“What flavor would you like?” she asks, running her index and middle fingers through her bleached hair. I order lemon, then stand to the side as I wait for it to come. When she hands it to me, I lick it, the sweet bitterness bringing me back to the first summer that I tried it.

“Just taste it,” Satch said, shoving the cone under my chin. I glanced down before turning my head, giggling. His nails still had sand wedged into his cuticles. He smelled like the beach, a lovely combination of salt and Capri Sun.

“Grace, honestly. We can’t be friends if you don’t.”

The breeze blew my hair, getting a strand stuck in my chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

“Ugh! This is all your fault!” I replied, pulling the lengthy piece out of my cone.

“Pleaseeee try it.”

I imagined a thousand lemons being squeezed onto my tongue at once. “No!”

Satch shrugged. I turned away, then back. I lifted my ice cream to my mouth.

“Ha!” he shouted, slamming his cone into my mouth, the chill against my teeth making me shudder.

“Satchel!” I screamed, jumping up off of the curb. The flavor swirled against my tongue, sweeter than I had imagined.

“Good, huh?” he said, grinning. I kicked my foot at him, in the hopes that it would distract from the smile on my face. It didn’t.

“You like it.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do. You smiled.”

I attempted to frown, but my laugh beat it out.

“I hate you! It’s… it’s gross!”

Then we laughed, because we both knew that wasn’t true.