunch when the district gave us free food every day. They rotated frozen pizza, burritos, and cheeseburgers that the cafeteria was kind enough to reheat for us. Because they’re not halal, she explained. Her family wasn’t super religious, but they went to a mosque twice a year for Eid al‑Fitr and Eid al‑Adha. She mostly observed her religion’s modesty laws until she joined the wrestling team. Then she wore the same spandex singlet as everyone else. I carried decorated signs to the gym to cheer her on despite Zarin losing more matches than she won. But no matter the result, I never heard her brag or feel sorry for herself. She was well-adjusted and unassuming that way.

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• 

We ate the smaller pieces of watermelon first and they gradually got bigger and bigger until we both felt like throwing up. After returning to an empty pantry, Zarin’s mother had taken her shopping that morning before dropping her off at my house. Even with the Zarin-sized hole she left behind, their car was packed like sardines that I jokingly asked if they were planning a party. “No, it’s just to make dal and chapatis for my lunch,” Zarin said, full of ennui. 

We wheeled the watermelon rinds back to my house for composting. It was the last day of vacation, and I begged my mom to take us to the theater at Eastridge Mall so we could watch Inside Out 2. Afterward, we stopped by my family’s boba shop in the food court. I ordered an Earl Grey milk tea and Zarin the mango green tea. On the house, of course. 

“The movie was all right,” I said as we waited at the counter, “but the first Inside Out was better.” 

“Yeah,” Zarin agreed. “Riley should’ve stayed loyal to her middle school friends instead of ghosting them to impress those high school girls. I think growing up is about staying true to yourself, you know? If you have to change yourself to fit in, you just end up making yourself miserable.” 

Our drinks arrived. We took some selfies pressing the cool cups against our faces, a souvenir of summer freedom. Until recently, I had been addicted to video games and VC’d with our classmates on Discord every day. I certainly never read a book outside of school, and if I did, I couldn’t focus on the text long enough to appreciate the story. Zarin had lent me her favorite book The Kite Runner back in

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June, but even after I finished it for the library’s summer reading program, I couldn’t remember what it was about. My mind worked like a sieve back then. 

Eventually, the sipping sounds from Zarin’s drink turned hollow, and she peeled back the plastic top and began munching on the ice. Once outside, I asked whether she’d go back to Bangladesh next summer. Her thick eyebrows darkened, and the bump on the bridge of her nose wrinkled. I had expected she’d blend right into her parents’ culture, but apparently not. The locals didn’t speak much English and they could tell right away from her Bengali that she was an ABCD. 

“What’s an ABCD?” I asked. 

“American Born Confused Desi. I mean, I look Indian, but my Bengali’s not fluent. I only have to open my mouth at the marketplace before they charge me the tourist prices. Didn’t you feel that way in Vietnam?” 

“Sort of,” I said. “But it was just me and my mom there, so I just followed her lead most of the time.” 

“America is like the heart,” Zarin said. “It just fits in without trying.” Later, I found out she had ripped that line from someone’s Instagram. 

A cool breeze whispered past us. My neck prickled with anxiety watching the deserted parking lot. We might as well have been on the deck of the Titanic facing the dark, endless ocean. If only Rose could’ve scooched over and let Jack climb onto the plank.

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“Hey,” Zarin said suddenly, “do you remember when we threw color packets at each other on the last day of eighth grade?” 

“Yeah,” I chuckled. “I got it in my eyes and we looked like maniacs on the ground laughing!” 

“That was only two months ago,” she reminded me. “I had a lot of time on my flight to reminisce. I’m sad that soon we won’t be able to see each other. By the time we graduate high school, we’ll be totally different people.” 

“Maybe even earlier,” I predicted. 

Zarin leaned over the rails to photograph the sunset. The raven black hair she kept braided was now down to her waist. I checked my phone. It was 7:34. The sun that bathed the sky in brilliant pink and gold would travel west, west, and west, crossing the International Date Line. Then it would respawn in the east, my school year restarting at Evergreen Academy and Zarin’s at Oakridge High School. At long last, my mom’s Tesla pulled up against the curb, and we both climbed into the back seat. 

“Hey, Lena?” Zarin said. “It was really nice hanging out with you today.” 

“Don’t talk like that, silly,” I said. “You make it sound like we’ll never hang out again.” 

“Because you’ll find new friends, and I’ll find new friends. We’ll exchange a few texts here and there, but we won’t actually see each other.”

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“We’re best friends for life, even if we’re apart,” I assured her, though I didn’t believe it. “Wherever you are, we’ll reconnect like nothing’s happened.” 

“I know you better than that, Lena. You’re too ambitious to look back since you’re trying to be a doctor.” 

“Oh, you’re one to talk when you want to be a lawyer. Hey! Maybe you can study malpractice law so you can defend me when I make it big.” 

“Or I could be representing the plaintiff suing you for botching their operation.” “Oh, whatever!” I shot her an annoyed look. “I’ll put you on retainer first.” 

“Remind me to charge you an arm and a leg.” 

My mom parked in front of her house. Zarin offered me a handshake, but I gave her the look. We laughed at the same time and she gave me a hug instead. 

“I hope you’re right,” she said, “and this isn’t the last time we’ll see each other.” “It better not be. I know where you live.” 

Sniffing, I watched Zarin walk down her driveway and into the house where she’d be organizing her backpack for freshman year. My mom turned back to face me, her brow furrowed. 

“Are you okay, Lena? You look like you’re crying.”

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I turned away, embarrassed. “Nah. A lash just got in my eye. Cheap falsies.” 

“Pfft. I don’t know why you even wear them.” 

The car lurched forward. Through my window, I watched the afterglow’s dying embers stream into the dark horizon. Amid the crows cawing outside, I thought I heard summer’s last gasp in Zarin’s exasperated sigh. 

*** 

Two summers later, I reconnected with Zarin after Evergreen Academy fell short of my expectations and I transferred to Oakridge High School the summer of America’s semiquincentennial. I had finally obtained a driver’s license, so I drove myself to Zarin’s house. 

When Zarin stepped out onto her porch, she looked almost the same with her frisky demeanor and dark brown hair that had been cut to her shoulders since she adopted a nervous tic of pulling out her hair. She had trichotillomania. 

We spent the whole evening on her rooftop and watched the sun recede behind the hills, talking about all the new things that had happened in the past two years. This time, it was Zarin who did most of the talking, updating me on all the drama that went on at Oakridge High School of who hated who and who screwed who. Zarin’s always been an entertaining storyteller, she exaggerated a lot of the details so I had to dismiss half of the things she said. It wasn’t that she intended to lie, it was for

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me, her audience, to feel the strong emotions she had experienced. Then, we began to talk about the future even though Zarin didn’t necessarily take interest in her future. 

“Do you still wanna be a lawyer after high school?” I asked. 

“Nah, maybe like psychology or something.” 

“I thought you weren’t into medicine. That was my lane, remember?” 

“Eh, I’m not completely sure yet, we’ll have to see.” She stared into the distance avoiding eye contact. I wondered if she was feeling drowsy from her ADHD medications. 

She gave vague answers as to what she would like to do and what college she would like to attend. I found myself detesting her for her lack of competence in future plans that needed to be addressed urgently. At Evergreen Academy, all the students had a major in mind and joined all the programs they could find. So when I found out that most students at Oakridge High School hadn't figured out their purpose irritated me. I cared so deeply for Zarin I wanted her to have her path set, so when she and her friend group frittered away their summer, I wondered if this was the crowd I wanted to join when I came to Oakridge High School. I caught myself labeling her immature. 

“Why did you leave Evergreen Academy, Lena?” Zarin asked. “You never told me.” “I didn’t feel like the school was worth the price.” 

“But your family’s loaded, aren’t they?”

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“Not at all.” I felt my neck prickle since Zarin had been to my house and should’ve known that wasn’t the case. I never saw her as someone who was oblivious, so I took a deep breath to calm myself. She must’ve been thinking of someone else, or else her meds had sunk her into a stupor. Her eyes were no longer focused the longer we talked and the sun continued sinking behind the horizon. 

But watching her laugh and talk about her other interests while being totally unbothered by the pressures at my fancy private school. I’d spent two years carrying the burden of taking my education seriously. I realized growing up wasn’t a race to see who could figure out their future the quickest. At Oakridge High School, Zarin had carried herself with a young and energetic demeanor, refusing to let academic pressures rush her into discovering her career path. For her, youth was meant to be cherished and lived though innocence, not as a springboard into the sphere of adulthood. 

“I have a watermelon in my fridge,” Zarin finally said, smirking. “For old time’s sake?” “For old time’s sake,” I agreed, choosing to ignore the iceberg for the sake of our friendship. 

In the two years we spent apart at different schools, Zarin had changed with a host of new diagnoses accompanied by a cocktail of different medications. Her youth was fleeting, though I chose not to talk about her thinning hair. So many topics lay unspoken between us. There wasn’t enough time to address them all, nor did I care to address it then. We’d worry about them later because summer was short, and I just came to enjoy the moment.