Page 28 of The Summer of Everything

Eyes scrunched, Nico kick-pushes them inside.

Cooper, the idiot, ducks and rolls from their path, though the bookstore’s puckered gray carpet slows any momentum they built outside. Something thuds to the ground. Wes really hopes it’s not the new “Fans of Becky Albertalli” section he and Anna spent forty minutes putting together an hour ago. He cares about Cooper’s well-being, but not as much as the books.

Anna nods as Nico and Kyra dismount the skateboard. “Six out of ten.”

“I give it a seven!” shouts Cooper from the floor.

“Seriously?” Kyra giggles breathlessly. “I thought it was an eight-point-five, easy.”

“Hard eight,” Wes offers. “Minus two for possible destruction to private property.”

Kyra thrusts the cardboard cup at him. “But I bring tea,” she insists. “And a Nico.”

“Disqualification for bribing the judge,” Anna declares. She walks away, smiling over her freckled shoulder.

“Ten for the tea,” Wes says, eagerly grabbing the cup. After the showdown between Mrs. Rossi and Ella, he needs the caffeine. “Soft seven for the Nico.”

“Oh, Crusher,” Kyra says, leaning close with crinkled eyes. “Nico’s an eleven, and you know it.”

The implication in her voice sends a surge of heat from Wes’s neck to his hairline. Is he really that obvious? Has his nonstop ogling—and hehatesthat word—translated to everyone in California except Nico being aware of his crush?

“Shut up,” he mumbles into the cup’s lid.

Kyra pats his shoulder and says, “You’re my favorite romcom hero,” in her least condescending tone.

“Sencha,” Nico says, pointing at the tea Wes slowly sips. He drops his skateboard behind the counter. “Good?”

Wes hums contentedly. He loves that instant effect green tea has. It’s calming, like watching the surf first thing in the morning. “Thanks,” he says around a sip.

Again, Nico’s eyes scrunch; the lines around his mouth deepen. His hair’s flat today. He looks like he did when he was fourteen, hiding his teeth behind his hand whenever he laughed. Wes, in contrast, spent an hour at the mirror this morning with a palm full of product and a prayer as he tried to tame his curls.

“Why is fixing the nonfiction so daunting?” Anna asks, standing on her tiptoes to peek over a row of shelves near the back of the store.

“Hold up. That’s my jam,” Nico announces giddily. He edges around the counter, then stops to look at Wes. “Enjoy, Wesley.”

Wes flops onto the stool, watching Nico disappear.

Cooper sits next to him, holding his left arm. “I think I broke my tibia.”

“That’s not your tibia,” Zay says, strolling in with his backpack and a brown paper bag covered in dark grease spots.

“Are you sure?”

Even Wes knows that’s not where the tibia is. But he’s not sure how to let Cooper down gently.

Neither does Zay. “Not even close.” He shrugs off his backpack. “Both my moms watch all those medical dramas. Rescue-hospital-anatomy-investigation. I know more about bones and diseases than I do about music.”

“Wicked,” Cooper whispers with raised eyebrows.

Zay peels open the paper bag and pulls out a tinfoil-wrapped hamburger. “If I was Nico, it’d be wicked. I just feel like a boring-ass Wikipedia.”

Wes slumps on the stool.Thanks, Zay. He didn’t need the reminder that he only has two months to make something happen. Nico’s going to Stanford. He’ll be over three hundred miles away—a five-hour drive on a good traffic day, which is never in California.

And here Wes is, distracted from finishing his list. Drinking tea Nico bought for him. Watching Nico and Anna laugh between the aisles.

And wait a damn minute…

Nico leans toward her. He rolls his eyes, smiles so hard. Anna’s pale, thin fingers wrinkle Nico’s vintage Stanford Rowing T-shirt. Nico reaches to brush the California poppy braided into her wavy hair. They laugh and laugh. Little touches are accompanied by whispers and squinty eyes. All the things from those romcoms Wes devours.

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