Page 44 of The Summer of Everything

“You could say that.”

“He’s most def someone you should hang with. I support this,” says Cooper.

Is Cooper slyly trying to make a love connection? Or is he just eager for all his friends to be friends with each other? Wes can’t decide.

He chooses his next words carefully. “He also mentioned you and Devon are in some kind of secret group? Or maybe, like, an after-school arts and craft community?”

Cooper tenses, staring down at his phone.

Wes shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of his business. It’s just that Cooper’s become this weird little brother that Wes feels protective of. That’s Wes’s problem—he gets too attached to people and things. He wants to make sure Cooper’s not involved in anything illegal or harmful or, say, a teen drama fandom where all the actors are twenty-eight and playing high schoolers.

“You don’t have to, like…” Wes paces around his words. “I think that’s cool if you’re part of a supportive group or whatever.”

“They’re so supportive.” Cooper scrolls through his phone. He turns it around for Wes to inspect. “It’s this book group for ace teens.”

Wes blinks, eyebrows raised high.

“So, like,” Cooper glances around the bookstore. It’s practically empty. Ella’s in a daydream, staring out the window. A few people graze the aisles. Mrs. Rossi’s office door is closed. “So, I’m aroace.” He bites his lip, whispering, “Do you know what that is?”

“Of course.”

“Oh. Cool.” Cooper nods too many times. “Well, that’s me. I don’t really talk about it because, like…” His voice dies as if someone’s cut his vocal cords.

“People don’t respect who you are. Or they don’t understand, so they pretend it’s not real? They have no concept that there are more identities other than just straight, gay, and lesbian?” Wes offers.

“Exactly!” Cooper’s eyes are wide and glassy. “It happenseverywhere. All the time.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cooper shrugs. “Don’t be. That’s what this group is for.”

Wes examines Cooper’s phone. His group has their own Instagram page: an entire feed of teens sitting on the beach or in coffee shops or in bookstacks sharing laughter and joy. There’s a picture of Cooper, in front of a volleyball net with an orange, yellow, white, and blue flag draped across his shoulders. Next to him someone waves a gray, white, and purple flag. Dark, wind-wrecked hair hides most of her face except for her giant, infectious grin.

Wes points to the photo. “Devon?”

“My demi ride or die.”

Wes continues to a photo of Cooper standing in front of a parade, flanked by two older people with his crinkled blue eyes and matching T-shirts. “Your parents?”

Cooper’s shoulders relax. He drags a hand through his hair, but it doesn’t lose its epic shape. “They’re the best.” He rotates his phone to stare at the image. “They didn’t get it at first either. I’m not sure they fully understand now, but they’re super supportive. They spend a lot of time on Google, then ask me questions when they think I’m okay to answer them. That’s the best part—they don’t force me to explain things. They make it casual, which is nice.”

“That’s great.”

Blushing, Cooper lowers his phone. “I know I’m lucky because not everyone in our group has that at home. I feel bad about that.”

“Don’t,” Wes says. “They have you. They have this group. That’s important too.” He raises his hand, then waits until Cooper nods his consent before dropping his palm on Cooper’s shoulder. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Coop.”

“You’re Wes Hudson.” Cooper’s still red-faced. “Heir to the Savannah Kirk throne. King of Great Comic Book Land. The Bookstore Savior. Defender of—”

“Okay, thanks, Coop,” Wes interrupts, laughing. He turns back to the comics corner. “Dreams” by the Cranberries floats through the store with its euphoric vocals and bass-heavy melody. He taps his foot to the drumbeat. Then, over his shoulder, he says, “Do you think maybe you could send me Manu’s IG handle?”

“Consider it done.” Cooper’s eyes lower as he taps away.

Exhaling, Wes allows his shoulders to sink.

A backup plan, that’s all Manu is.

It’s 2:15 p.m.

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