Cynthia always arrives flushed and cheerful, dressed in ebony-colored clothes despite the temperature never dipping below scorching. She always wears new shoes and necklaces with a silver teardrop brooch. I invent stories for her, and she tells me about her life: her grandmother who disapproves of skirts worn above the knees, the colorful Egg she found in a super-secret-special-place that hatched into a Togepi, the time she ate so much Honey that the Munchlaxes left their trees to chase after her…
"My dream is to become the very best that no one ever was," she says, "like the legendary Pokemon specialists Crystal and Blue. I'm going to become the first female Champion of our region—no, in the history of the civilized world!"
Every evening, when we part, I walk back home daydreaming about her smile, her laugh, her intoxicating gravity. Every evening I remind myself that our time together is limited, thus I must cherish every second in her company before summer ends.
One balmy afternoon, I show Cynthia the treasure that only appears at day's decline. When the sun is left on a scarlet strip of sky riding over the sea, the Krabbies come out to blow bubbles. That procession of bubbles catching the setting sun's rays off the waves is an exceedingly beautiful sight. It unburdens the spirit.
"This is greater than any of the dumb tourist traps here," Cynthia says under her breath.
"What do you think is on the other side of the ocean?" I say.
"A dawn of epic exploration," she says with profound conviction.
Standing so close to one another, our fingers inevitably, accidentally touch. I apologize profusely. Unbothered, Cynthia grabs my hands and clasps them in her own.
"My dad says we won't be coming to Sunyshore next summer. Too expensive," she says. "So when I leave, you better not forget me."
The hazy weather and the erratic pounding of my heart make my brain swell with adrenaline, and I blurt out a declaration lifted from a translated noir novel.
"I will never forget you."
Those are empty and ridiculous words, especially when uttered by a twelve-year-old boy who is branded as the resident oddball of the town. To my surprise, Cynthia peers into my lowered eyes with burning determination, and she squeezes my slightly trembling hands.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Grinning, Cynthia pulls me into an embrace. The unguarded part of me shatters into uncountable little pieces. It takes everything to swallow down the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. My mother never likes tears, after all. She despises weakness.
"When will you leave?" I mumble.
"I don't know. I'll let you know when I do, though, because I have something important to tell you."
At that moment, I remember that I have something important to disclose as well. Those three words travel enthusiastically from my head to my mouth, but my lips will not move.
"You can tell me now," I say instead.
In the light of the deepening crimson sky, her face glows like a crystallized heart.
"Later. I promise."
We stay out a bit later than usual. As the bubbles drift in the breeze, Cynthia and I assume our imaginary roles as explorers investigating the secret of the fictitious Waterfall Cave. I am fulfilling my assigned task of procuring Sitrus Berries when Cynthia calls me over.
"Look at this!"
Proudly displayed in her palms is a round white stone. It might as well be easily mistaken for any other pebble on the beach if not for the peculiar inscription on its surface: a compass with wings sprouting in each cardinal direction.
"I present you: the White Moonstone!"
"Moonstone are not white."
"Then why are Moonstones named after the moon if they're not even round or white?"
I find no evidence to contradict her.
Not even a few seconds later, I find my own noteworthy discovery. Buried in the sand is a red stone resembling the outline of a crayon-drawn sun. Scrawled on its face is the same pattern as the white stone—that "compass of heaven" as I've aptly grown to call it.
"So this is the treasure of Waterfall Cave!" Cynthia exclaims. "The White Moonstone and Red Sunstone, a set of keys that will open up a secret passage to riches unimagined... Well done, my partner-in-crime!"
Alas, with our last mission as an exploration team having concluded for the day, I accompany Cynthia back home. Far above our heads, the sun bleeds over a horizon of sapphire and ruby, and as the dying traces of sunlight fade into the stars, Cynthia leans her head on my shoulder.
"Oops," she says.
Only a small part of me agrees that it was accidental.