Chapter one: Naming of Summers I started naming summers the Summer I Discovered Boys. That was probably named The Best Summer Ever at the time. It was actually a summer that began when I turned 13. In sixth grade, no one ever crossed the friendship border. Why? Because. We. Were. In. Sixth. Grade. When I met the fantastical Hunter with a Polish last name just like me, did I care? No, not really. To be honest, I didn't even realize what I was doing. I was flirting, with everyone. People who hated me, my closest friends. Hunter and I eventually broke the friendship dam and the Puppy Love River began flowing. It lasted all summer. And fall. And that winter. And the following spring, all the way till I started eighth grade. However, that last summer has a name I am not entirely proud of: The Summer I Discovered the Boy I Loved and Many Others Were Assholes. I think that one is self explanatory. Worst summer I ever had. Or so I thought. No one can die of a bruised ego mixed with a broken heart and burnt skin. But I can I die this summer? Maybe. Just maybe. This summer was actually supposed to be the best summer. On June 5th I found out I aced all my exams, I studied for none of them, and finished middle school with straight C's. On June 9th I'm going on a beach trip, to meet boys, with my mom and brother. Not even a week after I return, I'm supposed to meet my friend's wonderful, dark, and charming cousin. Of course, something happened. What was it? What it always is! I got stupid. No boys were involved. Just sadness.