Azzurra was finally free from every commitment. Her English course had concluded in June and would not resume until September; similarly, her dance lessons had wrapped up for the summer season. Aside from a few performances in the town squares along the riviera, there were no lessons to attend or exams to take: even school was finally out! Nothing remained but to soak in the Sicilian sea and sun.
Azzurra loved summer; it was her favorite season. It was impossible for a twelve-year-old girl to feel otherwise. They had faced years that were both beautiful and grueling, but the warm Sicilian sun, paired with the crystalline sea, acted as a balm for the heart and seemed to wash away all the difficult moments. Azzurra now moved through life with the sun in her eyes and a light spirit, as if she were a butterfly of rare beauty. She would wake up late in the morning, around eleven, stirred by the sound of the vacuum cleaner that Tiziana ran over the floors; then she would hear her singing and calling out: "Wake up, sleepyhead, the rooster sang a long time ago!"
Azzurra would get up, all rumpled and happy, and the first thing she did was put on her swimsuit. Belinda would kiss her and say, "In your swimsuit already?" Azzurra would reply enthusiastically, "Of course, Mom, Agata is waiting for me on the beach!"
Agata was Azzurra's best friend; the two had grown up together, just as her mother had with Arianna. Agata had roots in Catania, but her parents had moved from the city to the coast for work when she was little; that was when the two girls had met, playing at the town park. Agata was thin and a bit more petite than Azzurra; she had chestnut hair, an olive complexion, a button nose, and large eyes. By spending so much time together, they almost began to resemble one another: though very different, they were both truly lovely, enough to make the local boys turn their heads. They had many admirers, but neither girl cared much for the attention; they were used to being admired, possessing the typical poise of those who know they are beautiful.
On the surface, Agata had an angular personality; she told everyone she was "unaffective" and disliked hugs or displays of affection. But Azzurra, who knew her very well, knew that this attitude was merely a suit of armor to protect herself from the outside world; she also knew that one of her hugs was worth its weight in gold when she finally let her guard down. Being an only child, Azzurra called her "Sister," and to her, she truly was. Over the years, the girl's parents had become like relatives to Belinda and Elia, and they spent much of their free time together whenever they weren't overwhelmed with commitments.
Unlike Azzurra's, Agata's family was large and boisterous. Agata had two older sisters, Giovanna and Marilena, and a cousin, Antonio, who lived with them permanently. The sisters were both engaged, so when the entire family gathered at the table, there were at least eight people every day, whereas at Azzurra's house, they only reached eight for holidays, on those rare occasions when everyone reunited. "So, let me count…" Belinda would say to Franca, Agata's mother, when they gathered for Sunday lunch and extra tables and chairs had to be added. "There's me, Azzurra, and Elia; then there's you, Franca, Marco, Agata, Marilena with her fiancé Mattia, and Giovanna with her fiancé Cristian, then there's cousin Antonio... in total we are eleven, right?" They were a wonderful sight together: a festive gathering of youths and adults, music, good food, and plenty of happy chaos.
That morning, the beach ritual unfolded with the usual, joyful frenzy. Azzurra walked down the steps leading to the white pebble shore, feeling the warmth of the stones beneath her flip-flops and the pungent scent of the posidonia seagrass brought ashore by the breeze. Agata was already there, lying on a brightly colored towel with a book of poetry in her hands and a pair of sunglasses covering half her face.
"You're late, Sister," Agata murmured without looking up, though a hint of a smile curved her lips. "Tiziana decided to clean the entire world this morning," Azzurra replied laughing, as she spread her towel next to her friend's. "And anyway, the sea isn't going anywhere."
The hours slipped by amidst whispered chats and long swims out to where the water became a blue so deep it looked like velvet. Azzurra swam with a natural grace, her strong ballerina legs cutting through the water effortlessly. Agata, more cautious, followed her, joking about her supposed lack of affection every time Azzurra tried to splash her.
"Look at them," Agata whispered, pointing to a group of boys pretending to play soccer nearby, casting furtive glances in their direction. "Antonio says that blond boy has been asking about you all over town." Azzurra shrugged, adjusting the gold pendant that Mastro Alfio had forged for her. That piece of the sun on her chest seemed to shine even brighter under the natural light. "Let them ask. I have too much sea to see and too much dance to study to worry about them."
Agata looked at her with a rare intensity. She knew, by instinct, that Azzurra carried something special within her, a light that went beyond physical beauty. She leaned in and, defying her own rules of detachment, placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're different this year, Azzurra. You seem... light. As if you've set down a weight I didn't even know you were carrying." Azzurra took her hand, squeezing it tightly. "I have set it down, Agata. And now, I just want to run."
The afternoon drifted away amidst lemon granitas eaten right under the beach umbrella and the rhythmic sound of the waves. As the sun began to set, staining the Strait in orange and purple, the two friends sat in silence, watching the Calabrian coast which seemed close enough to touch. That was the magic of Sicily: knowing how to heal wounds with the sole power of its light, transforming even the darkest memories into a luminous summer evening.