“What about you? Do you like someone?” he mimicked my question.
“Hey, I asked first!” I protested.
“You first,” he said.
No, you go first!” I countered.
“Ladies first,” he continued.
I pinched his arm and gave him a sharp look. He held up his hand and moved to face me. We laughed.
“You,” he said.
“No, you go first!’ I said almost shouting.
“You,” he repeated. “Nina, I like you.”
Sparks flew when a 17-year-old New Yorker Justine met a 15-year-old farm girl Nina on a hot summer day. What followed was a summer of delicious firsts: first love, first kiss, first sip of alcohol, and the inevitable first heartbreak.
A summer filled with all the beautiful moments we’ve dreamed of—watching sunsets, dancing in the rain, counting stars, and playing games all night. It was a summer of forging friendships and building bonds that were unbreakable. Then something happened and it was not summer anymore. And we grew up.