Summer Lemonade

It's 9 o'clock on a Saturday- 9:00 AM, that is, when Mom made lemonade for the annual summer party at our house. Fresh-squeezed lemonade. It is sitting in a cooler on the small table in the tiny house in our backyard. 

Shh! I whisper. It's now 3:21 PM, and my friend and I have been debating whether or not to steal some lemonade all day. We finally broke. 

I fiddle around with the keys and try to unlock the door with no avail. I hand them to my friend. She unlocks the door with ease and gives me a smug grin. I've never been good with keys, and she knows it. I slowly open the door, making sure it doesn't squeak. Then, we tiptoe into the room, and- Blamo. There on the table is a water cooler. Inside it, I know, is a pitcher of the best lemonade in the whole wide world and about 100 plastic cups. 

We creep toward the cooler, making sure to step quietly. I slowly open the cooler and look down at my treasure. I reach in and take my prize, holding it up to bask in its light. 

Suddenly, my friend squeaks with fear.

"What are you doing?" Mom says accusingly from the doorway. I slowly put down the pitcher. "Mom, I was..." I think for a moment. Lying won't do anything. She knows I'd kill for her lemonade. "I was stealing some lemonade," I say, abashed. As Mom comes toward me, I play with my zipper, a nervous habit of mine. "Sorry," I say, my friend echoing me. Mom chuckles softly and takes out three cups from the cooler. She then takes the pitcher and starts to pour lemonade. "You're forgiven." We each take a cup with a grin. "Best. Lemonade. Ever."