Three days after the Lost Letter Incident, I found myself back at the same ice cream place with Clarisse.
"Okay, but hear me out," she said, dramatically waving her spoon. "What if aliens are just future humans with bad posture?"
I blinked. "That's… what? Where did that even come from?"
Clarisse shrugged. "I watched two documentaries and half a conspiracy video. My brain is soup."
"You need hobbies."
"This is my hobby."
She took a bite of her pistachio scoop like it was the most normal thing in the world. Meanwhile, I tried not to choke on my cookies and cream.
We were sitting under the same umbrella table, the plastic kind that wobbled if you leaned on it too hard. It was hot, sticky summer again. The kind that melted your ice cream faster than you could eat it and made your shirt cling to your back like an ex who couldn't move on.
"How's your heart?" Clarisse asked suddenly, squinting at me like a detective.
"Still beating," I said.
"No, I mean the emotional part. The squishy feelings. The poetic nonsense."
"Oh, that heart."
She nodded seriously. "Yes. That heart."
I poked my ice cream a little. "It's fine, I think. Amethyst hasn't messaged again. So either she read the letter and exploded, or she's just… you know, living her life."
Clarisse leaned back in her chair, stretching like a cat. "You know what? That's good. Let her live. Let you live. Let everybody live. It's summer, baby."
I laughed. "What does that even mean?"
"It means we're alive! School's over! No more finals! No more uniforms! No more pretending we know how mitochondria works!"
"You never knew how mitochondria works."
"It's the powerhouse of the cell!" she shouted, startling a pigeon.
We both cracked up.
Sometimes I forgot how easy it was to laugh with Clarisse. She had this way of dragging you out of your brain and back into the world.
"Okay," she said, grabbing her phone. "Time for our daily deep dive."
"Our what now?"
She ignored me and typed something into Instagram.
"Let's see what Miss Manila is up to…"
"Clarisse—"
"Relax. I'm just curious. Not stalking. Just… mild creeping. Like a curious squirrel."
"Your metaphors are getting weirder."
"Thank you."
She scrolled for a second, then tilted her phone toward me.
"Look."
It was Amethyst. Standing in front of a mural she painted. A giant splash of color on a wall—sunsets and stars and a girl with wings made of paintbrushes. She had a streak of yellow on her cheek and a smile that looked a little tired but proud.
"Wow," I said, before I could stop myself.
"Yeah," Clarisse said, her voice softer. "She's kinda killing it."
"She always said she wanted to paint something that big."
"Well, now she has. And honestly? That winged girl looks a little like her."
I nodded. "Yeah. It does."
We were quiet for a second.
Then Clarisse added, "Also, her caption is literally 'I smell like paint and Jollibee spaghetti.' So she's still the same."
I laughed. "Classic Amethyst."
Clarisse gave me a look. "Does it still sting? Seeing her like that?"
I thought about it. Really thought about it.
"A little," I admitted. "But not in a bad way. More like… a pinch. Like something I used to want, but I'm okay not having."
She raised her spoon like a toast. "To emotional maturity!"
I clinked mine against hers. "And questionable ice cream flavors."
"I will fight you on pistachio," she said. "It is elite."
---
Later that week, I ended up at Clarisse's house because she said we needed to "be productive." Which was code for: "Let's do weird stuff and pretend it has purpose."
Her room looked like a rainbow exploded. Posters, plants, fairy lights, and a suspicious number of owl figurines.
"What's with the owls?" I asked.
"They watch me so I don't make dumb decisions."
"…Do they work?"
"Absolutely not."
She flopped on her beanbag and tossed me a notebook. "Write a list."
"A list of what?"
"Things we wanna do this summer. No school. No deadlines. Just vibes."
So we made a list.
Nathan and Clarisse's Summer Plans:
1. Try every ice cream flavor at the shop. Even the weird ones.
2. Go night swimming (even if we freeze).
3. Paint something on the old school wall (without getting caught).
4. Watch every bad rom-com ever made.
5. Go for hiking
6. No crying over exes or crushes (unless it's funny).
"I like this one," I said, pointing to number 6.
"Me too. It's practical."
We laughed and added a seventh item:
7. Don't fall in love with each other. Seriously. Don't. We mean it.
"Just in case," Clarisse said with a grin.
"Right. Preventative measures."
She rolled her eyes. "You're safe. You have the emotional range of a spoon."
"Hey!"
"Kidding. You're more like… a fork. Occasionally sharp."
We laughed until her mom yelled at us to stop shaking the floor.
---
A few days later, Amethyst posted again. A video this time.
She was walking through a campus garden, her voice behind the camera saying, "This doesn't feel real yet, but I think I like it here."
I watched it three times.
Not because I was sad.
Just because it was nice to see her happy.
She didn't mention the letter. And that was okay.
Not everything needed a follow-up.
Some things were meant to be said once. Let out into the world like paper boats.
I closed the app and put my phone down.
Clarisse had just texted me:
Clarisse: "You up for summer list item #2 tonight?"
Me: "Night swimming?"
Clarisse: "You scared?"
Me: "No. But I might scream like a goat if the water's cold."
Clarisse: "Perfect. Bring snacks."
---
That night, we went to the neighborhood pool after hours.
We weren't technically allowed, but Clarisse had a cousin who "knew a guy."
We climbed the gate, laughed the whole way down, and cannonballed into water that felt like it had been imported from the Arctic.
"COLD!" I shouted, flailing.
"Told you!" Clarisse yelled, laughing like a maniac.
We swam until our fingers shriveled, then sat on the edge, legs dangling, hair dripping, stars above us.
"Did you ever think this is what life would feel like?" I asked.
"What? Wet and illegal?"
I laughed. "No. I mean… this in-between part. After graduation. Before the next big thing."
She was quiet for a second.
Then she said, "Honestly? I didn't think about it at all. I was too busy trying to pass math."
"Fair."
"But now that we're here," she added, "I think it's kind of beautiful. A little scary. But kind of nice. Like… we get to decide who we are."
I looked up at the sky.
"You think so?"
"I know so."
We stayed there a while. Just two kids in a pool, floating between past and future.
No big declarations.
No letters.
Just now.
---
The next morning, Amethyst finally replied.
A message popped up on my phone as I was brushing my teeth.
Amethyst: "I read the letter."
I stared at it, toothpaste foam threatening to dribble.
Another message came in.
Amethyst: "I cried. A little."
Then:
Amethyst: "Okay maybe a lot."
Then:
Amethyst: "Thank you. For everything. I'll never forget the almosts."
I didn't respond right away.
I just smiled into the mirror.
And whispered, "Me neither."
---
Sometimes, the almosts shape you.
Sometimes, the goodbyes teach you how to say hello again.
And sometimes, if you're lucky, life gives you a Clarisse.
And a summer worth remembering.
Even if it's full of weird ice cream, emotional growth, and just enough chaos to feel alive.