The Way Things Change

Summer Days

Before the party, before everything spiraled, it had been a different kind of summer. Betty and I used to hang out at the park every afternoon, lying in the grass under the same old oak tree. Sometimes we'd talk about nothing at all—movies, music, how stupid it was that school started so early. Other times, we'd talk about everything. Our futures, our families, what we wanted out of life. Those were the days when things felt easy, when I thought I had it all figured out. I didn't know I was standing on the edge of something I didn't understand yet.

I can't pinpoint the exact moment it all started to shift. But looking back, it was there—small things I hadn't noticed. Betty was always calm, always sure of herself, but as summer went on, I started to feel this... distance. Like we were standing on opposite sides of a river and didn't know how to build the bridge anymore.

The first time I really felt it was a Wednesday afternoon in July. We'd made plans to meet at the park, same as always. I got there first, lying down under the oak tree, staring up at the sky. The sun was blinding, so I threw my arm over my eyes, listening to the wind rustling the leaves above me. I remember thinking about how perfect everything felt—the heat of summer, the scent of freshly cut grass, the idea that school was still weeks away.

Betty showed up a little late, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing the yellow sundress I loved. She looked beautiful, but something was different. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and she seemed distracted, like she had something on her mind she wasn't ready to share.

"Hey, James," she said as she sat down beside me, folding her legs underneath her.

"Hey, Betts." I smiled, pushing myself up onto my elbows. "What's up?"

She shrugged, picking at the grass. "Nothing much. Just... thinking."

"About what?" I asked, turning to look at her.

She hesitated, then shrugged again. "I don't know. Everything, I guess."

That was the first crack. The first time I noticed she wasn't really with me. I didn't press her on it, though. I figured she'd tell me when she was ready. That was how Betty was—she liked to keep things inside until she'd figured them out. I told myself it was no big deal, that we'd be fine. But that feeling, the one I couldn't quite put into words, lingered.

As the days passed, it got harder to ignore.

There were more days like that. Days where we'd hang out, and she'd be there, but not really there. I started to worry that maybe she was bored of me, that maybe I wasn't enough anymore. I tried to brush it off, but it gnawed at me, this little voice in the back of my head that wouldn't shut up.

It wasn't like we fought, though. That's the thing that made it so confusing. We didn't argue or have big blow-ups. Betty didn't snap at me or accuse me of anything. She just... drifted. And the more she drifted, the more I felt myself pulling back, too. I didn't know how to close the gap, so instead of trying, I let it grow.

That's when Augustine came into the picture.

Augustine—or Inez, as people liked to call her—was the complete opposite of Betty. Where Betty was calm and thoughtful, Augustine was wild, unpredictable. She'd show up at places like she'd been summoned, wearing ripped jeans and oversized flannels like she couldn't care less. We weren't exactly close friends, but I'd known her for a while, had a couple classes with her. She was the kind of girl who did whatever she wanted and didn't care who was watching.

It started small. Augustine and I ran into each other at the local coffee shop one afternoon, a few weeks before the party. Betty had canceled our plans last minute, and I was feeling that familiar ache of distance again. Augustine spotted me sitting alone at a table in the corner, scrolling through my phone, and made her way over, carrying her drink like she had no particular place to be.

"James, right?" she asked, sliding into the chair across from me before I had a chance to answer.

"Yeah," I replied, glancing up, a little caught off guard.

"You look bored out of your mind," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Why're you sitting here all alone?"

I shrugged, not really in the mood to explain. "Just killing time, I guess."

"Killing time," she echoed, leaning back in her chair. "That's a waste of a perfectly good summer day."

I laughed, shaking my head. "What would you rather I do?"

"Something," she said, smirking. "Anything. This town's small, but it's not that small. There's stuff to do."

She had this way about her—this energy that made you feel like you should be doing more, like sitting still was some kind of failure. Inez had always been the center of attention, the girl who didn't need to try to be noticed. And in that moment, when I felt like everything with Betty was slipping away, Augustine made me feel seen again.

I didn't think much of it at first. It was just a coffee shop, just a conversation. But from that day on, she started popping up more often. At parties, at the park, at random places around town. She'd wave, smile, stop to chat. And each time, it got a little easier to forget how lost I felt when it came to Betty.

Betty didn't know, of course. She wasn't the jealous type, and even if she was, there was nothing to be jealous of. Augustine and I weren't a thing. We weren't even really friends. She was just... there. A distraction. Something to fill the space that had started to grow between me and Betty.

Looking back, I should've seen where it was heading. I should've been more aware of how far I was drifting. But it was easier not to think about it. Easier to pretend that everything would work itself out.

Then, one day in late August, Betty called me and asked if I wanted to meet her at the park.

When I got there, she was sitting under our oak tree, her legs stretched out in front of her, her arms resting in her lap. She didn't look up when I approached, just kept staring straight ahead. I sat down next to her, my heart beating a little too fast, sensing something was wrong.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound casual.

"Hey," she replied, her voice quiet.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, the air between us heavy with things unsaid. Finally, she turned to me, her eyes searching mine.

"Are we okay, James?"

The question caught me off guard. I wanted to say yes, wanted to tell her everything was fine. But the truth was, I didn't know. I didn't know if we were okay. I didn't know if we could be. And that terrified me.

"I don't know," I said quietly, looking down at the ground.

Betty nodded slowly, her face unreadable. She didn't press me, didn't argue. She just sat there, the silence between us growing even heavier.

That was the moment, I think, when things really started to unravel.