Parfait

1: Chocolate Pecan

Everyone says the summer after the Exams (capital E because they're the only ones that matter) is the most carefree one we'll ever experience.

I, for one, disagree.

How on Earth am I supposed to relax and enjoy the summer when I don't even know my grades? How can I be calm when I'm not sure if I can make it into Med school?

"Seriously, Summer? Why are you still in bed?"

I look towards the door to see one of my best friends, Alex. He's wearing a black shirt that makes his pale skin look paler while his face shines from the sunscreen he can't skip using. With a more careful look, I notice his lips are redder than usual. He was probably making out with Sofia before stopping by, but I prefer thinking he's wearing the watermelon chapstick I've left in his room.

"I'm not still in bed!" I exclaim as I get up. "See? I'm up now."

Alex shakes his head, though I can see him smiling. "You should probably change your shirt unless it's supposed to have this orange dust on it."

I look down at my white top and, sure enough, Doritos residue clings to certain places, making the front of my shirt look orange. With a sigh, I open my closet, careful not to let all my clothes fall like an avalanche again. I fish out a tight black shirt and wave it in the air triumphantly. Alex chuckles before turning around so I can change.

As soon as I grab the bottom of my white tee, his phone rings. It's Sofia, of course. I know because he has a different ringtone for her.

I trade my dirty shirt for the significantly cleaner one in a matter of seconds. "You can turn around now," I announce before laying on the floor to look under my bed for my sneakers.

By the time my feet are in the Adidas Superstars, the call has ended, and I couldn't be happier.

Spinning around, I ask Alex, "How do I look?"

"Great as always, idiot."

I stop twirling and take a moment to stare at him. I always make sure I don't overdo it and, in order to keep it that way, I concentrate on one feature of his. I choose his freckles now, scattered around his nose and cheeks along with a tiny blush from the sun. He looks too good to be true. Sometimes I forget he's the same boy who used to cover himself in mud and pretend to be a pig.

"Is there something on my face?" he asks, instantly wiping his lips with his thumb.

I shake my head. "No, let's go."

His bike is on the grass in my backyard. Alex picks it up and waits for me to get on the pegs. He had borrowed my bike a few days ago and punctured my tires while cycling over the pins Sofia's little sister had thrown at their driveway. Now he's taking me to places as a way to pay me back, but the fact that I am the one that got pranked by a ten-year-old I don't even know hurts.

Our destination is the ice cream shop we go to every day: Parfait. Even though it's located a few blocks away from the town centre, it's still the go-to place for everyone, especially people around my age, who wants some tasty ice cream and a good Instagram post. With its white vintage tables, fake roses dangling from the ceiling and pink leather couches, Parfait would be a hit even if their ice cream tasted like sewage.

As soon as I spot the familiar pastel pink sign with the white calligraphy spelling the name of the shop, I hop off the bike, push the glass door open and scan the display for any new additions. Alice, one of the summer employees, notices and points them out to me. I'm trying to choose between Lemon Sorbet and Rocky Road when Alex pulls a chunk of my hair.

"Don't get off so fast, I nearly fell down!"

I give him a coy smile. "Yeah, that would have been a shame."