The sun beats down like it's a zombie apocalypse, and the kids actually outside have the look of, My Mom Made Me Leave The Television And I'm About To Keel Over.
The only two who look moderately content are a pair sitting behind a cardboard table on the corner.
A ramshackle sign depicting lemons and $1 it propped beside them on a plastic chair, and the boy's hair colour is very close to the lemons floating in the half-full pitcher.
The girl's long brown hair has been coaxed into two skinny braids on either side of her head, which tilt every time she looks quizzically at the boy's reading material.
There's a shimmer to her eyes, the love kind, though no one will ever know whether it's the beautiful, best friend love or the crush love.
Doesn't matter anyway.
He's got a stack of Marvel comics by his propped legs, and reads the Iron Man one avidly.
I can't believe no one is coming, she sighs, pouring herself a glass of lemonade and crowding beneath the beach umbrella he's stuck behind her chair.
Don't worry about it. My mom already gave us ten dollars. He replies, letting the comic book rest on his skinny stomach. He pokes her in the cheek and she laughs with dimples.
They couldn't be more than eight, with the childhood-friendship shine in their eyes and the deep tan that comes from being outdoors every waking hour.
The boy's pale hair falls upon his forehead in loose, cherubic curls, and she brushes them back in a familiar sort of gesture.
Suddenly, he stands, grabbing the girl's hand and taking off behind the house. She shrieks as he upends the table on the way, splashing lemonade across her legs but they disappear in the shadow and then the sound of the cannonball-kind-of-splash sounds from the backyard, the soundtrack being childish shrieks and giggles.
