“They stare at each other, one of those high-testosterone stares. “Amazing,” Tucker says. There’s a challenge in his voice. “Best summer of my life.”I wonder if it’s too late to get out of this class.“Well, that’s the thing about summers, isn’t it?” says Christian after a minute. “They have to end sometime.”

“Ferbus stared in wonder. "He's like a bag of microwave popcorn."Driggs finally spoke, his voice equally amazed. "But popcorn tends to stop popping after a couple of minutes. He's...still going.”

“I screamed. You told me not to.” He rubs at the soot on one hand with his thumb, then stares at it. “The dirt,” he says, his voice strangely peaceful.“What about it?” she asks. “It’s dirty.”

“Oh well, it’s over for you. Call the code at 2:03 p.m.”My eyes widened in shock. “That’s what they say when someone dies.”“Exactly.” He nodded. “Woman have fallen in love with me after staring like that for only thirty seconds andI think you just took a full minute. You’re doomed.”

“Today, while Mother was watching me work, she suddenly remarked, “They say that people who like summer flowers die in the summer. I wonder if it’s true.” I did not answer but went on watering the eggplants. It is already the beginning of summer. She continued softly, “I am very fond of hibiscus, but we haven’t a single one in this garden.”“We have plenty of oleanders,” I answered in an intentionally sharp tone.“I don’t like them. I like almost all summer flowers, but oleanders are too loud.”“I like roses best. But they bloom in all four seasons. I wonder if people who like roses best have to die four times over again.”We both laughed.”

“A day out of season, stopping the monotonous count of summer days. Stopping, too, one's own summer routine, so that, looking out on the gray skies, one says not only, 'What time of year is it?' but, 'What time of life am I in? Where am I? What am I doing?”