Page 115 of The Summer of Everything

And Wes is done with this theory that all eighteen-year-olds are adults who know everything and aren’t virgins and are incapable of having a voice. Wes has one. He’s learning to use it.

Like now.

“I need to tell you something.”

Nico sits up, attentive.

“And it’s probably going to ruin the mood,” Wes adds.

Nico’s hair is pulled in every direction from Wes’s fingers. He’s squinting without his glasses or contacts. There’s soy sauce on his bottom lip. His breath smells like orange soda. The old food isn’t the only thing that’s rank. They could both use a shower.

Consider the mood already ruined.

“After I say this, I don’t want to discuss it,” says Wes, frowning. “Not tonight, at least.”

“Are you breaking up with me before we’ve even made it official?”

“What? No.”

Then, because his brain’s finally catching up with Nico’s words, he says, “Wait. Do you want it to be official?”

Nico rolls his eyes, chugging more soda. “Your ineptitude is hella fascinating.”

Fuck Stanford, they got a good one with Nico Alvarez.

“We’re getting off track,” Wes says. “This isn’t about us. And there will be an us. To be discussed later.”

Nico beams.

Wes clears his throat. “Mrs. Rossi is sick. She has a brain tumor.” It’s been a week, and this is the first time he’s said it out loud. It aches. No, it tastes like vomit rushing up your throat, but you swallow it; the chunks wad in the saliva in your mouth. But Wes had to tell someone. And Nico’s always been his Someone.

“Is it…” Nico’s face tightens. “Is it cancer?”

Wes hesitated to ask Mrs. Rossi that morning. It took him hours and a lot of deep breathing in the bookstore bathroom before he got the words out.

Mrs. Rossi smiled, patted his hand, and said, “It’ll be okay.”

“I think so.”

Nico blinks hard. Wes can see the wheels turning in his eyes. He’s an idiot. He’s leaning on Nico with this secret—the possibility of someone they both love dying—and completely forgetting that Nico’s still living with his own mourning. He’s so selfish.

But Nico inhales deeply, then says, “All right.”

“All right?”

“Yes,” Nico says, confident. “We’re gonna… we’re gonna get through this.”

And that’s it? They’re going to get through this. It’s the most adult thing Wes has ever heard Nico say. Maybe not all eighteen-year-olds are as screwed up as he is. Maybe some can handle more than people expect.

They sit quietly. Nico passes Wes the soda can; he chugs it until it dribbles down his chin, onto his chest. A shower is definitely a necessity now.

“Hey, Wesley.” Nico’s voice sounds far away. “About earlier.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to try, uh.” Nico’s back to stammering. It’s cute. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to try the long-distance thing. I mean, it’s only six and a half hours…”

Which is eight hours in California traffic.

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