More Than A List

Summer here feels like a movie.

The kind with golden light, and ocean breeze, and the kind of sunsets that make you forget everything that’s ever gone wrong.

It’s riding with the windows down and the radio too loud, toes sandy, skin warm. It’s laughing so hard with your best friend you nearly choke on your milkshake.

It’s late nights on the boardwalk, flip-flops smacking, sea salt in your hair, and secrets whispered under carnival lights.

Summer, here, is soft and stretched out — like time forgets to move when you’re in it. Like everything can just stay the same. Safe. Simple. Yours.

Which is probably why I’ve been trying so hard to hold onto it.

Because in three weeks, everything changes.

Senior year. College apps. Grown-up decisions I’m not ready to make.

But for now — I’m still here.

Sitting in the corner booth at Pops, swirling her straw through the last of the ice in her tea, Paislee glanced at the clock above the kitchen window. Jackson was late. Again. She wasn’t surprised.

The air smelled like fried shrimp and waffle fries, and the old fan overhead clicked every few seconds like it was thinking about quitting for good. A family sat two booths down arguing over hush puppies, and someone had picked a sad country song on the jukebox that kept skipping every third line.

The door opened with a jingle, and Jackson walked in, hair a sun-bleached mess, a band-aid on his knee, and a milkshake carrier in one hand.

He spotted her immediately and made his way over with a grin that was both charming and slightly obnoxious.

“You’re late,” Paislee said without looking up.

Jackson slid into the booth across from her and set the milkshake down in front of her. Vanilla with caramel drizzle. Her favorite.

“I brought peace offerings.”

She raised an eyebrow but took a sip anyway. “Bribery doesn’t excuse chronic lateness.”

“It’s not bribery if it’s tradition,” he said, leaning back like he had all the time in the world. “Besides, you like me better when I’m late. Gives you time to rehearse your dramatic one-liners.”

“Only because you keep giving me material.”

They settled into the booth like they always did, like nothing had changed. Jackson picked at the fries. Paislee stole a bite of his chicken sandwich without asking. Somewhere in the kitchen, someone shouted over a fryer basket, and a little kid nearby spilled an entire cup of lemonade on the floor.

It was normal. It was comfortable. It was almost easy to forget that this summer was running out of days.

Jackson tapped his fingers against the edge of the table. “So, I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh.”

“I’m serious.”

“That’s what makes it scarier.”

He ignored her and reached into his backpack, pulling out a notebook with a bunch of random doodles all over the cover. He flipped it open to a mostly blank page and slid it toward her.

“We need to make a list.”

Paislee stared at him. “Like… groceries?”

“No. Like—us. Things we need to do before school starts.”

“Jackson—”

“Hear me out,” he said, holding up a hand. “This is our last summer before everything changes. Senior year is basically just a countdown clock to real life. And real life is terrifying. So I figure… why not do something ridiculous now, while we still can?”

She leaned back, crossing her arms. “You want me to agree to some mystery list of chaos with less than three weeks left in summer?”

“Exactly.”

“Why do I feel like this ends with us in a police report or a group text apology?”

He laughed. “It won’t. Probably.”

Paislee narrowed her eyes. “Jackson.”

“I’m not saying we go skydiving or rob a bank. I’m saying… ten things. Nothing illegal. Nothing life-threatening. Just stuff we’ll remember. Something to prove we didn’t just let this summer fade out while we sat in this booth eating fries and pretending nothing’s changing.”

She glanced at the notebook, then at him. He wasn’t joking. There was this look in his eyes—earnest, a little hopeful, and just stubborn enough to push her buttons.

“I already hate how persuasive you’re being right now.”

“You’ll love it by number three.”

“No promises.”

He grinned. “So… are you in?”

Paislee didn’t answer right away. She looked out the window, where the late afternoon sun was starting to dip behind the rooftops of the boardwalk shops. Outside, kids chased each other barefoot across the street. Inside, Pops buzzed like it always did.

Same old town. Same old booth. Same old Jackson.

But maybe that was exactly why she nodded.

“Fine,” she said. “But we’re making the list together. And I get veto power if it involves clowns, heights, or emotional vulnerability.”

“Deal.”

He offered his pinky, and she rolled her eyes, but she linked hers with his anyway.

The list would come tomorrow.

Tonight, they were just two best friends with milkshakes, salt on their skin, and one last summer stretched out in front of them.