Quaranteens

lemonade

Grace and I had adapted, like survivalists must do, and decided that we would visit each other's yards.

"As long as we're six feet apart nobody can get mad."

"Good thinking, yeah," I grunted out as I slung my towel over the fence.

"So, how exactly are you- oh." I stepped up onto the chair and kind of just--well, hopped over the fence.

"Practice makes perfect," I said, standing up, "and all that."

It felt so good to see Grace. Not through the phone, not through a fence, not in badly angled Snapchats, really see her face to face. She was clearly still wearing her pajamas, a white loose tank top and some grey shorts.

"Are those Hello Kitty flip flops?"

"Shut up."

"Ooh, touchy touchy."

"I bet five dollars you're wearing Batman boxers right now."

"I will jump that fence and ignore you."

"No, wait I take it back!"

I turned up my nose and crossed my arms, sniffling a bit.

"I'm gonna need an apology."

"I'm sorry, Nate," she snorted.

"No, no, a proper apology."

"You only jumped the fence for lemonade, didn't you."

"..."

"Oh you fucking dickhead."