The Summer of Everything

by Julian Winters

  “No,” he says, throat constricted. “This isn’t the end. The body’s still warm.”

  “Bro, listen—”

  “You listen, bro,” Wes demands, standing. He kicks back the chair, smacking a hand on the table. His water glass wavers, sloshes liquid on table, but doesn’t fall. “This is what you call being an adult? Giving up? When the odds are stacked too high, you just peace out? You decide the importance of something, the validity of its existence by numbers and guidelines? If you can’t find it in the text, then it’s not happening? Is that who you are?”

  Leo doesn’t respond. His chest rises and falls in even beats. But his face is reddening; his eyebrows are descending.

  “You’re a robot. You’re a—”

  “Do you have any clue how much shit I could get into if Shelia told anyone I was looking at these files?” Leo finally spits. He launches his pen across the room. “I’m not even a paralegal. I’m the to-go lunch guy around here. I’m doing this for you. I’m not the enemy. I’m the guy risking his internship—risking his entire future to help you understand all of this.”

  Wes snorts. “Congratulations. I don’t understand any of it. I don’t understand you.”

  “That’s part of your problem,” Leo says, shaking his head. “You’ve already made up your mind on how things should be. How you’re the victim. Guess what? Life’s not out to get you. Stop running from it.”

  There’s a void in Wes’s stomach. It’s slowly eating his insides. And all that’s left is anger.

  Wes doesn’t know if that anger is supposed to be aimed at Leo or Mrs. Rossi or Nico or himself. Probably the latter. But he doesn’t know how to stop it from striking all the innocent bystanders on its destructive path.

  And Leo’s right here, glaring at him under standard-issue fluorescent lights that wash out his face and make him look like a ghost of the older brother Wes once knew.

  “It’ll be fine,” Leo says, empathetic and calm.

  “No, it won’t.”

  Wes isn’t blinking. He knows what’ll happen if he does. Sadness, anger, unexpected joy—they all lead to the same thing. The result never changes.

  There’s another reason Wes has always loved comic books. Secretly, he wants to be the hero. He wants to be the difference-maker. All his life, he’s wanted to be the person rescuing someone or something. But who rescues the rescuer?

  “Wes,” Leo tries again. “This will pass. You have college in the fall. Mom and Dad will be back in a few weeks. You have friends. You have Nico.”

  “I don’t,” Wes whispers, everything too heavy. He doesn’t elaborate, though Leo’s expression asks him to.

  He thought he was doing Mrs. Rossi a favor. Truth is, Wes wanted this one thing for himself. One place to hide from change. One piece of his childhood just in case he makes all the wrong decisions as an adult. One constant when everything around him is moving in opposing directions.

  “Thanks for nothing,” he says, scooting back from the table.

  “Is that really how you’re going to leave? You’re not a child anymore, Wes,” Leo snarls.

  No, he’s not. He’s stuck in this in-between.

  “Wes? Leo?”

  Leeann stands in the conference room’s doorway, clutching a takeout bag and her phone. She looks between them. Shock contorts her face. Wes doesn’t know why.

  This has been the Hudson brothers since the beginning of time.

  “Enjoy your lunch,” he mumbles, sidestepping Leeann without saying anything else to Leo.

  * * *

  Gulls descend on Venice Beach’s volleyball courts, searching for scraps. Wes inhales woodsmoke from nearby bonfires. He can taste the water’s salt at the back of his throat. Earbuds hang from his neck, pumping out Arrested Development’s musical collection. He bobs his head to infectious guitars of “Mr. Wendal” while seated in the still-warm sand, taking in the sunset.

  From here, Wes’s problems are as distant as the sun.

  He tugs out his phone to catch a photo of the ocean. He texts his mom:

  To: Mom

  Me and the beach miss you <3.

  Sent 8:00 p.m.

  Sweat cools against his brow. Two hours ago, back at the loft, he slid out of his photo shoot clothes like a yolk escaping an eggshell. Then he jogged back to Venice, which seemed counterproductive. If he and Leo were on better terms, maybe he could’ve gone from the law office to Leo’s apartment and borrowed a pair of old clothes to run in. But they were on different planets, in different galaxies, separated by light-years.

  Eyes shut, Wes slowly comes down from his adrenaline high. His heartbeat matches the hip-hop on his phone—steady and loud. His fingers dig into the grainy sand. He stares at his royal blue Pumas. They’re a little beat-up, smelly, but great for running.

  Wes can’t imagine replacing them. Just as he can’t imagine replacing Once Upon a Page.

  He popped into the bookstore before his run. Mrs. Rossi was there, as radiant as a main sequence star, laughing with customers as she introduced them to new books. She acted as if everything was okay. No, Santa Monica, Once Upon a Page won’t be shutting its doors permanently in a month.

  “It’s so good to be back,” she said to Wes. “I’m home again.”

  It’s the first time Wes wanted to yell at her. He wanted to tap back into that rage that manifested at the law firm. But he didn’t. He nodded, walked out the door, and jogged. He wonders if Ella’s therapist would’ve said that was a healthier way of dealing with his problems. Ella would probably call him a coward.

  Maybe he is.

  Down the sun-gold beach, near the bonfire, someone strums an acoustic guitar. The flames are surrounded by a thin crowd of college kids and surfers. A girl with dreadlocks tunes up a violin. A guy with a gnarly ginger beard is already singing a mash-up of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” and Evanescence’s “My Immortal.”

  They’re a band of carefree loafers enjoying the last hits of summer.

  It’s what Wes should be doing—soaking up every breath of August.

  He watches the bonfire. A couple stands near the fire, hands twisted together. Wes blinks, then squints. He recognizes that freckle-faced girl with the wavy blonde hair. Anna. A pair of arms encircles her waist, pulling the kind of head-tipped-back laughter Wes can hear in his head just by observing her motions. Then a Black girl kisses her cheek.

  Holy shit.

  It’s Kyra. It’s Anna and Kyra, foreheads meeting before they kiss.

  Holy. Shit.

  Wes likes to believe he’s hella observant. But he’s missed this. When did it happen? How long? A sharp blade of guilt digs into his ribs. His entire summer’s been so preoccupied by drama and end-of-the-world crises and best friend crushing—add future dread and wedding planning—that he hasn’t truly paid attention to his friends.

  As if sensing his stare, Anna peeks over her shoulder. Her mouth pops open. They’re caught.

  But Wes shrugs as if it’s nothing. He’s no narc. If Anna or Kyra aren’t ready to announce their relationship to everyone else, he’s not going to force the issue. He nods once at her. She grins back. Then she twists in Kyra’s direction, and Wes turns his eyes away as if they were never there.

  He falls back in the sand, staring at the ash-gray clouds hanging low in the sky. “Good for them,” he says to no one. At least someone in his life is having success with their crush. When Anna’s ready, Wes will have to ask her if she used a list or just… did it.

  A cool breeze blows sand across his face as Wes reaches for his phone. He opens the notes app. Then, he highlights one list: Ways To Score a Date With Your Best Friend!!! The delete button stares him down.

  Just get it over with, his brain screams. Before Wes’s thumb can end his misery, a text bubble pops up on his screen.

  From: Mom

  #5amwritersclub!
I’m on a roll. See you soon. I hope everything’s okay. <3<3<3

  Received 8:10 p.m.

  Wes beams at the screen. He doesn’t reply since he knows his mom’s in a groove and probably won’t want the interruption, but he sets a reminder to FaceTime her before bed. When he closes out his messages, the list is still there, highlighted and ready to ascend into the cloud’s graveyard.

  He inhales deeply, his thumb finally pressing delete. Then he drops his phone in the sand before he tries to recover the list from the Recently Deleted option.

  It’s done. And all Wes can think about is the last sentence from Savannah’s text:

  I hope everything’s okay.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Okay, kids… who’s ready for a story with Anna the Banana?”

  Wes has to give Anna full credit: She’s owning this moment. He can’t get over the foam banana costume she’s wearing—they all agreed to dress up for their portion of the day’s event—but the pack of little ones surrounding her on the gray carpet are mesmerized. That could also be attributed to the juice boxes and bags of mini pretzels Nico handed out earlier.

  On the edge of the story time circle, parents stand with their phones out, videoing everything as Anna cracks open Where the Wild Things Are.

  “How am I going to follow this?” Zay stage-whispers from behind the front counter. “She’s killing it already.”

  Wes is confident in Zay’s book choice: Hair Love. They can barely keep that book stocked on the shelf. And Zay’s dressed as one of The Incredibles, so bonus kudos for recognizing kids’ love of Pixar. Of course, Wes is cosplaying as Green Lantern. He’s banking on underappreciated-hero admiration when he closes out the day with Jason Reynolds’s Ghost.

  “They’re gonna love you,” Nico insists, arm tossed around Zay’s taut shoulders. “You’re very likable.”

  “True that.”

  Nico’s hypeman skills need work, but at least Zay seems to be chilling out. If Zay backs out, it’ll just be Anna, Cooper, and Wes reading. Nico’s the host for the day, and there’s no way any of them are letting Ella read to children.

  “Why not? I have the perfect book,” Ella asserted three days ago at Little Tony’s.

  “What?” Wes asked, unconvinced.

  “Gone Girl.”

  It was the first time they collectively Canceled a person.

  Wes watches Nico pep-talk Zay with scrunched eyes and that crooked, canines visible, smile. He has three small red bumps between his eyebrows. Even now, Nico has stress breakouts. Wes wants to ask what’s instigated this latest acne attack, but it’s impossible to be around Nico these days without accepting the reality that the happily ever after ending he’s outlined in his head isn’t going to happen.

  Instead, Wes turns to his comics corner.

  Lucas stands, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as they prepare the area for tomorrow’s releases. They’re a mini Wes Hudson in the making. Wes loves it. He loves how Lucas has created a system that differs so greatly from his own, but it works. On his next payday, Wes’s decided to cut Lucas a piece of his earnings. It’s the least he can do.

  That familiar twist knots Wes’s stomach. Pressure compacts his chest. Once Upon a Page might not be around long enough for Lucas to fully implement their system. Closing his eyes, Wes breathes deeply. It doesn’t work all the time, but it’s a reprieve when he’s able to blink without seeing dots.

  “I’m a juggernaut,” Cooper announces when he bursts through the front door.

  Zay wolf whistles. Lucas throws a hand over their mouth, sputtering. Wes shakes his head, amused.

  Cooper’s dressed as Dogman, with the tip of his nose painted black and floppy brown ears attached to his blue snapback. He strolls up to Nico and Zay, holding out his phone. “Everyone wants a selfie with me. I barely made it halfway to the pier.” He scrolls through Once Upon a Page’s Insta. “We’ve got so many new followers.”

  “Nice,” Nico says, high-fiving him.

  “Proud of you,” Zay says, dragging Cooper into a halfhearted headlock before kissing the top of his head. They shove and laugh until a mother near the edge of the circle shoots them the evil eye. Wes shrugs an apathetic apology. Cooper’s singlehandedly trying to save the bookstore via social media. He deserves a good time.

  “Dude has a fan mob coming down here at three p.m. It’s nuts.”

  Wes’s head snaps in the direction of the familiar voice coming from the doorway. His breath stalls on an inhale.

  It’s Manu, smiling while holding a Brews and Views cup.

  In moments like this, Wes wonders if normal people’s brains activate the “keep cool” function so that they’re not standing in the middle of a bookstore, mouth wide open, eyes bugging like a cartoon.

  “Oh, yeah. Guess who I ran into at the coffee shop?” Cooper says, as if Manu hasn’t been staring at Wes with a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. “It’s my boy Manuia. You know him, right, Wes?”

  “H-Hi,” Wes finally stutters.

  “Nice to see you. In person, I mean. Because I see you online and stuff, but…” Manu rubs the back of his neck. “Wow, all of that just came out.”

  “It did,” confirms Wes.

  “And now I’m guessing it wasn’t a coincidence we ran into each other, but the universe’s plan to make this…” Cooper motions an index finger between Wes and Manu, “…happen. Good.”

  Wes tries to project a Shut up in Cooper’s direction. It doesn’t seem to work. Cool, no Professor X mind-control powers in the Hudson bloodline.

  Manu walks over to Wes. “So, this might be kind of creepy,” he starts.

  “We’ve established you’re good at that,” Wes says.

  “Right. Slid right into your DMs, didn’t I?”

  “In a totally good, non-dick pics kind of way.”

  Manu chuckles quietly. “Anyway, I know you have a thing for tea. So I thought you’d like this.” He extends the cup to Wes. “It’s just an English tea latte.”

  Wes inhales so deeply, his chest aches.

  Manu brought him tea. Manu took enough care to pick up on his tea obsession and attempted to impress him with a drink Wes is certain to hate—English Breakfast is his least favorite tea flavor—even though Wes has been ghosting him.

  It’s a glitch in the matrix. Tea is Nico’s thing. It’s a sacred tradition and one of the things Wes loves most about their history together.

  And here’s Manu, dressed in a pale yellow button-up, the collar undone and sleeves rolled up, looking like a genuine adult with a future. Looking like a possible future for Wes.

  Out of bad habit, Wes gazes past Manu to the front counter.

  Nico, in his “I ♥ books” T-shirt and an old gray cardigan that Wes thinks belonged to Mr. Alvarez, is frowning. He’s clocked Manu. Wes wonders if he’s identified Manu as the date from two weeks ago.

  “Hey, Officially Wes?”

  Wes blinks hard at Manu. “Sorry. Uh, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome?” Manu peeks over his shoulder.

  Shit.

  Nico’s eyes lock with Manu’s.

  Shit.

  “Is this a bad time?” Manu asks.

  Yes.

  Wes shuffles awkwardly. Cooper’s watching them. Zay’s watching him. Nico’s watching Manu. Wes can just barely hear Anna’s high-pitched narrator voice over the knocking heart in his ears.

  This should be such an easy decision. Pick Manu. He’s your future. Walk into the light. But he can’t.

  Nico blinks repeatedly behind those stupid glasses that remind Wes of late nights studying with tea and orange soda.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. I just thought…” Manu stammers, brushing a hand over his thick hair. “We had a great time on our date, right?”

  Their date. Not unofficial. Not a meeting of two onl
ine friends that ended in a kiss.

  It was a date.

  Heat prickles Wes’s cheeks. “Ye-Yeah.” He hates the awkwardness in his voice and how he won’t just listen to his brain. “Sorry. I’ve been busy. Saving the bookstore. It’s been… a lot.”

  “Okay,” replies Manu, sounding disappointed.

  Guilt drags Wes’s shoulders down. He attempts to find words for Manu. A proper apology. Or a poetic show of gratitude. Wes is thankful for Manu. He’s thankful for the tea and Manu’s easy conversation on their date and the reality that Wes could kiss someone else, someone who wasn’t his soul-crippling crush, and like it.

  But instinct overrules common sense. In weird, unsure situations, Wes looks for Nico. It’s like a magnet. His eyes travel over Nico’s cautious expression; their breaths synch as they inhale.

  “Oh.”

  Wes’s attention flickers back to Manu a second too late. Recognition has fully set in.

  “Someone else, right?” Manu’s voice is cool, flat. “I really missed that one, didn’t I?”

  Wes’s lips open, but nothing comes out, not even the pathetic squeak he makes at the worst, uncomfortable moments. He’s silent.

  Manu gestures toward the door with his head. “Got it. No prob.” Then he walks away.

  It’s an eternity before Wes realizes he hasn’t moved. Okay, it’s probably closer to two minutes, but it’s never-ending. Embarrassment irritates his skin. His heart’s running a marathon behind his ribs. His brain has exploded in his skull.

  Why are you still here?

  “Wes,” Lucas says carefully. “Are you gonna…?”

  Wes stops thinking. He’s through absorbing Nico’s stares and trying to decipher what they mean. He’s exhausted from waiting for someone to save his sorry ass from the fire-breathing dragon.

  He runs.

  Colorado Avenue is clogged with tourists moving away from the pier. He gets more than a few looks at his Green Lantern costume, but he doesn’t care.

  He runs faster.

  Families are bottlenecking into a local McDonald’s. Some girl is strolling leisurely while texting without any consideration for other pedestrians. Breathless, Wes dodges, one foot in the street, where an oncoming car nearly finishes him. He hops back on the curb in time to cut a corner and catch up to Manu.