The stars were perfect that night. So vast, so bright, like glittering pushpins on an indigo map of the heavens. Reflecting off the lapping, navy blue waves that rolled over my sandy toes, they illuminated forest shades of emerald and pine, and her smiling, dark brown face.

“Do you think we’ll always be friends?” she asked, honey eyes as warm as the orange glow that filled the windows of the scattered, hickory-colored houses I could see across the lake, the barely peeking through the trees. Her shoulder nudged mine, and I chuckled.

“Well, I sure hope so,” I teased. “You already know too much.” She rolled her eyes.

“Be serious, Lou.”

“I am!” I tilted my head back and laughed, but on the inside, a panging feeling began to gnaw at my chest. Of course we wouldn’t stay best friends after we graduated—no one would. We would all go our separate ways, create our own lives, and forget all about how we sat here on the sandy lake shore and watched silver, cotton candy clouds drift across the moonlit sky back when we were kids. It was the natural order of things.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to say it out loud.