Summer comes once a year. Sweaty skins, hot breaths, short skirts and boys peeping down pumpkin cleavages. Girls waiting, wanting to be asked out; waiting for and wanting more. Skinny boy with the long black fingers and teenage white teeth. She: green eyes and mischievous white breasts. Young love. Hungry. Impatient. Burning. It may not last but it sure will be fun. There’s another boy watching from across the street. His heart is racing as Venus plays footloose with his manhood. He clutches his book and averts his eyes. If he doesn’t look, he won’t envy. He repeats over and over: one can chase skirt or one can chase learning. Which shall it be? Summer comes but once a year.