Everybody seems to think the summer after your senior year is the stuff of legends. That it’s two months of pure teenage bliss or something. It’s almost as if there’s this big conspiracy surrounding it, like, sure, kid, throw your cap in the air, cue up that hit pop song you will definitely hate by fall, and then you, too, will be guaranteed the most epic summer of your life. I mean, we all know that’s not how it actually goes down, right?
It was supposed to be the perfect summer. I was going to camp out, build forts, have adventures, and score the championship-winning goal in the New England All-Star Under-12 Soccer Tournament. When I wasn’t doing those things, I was going to stay up late with my friends, eat as much junk food as I wanted, and pretty much do whatever I felt like until sixth grade started in September. It was going to be epic: the all-time, best summer ever.
Instead, I ended up in Boring, Illinois.
No, I’m not kidding. There’s a town called Boring. And it is.