Page 46 of The Summer of Everything

“That guy?” Lucas does a poor impersonation of someone skateboarding.

“Yeah, that guy.”

Lucas digs the toe of their shoe into the carpet. Blond fringe hangs right into green eyes. Shoulders taut again, Lucas exhales through their thin nose. “Freshman year wasn’t what Netflix made it out to be.”

Wes can relate. High school on television looks so much easier than it is.

“It’s bad enough I hate science and history, but then I didn’t really know anyone,” says Lucas. They tug on the tassels of their hoodie, making one side of the string longer than the other. “And the people I knew…changed.” Lucas’s mouth is somewhere between a pout and a frown; their green eyes are shiny. “I guess I did too, but not like them.”

Wes remembers that evolution from sharing one class with the same faces for years to being shuffled around to a different room every fifty minutes with a new set of strangers. Freshman year, he didn’t have a single class with Nico. And the kids he knew the year before were too busy trying to survive to acknowledge Wes.

The thing about high school is, everyone’s trying to fit in somewhere. They’re either trying to stand out or blend into the walls; they become something else. That survival instinct kicks in and people become cruel. Sometimes, it means they taunt others so no one else notices their flaws. Wes was no exception. It was difficult enough with all the questions he’d get— “Where are your parents from? No, I mean,where’s your dad from?”—anytime someone saw Calvin. Coming out junior year did him no favors.

“Hey.” Cautiously, Wes rests a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. The tension gradually retreats under Lucas’s hoodie. “You’re welcome here anytime, okay?”

Lucas is five-foot-seven-ish, so they tip their chin to look Wes in the eye.

“Anytime,” Wes repeats with a heap of assurance. Under his palm, Lucas’s shoulder rises and falls with their easy breathing.

“We’re not gonna, like,” Lucas peeks around the store, “talk about our feelings now, are we?”

Wes barks a laugh so loud, Ella jumps.

“Because feelings are gross.”

“So gross,” Wes concurs, pulling his hand away.

“Lucas?”

Wes peeks over his shoulder. Standing in the bookstore’s doorway is a short woman with brown hair turning gray at the roots, faint shadows under her eyes, and Lucas’s round face. She has on wrinkled pink hospital scrubs; her small hands clutch a purse and a shopping bag.

“Hi, Mom.” Lucas waves weakly.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Lucas’s mom gives Wes a quick, curious look. He grins in that nonthreatening way. He figures, the way Lucas talked about school, she’s extra protective of them for good reasons. “We have our appointment,” she says to Lucas.

The corners of Lucas’s mouth inch up. Lucas twists halfway around to Wes, cup their hand around their mouth, and stage-whisper, “Codename: therapy,” in the geekiest way possible.

Wes can’t restrain his laugh.

“Also,” Lucas’s mom lifts the shopping bag, “I got, uh. You know.”

Wes isn’t prepared for the tiny squeak that leaves the back of Lucas’s throat. Their eyes bunch up; their full, endless smile shows their teeth and the true roundness of their cheeks.

Lucas says, under their breath, “My new binder.” They’re a full shade redder than Wes thought was humanly possible.

“Nice,” Wes says, fist-bumping Lucas.

Before Lucas bounds over to their mom, Wes says, “Hey.”

Lucas turns around; their eyebrows hide under their fringe.

“I could use some help with this.” Wes flags a hand at the comic book corner. “We can do this again. Same time next week.”

Another squeak crawls out of Lucas’s throat. A new sheen of wetness brightens their eyes when they blink. “Seriously?”

“Be here,” Wes says, the way Mrs. Rossi did when she first hired him.

Lucas fist-pumps, then scampers to their mom, talking excitedly as they disappear out the store.

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