“June,” he said, “is the liar of the year.”
Margaret snorted. “That’s not an answer.” is june spring or summer
The next morning—June twenty-first, the solstice—Eloise woke to find a glass of lemonade on her nightstand. Beside it, a sticky note in her grandmother’s neat hand: “June,” he said, “is the liar of the year
She thought about the word “June.” It didn’t feel like April’s wet mud or July’s cracked earth. June was the month of graduations and weddings, of strawberries that still tasted like a surprise. It was the month you stood in the doorway of the year, one foot in each season, deciding whether to go back for a jacket or leave it behind forever. June was the month of graduations and weddings,
Margaret’s needles clicked in disbelief. “June is June. June is roses and fireflies and the last day of school. That’s summer.”