They’ve drifted closer to the water. It almost kisses the soles of Wes’s Pumas.
“It’s probably killing him, knowing your time is short and he hasn’t said anything.”
Wes stares at her blankly.
He loves you.
“Go.” She nods up shore. “Talk. Or whatever it is you teen boys do. Just don’t be late for dinner.”
Nico’s planted in the sand next to a lifeguard tower; the wooden shack is painted pale blue. He’s dressed in a denim button-up and white linen pants. His feet are buried in the sand. His hair’s wind-tousled. Wes doesn’t know why he’s observing all these things, creating a new untouchable list in his brain—Reasons to be Forever in Love with Nico Alvarez—instead of flopping down next to him.
He has so many issues.
“Cool sunset,” he finally says, settling into the sand.
The top of the sun’s still visible. Its reach over the waves keeps them gold and beautiful. From here, they can see Sofía playing leapfrog with the twins. Lupe joins them, taking turns spinning each of her daughters in circles until they fall. Nico wiggles closer until their shoulders touch.
Wes is grasping for something incredible to say. A teen romcom swoon-worthy monologue. Instead, he says, “Did you take a photo for the Gram yet?” like the geek loser he is.
“Of course.” Nico unlocks his phone, scrolling through his feed to show Wes. He caught an amazing shot of the sun, large and looming over the Pacific, with the sand and a few birds and the silhouette of two people standing near the shore.
Oh. It’s Wes and Lupe.
Hashtag family. Hashtag SME. Hashtag my world.
Squinting against the fading light, their eyes meet. Nico sucks on his lower lip. Wes forgets to breathe. It’s a head rush. Their shoulders and knees and the edges of their feet touch.
Nico looks away first. “Do you think my dad would be proud of me?”
“Of course,” whispers Wes, rocking in Nico’s direction.
“Do you think he’d want me to go to Stanford?”
Wes’s heart rests behind his teeth. What should he say? That he doesn’t want Nico to go to Stanford. But that’s not fair. That’s not what Martín would say.
“Is it what you want?” he finally asks.
Nico stares at his knees. “I don’t want to leave my sisters. Or my mom.” His shoulders shake when he inhales. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“Yeah,” Wes says softly, too much a coward to scream, “So don’t go,” the way his brain wants him to.
Nico sniffs. “I hope it doesn’t change anything, but I think I need to.”
All Wes hears is, Because of you, Wesley. I need to get away from you. “Okay,” he mumbles, biting the inside of his cheek.
“Does it change anything?”
Straining to keep his expression neutral, Wes shrugs.
“Wesley.” Nico sighs loudly. “Sometimes it’s hard to be your friend.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
Wes winces. He deserves that. Before the summer, he was mild-to-acceptable by crush standards, an easygoing kind of pining. But for weeks, he’s been on edge and frustrated and the kind of douchebag he’d never be friends with.
“It’s impossible to be your friend when…” Nico pauses, nose wrinkled. “When I want more.”
Yes, Wes has been difficult and insufferable and—
“What the—”
Nico cuts him off with a slow-building grin. It’s all crinkle-eyed; the corners of his mouth stretch like clay. He bumps their shoulders.
“When I saw the way you and that guy looked at each other that day…” Nico lowers his head.
Ugh. Manu. Fortunately, they still follow each other on social media. In fact, yesterday, Manu messaged Wes a funny meme. Wes messaged back with a funnier GIF. They continued like that for five minutes. And it wasn’t the least bit awkward when they wordlessly agreed to stop. It was cool.
“It killed me, dude,” Nico gnaws out. “I was jealous as hell.”
“You what?”
Wes has lost all concept of sentence structure. Was anything on his Signs Your Crush Isn’t Into You list applicable to Nico?
“I’m not your mom,” Nico starts, then his face scrunches. “Okay, that came out wrong. I’m not like your mom. I suck at words and confessions. I come up with plans in my head, but execution? No bueno.”
Wes laughs at that. He could teach Nico a thing or two about lists. But also, he could sit here, be quiet, and let Nico finish.
The evolution of Nico’s expression continues as he frowns at his feet. “I don’t know how to say all the things I want.”
Wes tries to grasp a fraction of the confidence building in his belly. “Then let me.” He takes in the scene: they’re on a beach, just after sunset, and it’s the kind of August evening that’s automatically transferred into a folder in Wes’s memory under the filename Perfect.
Reddit, BuzzFeed, and six billion online sources would call this The Moment. It’s time for Wes to throw down the gauntlet.
His mouth opens, then closes. He refined a list for this, but Wes never actually came up with what he was going to say. He was only supposed to write “I love you” in the sand, and, bam, happily ever-freaking-after.
“Damn it. Okay.” He brushes a hand over Nico’s arm. Mrs. Rossi’s right—he can’t wait around for the universe to make things happen. “This summer, I made a list. Well, I made a lot of lists. But this one was kind of important.”
Nico chuckles. “Okay. And?”
“It was a list of the perfect ways to tell you—” He pauses.
Nico looks as if he’s holding his breath. Good. Wes stopped breathing two minutes ago.
“I have the most epic crush on you,” Wes finally says. And before Nico can blink, or utter a word, Wes adds, “I don’t want to ruin our friendship. But I want more too. If you’re sure that’s what you want?”
The thing Wes should’ve researched is “what to do if your crush doesn’t instantly respond to your confession?”
Nico’s quiet for a long moment. Sweat tickles Wes’s temple. His heartbeat’s as noisy as every emo-pop-punk song Ella’s ever played.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Wes chokes. That’s it? One word. Okay? The internet truly set Wes up for disappointment.
“Yes, okay,” Nico repeats, but with a sweetness in his voice. He shakes sand off his hand. It slides behind Wes’s neck, palming it. He tugs until their foreheads touch.
The ocean’s belting out anthemic songs. The kind of alt-rock summer tunes Wes lives for.
“I want that.”
“Define that,” Wes requests, hoarsely.
“More than friends, Wesley.” They inhale at the same time. “I want that.”
Wes smiles, almost leaning forward for a kiss. Instead, he says, “Sweet.”
“Yeah.” Nico grins back. “Sweet.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Welcome to the first…” Ella pauses, smiling nervously while holding the microphone to her matte-black lips. “…and last ever Speed Booking Night at Once Upon a Page!”
People cheer, shaking their books above their heads. The bookstore’s packed. There are so many bodies, attendees spill onto the sidewalk outside. That’s where Wes is, watching from the doorway. He’s surprised the police haven’t shut them down.
Ella’s leggings and Doc Martens match the black jersey dress she wears under her leather jacket. She stands on the front counter, breaking every unspoken rule Mrs. Rossi’s ever invented. But sandwiched between her and Kyra is a third co-host for the evening: Mrs. Rossi.
After their talk, Mrs. Rossi whipped out a leftover flyer for tonight’s event. She demanded that, despite the bookstore’s looming closure, this event happen.
It’s clear Ella dressed her—oversized Janet Jackson T-shirt with a black ballerina tutu, lips painted black, and a black bowler hat hiding her gray-pink hair—but she looks as if this is the most fun she’s had in decades.
“Who’s here to party?” she screams.
The crowd roars. Kyra doubles over laughing. Her hair is pulled and fastened into a sick curly mohawk. “Okay, go off then.” Below her, Anna’s dressed like a fairy with glitter across her face, heart eyes directed at Kyra.
“We want everyone to have an amazing time tonight, but we need to make something clear,” Ella says when the room quiets. “Tonight’s not about hooking up.”
A group in the middle of the store jeers.
“If you meet someone you’re romantically compatible with—cool. If you find a new friend—even better. Platonic relationships rock.” Her eyes search until they find Wes’s. “But if you find someone who knows what it’s like to not be understood outside this store. Someone who gets how books can change your life. Someone you can lean on. Someone who doesn’t always get you, but is willing to try, starting with a book and a few words, then…”
Ella exhales, blinking. Wes is almost positive she’s wearing waterproof mascara, but he’s not emotionally ready for her to cry.
“Then thank this woman,” Ella says, tossing an arm around Mrs. Rossi’s shoulders. “Because she made all this happen for you. For all of us.” She kisses Mrs. Rossi’s temple.
Okay, Wes might cry with or without Ella.
People clap, wolf whistle. Some chant Mrs. Rossi’s name. It’s a buffet of singles, locals, teens, and adults, all here thanks to Mrs. Rossi. And in the middle of the sea of faces and books is her husband, salt-and-pepper hair to match his moustache, broad shoulders juxtaposed with his small gut. He can’t take his eyes off her.
Neither can Wes.
“Ohmygod, there’s a rock in my eye,” Kyra says, wiping her face. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
Everyone laughs, including Wes.
“Sorry, sorry.” Ella snorts. “Emotions are the worst, man.”
“Amen,” Mrs. Rossi says, dabbing at her own eyes. “Let’s stick to books.”
“Agreed,” says Ella. “Is everyone ready to get this thing lit?”
Another wave of cheers breaks out; the noise floods Colorado Avenue with more excitement than Wes can handle. He takes a few steps back, allowing latecomers to nudge inside.
“Dude!” Cooper walks up, Lucas beside him. “Are you leaving?”
“Uh.” Wes rubs at his jaw. “Nah. Just making space.”
“Good, because the two coolest peeps just arrived,” Cooper says, curling an arm around Lucas’s shoulders.
Lucas beams, rocking a bright orange and blue plaid shirt and jeans. Cooper’s in a tank top, board shorts, and flip-flops, holding a Savannah Kirk book, of course. Lucas clings to a Batman graphic novel. Wes is proud of his mild influence there. Both have over-styled and product-stiff hair, so clearly Cooper’s having an effect too.
“We can’t stay long,” Cooper announces. “This one has a curfew.”
“Oh, like you don’t.”
Wes is elated they’re friends. They don’t go to the same school, but Wes is positive Cooper’s going to look out for Lucas during the year. Vice versa too. And Wes called in one last favor from Mrs. Rossi—when the new coffeehouse opens, Lucas has a guaranteed job managing the book corner. They’ve already worked out a plan to sneak some graphic novels next to the bestselling mystery novels.
“Wow,” Cooper says, standing on his toes to peek through the front window. “It’s jammed in there. A cornucopia of singles waiting to hit on you.” He waggles his eyebrows at Wes.
“Yeah, no.” Wes laughs. “I’m totally not interested.”
He and Nico still haven’t mentioned their talk on the beach to anyone. Not that there’s much to tell. They haven’t kissed or even gone on a date. Not one hand-holding moment has occurred in three days. But that’s cool with Wes. For now, at least.
“Understood.” Cooper lifts his book. “I’m here to find my fellow Kirklands.”
Ugh. It’s the worst name for Savannah’s fandom. It’s so basic. So unoriginal too.
“But you, Wes,” Cooper shares a look with Lucas, “Your OTL will show up any day now.”
OTL. One true love. It’s something Cooper made up. Or maybe it’s a hashtag. Either way, it’s terrible.
“Suuure,” Wes says, but then, like out of a dream, he hears wheels grinding on the pavement. Nico glides up, hair tucked under a backward snapback, wearing black-rimmed glasses, a loose tee, and ripped skinnies.
He stops right in front of Wes. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, a little breathless.
“I didn’t know you were coming?” Wes replies, confused. “I thought you’d be babysitting.”
“And miss this?” Nico up-nods toward the bookstore. “I’m feeling lucky tonight. Like I might find my match.”
“Your match?”
Nico tugs off a nylon drawstring backpack and digs through it. He pulls out a book. No, a graphic novel. He holds up a copy of Blackest Night. “Think there’s anyone who I might be compatible with?”
Whoa. Wes inhales sharply.
“So, yeah,” says Cooper, jerking on Lucas’s arm, edging toward the bookstore. “Looks like fate did you a solid.”
“I was thinking we could…” Nico signals behind him, toward the pier. “…maybe head down to the beach? Grab some food? Just like, uh, the two of us?”
“The two of us,” repeats Wes.
“The two of us,” Nico confirms. His scarred eyebrow is lifted, waiting.
“Go,” Lucas whispers-shouts, softly punching the base of Wes’s spine.
Then Lucas and Cooper giggle as they tumble into the bookstore. They’re barely out of earshot when Cooper says, “Holy fuck, Nesley’s real. Wait ‘til I tell my followers.”
“Want a ride to the beach?” offers Nico, pointing toward his skateboard.
“Are you serious?” Wes asks. “That didn’t work out for us last time.”
“True that.” Nico kicks up his board, taking it in his left hand. The fingers of his free hand wiggle between them. Nervous energy vibrates off him. So Wes does the bravest thing he’s done in a long time. He grabs Nico’s hand, threading their fingers together.
As they walk leisurely toward the pier, Nico comments, “Cool shirt.”
Wes peeks down. He can’t believe it. It’s his lucky Green Lantern tee.
An hour later, Wes brushes sand out of his hair and mouth, shaking it off his jeans. They’d decided to goof around after finding an abandoned Frisbee on the beach. Bad idea. Wes ate it no less than three times trying to jump and leap and teach his unwilling body about coordination. Nico was all cool grace, snagging the flying disc from the sky like a god pulling down the heavens—an injustice Wes will watch for as long as time gives him.
Now they stand near a food truck parked outside Palisades Park. Nico buys them churros. Wes squints against the headlights shining from cars as they pass. People move in herds all around them. Music exits a nearby restaurant’s balcony, flooding the air.
Ocean Avenue is alive.
“Here.” Nico holds one of those paper boats; the churros sit on a sheet of parchment paper. He quickly chucks a small container filled with chocolate dipping sauce in a nearby trash bin. They both love their churros as is.
“Uh.” Nico chews slowly, barely making eye contact. “This isn’t boring, right?”
An eyebrow slowly ascends Wes’s forehead.
“I mean.” Nico stammers. “This doesn’t cement me in the top five unoriginal first dates, right? Because I can handle top ten. I’m even cool with a hard eight on the corniest dates metric. But not top five. I can’t negotiate the emotional scarring that comes with that.”
Ha. So, it’s
out there. This is a first date. An official, verbally committed first date between them. Hashtag relationship goals.
“Hmm.” Wes chews, thinking.
Cinnamon-sugar dusts Nico’s upper lip.
“Not lame at all,” Wes says after swallowing. He passes Nico a napkin. “This is good.”
It’s better than that. Wes is finally on a date with Nico. Except for a grainy, sandy mouth, this is better than anything suggested by PopSugar.
They watch the city bloom into a nighttime circus: neon lights and noise and laughter for miles. Wes deliberately stands close to Nico; their elbows brush as they eat. He runs back to the food truck to buy them frozen lemonades.
When he returns, Nico has his phone in one hand. “I forgot to show you my newest Pinterest find.”
Wes leans close, squinting against the screen’s bright light. The image is black text against a plain white background. Wes inhales so quickly, his lungs ache. He reads over and over.
“I only want two things in this world. I want you. And I want us.”
“Do you like it?”
“Is this about me?” It takes every ounce of confidence and maybe a little bit of fear for Wes to ask the question. He’s prepared if Nico just likes the quote. It’s the kind of thing people get tattooed on their bodies. A love token of dark ink and years of heartbreak to follow when that person disappoints them.
“Possibly,” Nico replies.
“Possibly?” There’s that doubt Wes has been expecting.
Then the laugh lines around Nico’s mouth deepen. “It’s about you.”
That’s all it takes. It’s the incentive Wes needs to go for it. He curls his hand around the nape of Nico’s neck. He steps into Nico’s space. Nico stands on his tiptoes to meet him halfway. Their lips find each other, clumsily at first, but then with the right amount of pressure. Nico’s mouth parts. Wes tests his boldness with his tongue against Nico’s teeth.
Their first kiss is sticky and sugary and un-freaking-forgettable.
There’s nothing different about Wes’s bedroom.
The Summer of Everything Page 25