With no parents, tutors, nor any watch in sight, a girl and two boys spend some summer days. There’s an amateur rugby match, a party, a trip to the beach; and also a slight romantic tension, some three-way kissing and half-joke, half-serious fights. But there are almost no words: part of it is because these kids don’t know very well how to talk to each other, and also because Gomes’ talent doesn’t need them to make images out of the evanescence of the passing of clouds, or of youth, that time in which, as Doris Day sings, whatever will be, will be