Watermelon and Fireworks

"Do  you like watermelon?" The store owner asks. "Yes," I say. The store owner pushes a plate of watermelon slices and winks. "It's on the house." I grin, taking one. "Thanks!" I say. I've known the store owner for just about as long as I've been alive. Every day I come to his store after school, but since it's summer, I get to come whenever I please. I run off, down the parking lot, and onto the pathway through the woods. I've lived by the ocean my entire life, my house only a few minutes away from the shop. I run for about ten minutes, down the well-worn pathway. I slow as I near the edge of the woods. I notice the toadstools lining the trees. I smile, remembering all the times we'd collected and cooked the shrooms that were safe to eat. I breathe in, letting the cool breath blow my hair. As I reach the beach at the edge of the woods, I see my best friend sitting on the swing that Dad had built for us years ago. I walk over, sit down, and take a bite out of my watermelon. "Hi," he says. "Hi." We start to talk, and the rest of the afternoon is filled with laughter. 

At 7:00 PM exactly, we look up into the sky as fireworks illuminate the night.