These Times Are So Uncertain

The last day of school was still quite a few months away, but already April and I were making plans. She was going to her family's ski lodge in Colorado, and her parents to bring one friend. I declined, wondering why someone would want to go to a snowy place in the summer; of course, I didn't tell April that. I told her two truths and a lie: my parens wanted me close so that I could help keep their garden weed-free [truth], I needed to work extra hours for needed extra cash [truth], and I was going to be alone all summer but I'd really be wishing I was in Colorado [partial truth, partial lie]. She promised she'd write and call.

"Ape? It's not for another four months."

"So? Just trying to plan everything ahead."

"Good luck with that."

"Hello, Mrs. Visconti, Mr. Visconti."

"Hello, April."

"Mom, Dad? I'm going to be able to help you over the summer with the garden."

"Alright."

"Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thanks. I'll swing by in a few."

"Okay. Love you, Sweet Pea."

"Love you two, too."

"Your parents hate me," April muttered.

"Yeah, I know."

"I wonder what Tom's doing right now?"

-♥-

Tom's P.O.V.

The picture of her in my wallet was a sight for sore eyes. She was smiling at someone to the left of the camera, a red plastic cup in her hand, and there was Bill and Georg with a water. I laughed quietly when I remember what had happened.

Kynna took a sip of her drink, a virgin strawberry daiquiri, and someone called her name. I watched as my brother and Georg saw the bucket at the same time. They picked it up while Kynna laughed at a joke the random photographer said. Suddenly, her laughter disappeared into a shriek of surprise, and people chuckled. Her tanktop clung to her skin, and her bright red hair- now in a choppy spiked style- hung to her shoulders. I laughed along with everyone else, and she threw her drink at me.

"You guys are prats!"

"Sie vermissen sie sehr viel, meinen Sie nicht?"

"Ja, das tue ich. Ich habe nicht geglaubt, dass es so viel schaden würde."

"Sag ihr, wie Sie sich fühlen."

"Das kann ich nicht tun."

"Warum nicht?"

"Weil ich liebe sie, aber sie liebt mich nicht."

"Sie sollten sich trotzdem sagen sie."

"Ich werde es versuchen."

"Gut." Bill paused. "Sie lieben?"