Still

Eileen Merriman I Dare You That Friday, Carrie and I went to the park for the last time. The sun was slipping behind the hills, and the air was thick and balmy. It was early April, and daylight savings had finished, but we didn’t want to let go of summer. Not yet. We sat side-by-side on the swings. I wanted to be higher, faster, more daring than Carrie. So I jumped off the swing, right when it had reached its dizzy peak, and tumbled into the grass below. “Oh my God,” Carrie yelled, “you’re such a kid.” “You’re just jealous,”