The Summer of Broken Rules

by K.L. Walther

The road’s unofficial speed limit was twenty-five miles per hour, but everyone loved bending that rule.

“Shithead’s name is Ben,” I replied, sighing. “And it was more babe than baby.” “Ben? I like Shithead better.” “Me too, actually.” I laughed

I’d put myself second again.

“The idea isn’t to disrupt the photos but to make the guests ask themselves ‘Who the fuck is that?’ when the album goes online.”

I only stayed for a half hour or so. Long enough to watch Jake and Luli win a few rounds of cornhole but not long enough to get caught up in a conversation with Wit. I’d wanted to talk to him so badly at the Beach Plum, and now I just didn’t. Because what did it matter? Everything was ending.

“Party too hard last night?” I joked. He must’ve joined the shenanigans after our disaster of a driveway dare. Another groan. “Peer pressure.” “Yeah,” I said. “They say you’re supposed to resist it.”

then thanked Aunt Christine for a beautiful wedding. “It was one of the best nights of my life,” I told her, the honest truth. “Please plan mine someday.” “Oh, Mer,” she said, shaking her head and smiling. “You and your mom are going to do that.” She kissed my cheek, then whispered, “But I would be happy to consult.”