Page 53 of The Summer of Everything

Wes inhales, but doesn’t reply. It’s official: His future sister-in-law has topped Mr. X-Files.

* * *

The first time Wes cameout was a complete accident.

Being sixteen on a Thursday evening in the summer meant Wes and Nico had three options: video games, going to a movie, or staying in to stuff their pieholes with pizza while watching Netflix films about being a sixteen-year-old in the summer. Wes voted option two. Nico hopped on Wes’s laptop to Google start times. But, per usual, Wes forgot to close out a few of his last tabs. It wasn’t porn, thankfully. He’d been researching LGBTQIA+ youth support groups in the area because, yeah, Wesplannedon coming out.

But not at that moment. Not on the green sofa with a bag of spicy cheese puffs between them and Leo FaceTiming his girlfriend down the hall.

There it was. A Google listing of nearby support groups for queer youth. On the screen, in a smaller window, was Wes’s newest list:

The Five Best Ways to Come Out!

Nico peeked at Wes through his eyelashes. Wes didn’t breathe for a solid minute. The articles and the few movies he’d watched in the dark when everyone else was asleep warned Wes that coming out was a big deal. It didn’t matter if it was planned or came up unexpectedly in a conversation. They also warned Wes that, no matter what, he’d always be coming out. It never happens just once. But most of the webpages promised, when the time was right, it’d be worth it.

So, he finally said it: “I’m gay.”

He didn’t cry—not immediately. He also didn’t look Nico in the eyes when he said it.

Nico’s response?

He plucked the bag of cheese puffs from between them, scooted closer, and then curled both arms around Wes. Even at sixteen, Wes was substantially taller and wider than Nico, but he felt so small in those arms. He buried his face in Nico’s shoulder. The dry kiss Nico pressed to his forehead did trigger tears. But Wes was okay with that.

“Thank you, Wes,” Nico whispered into his curls.

Wes can’t remember what he mumbled back as his tears soaked Nico’s T-shirt.

He remembers the street tacos Nico bought them on the way to the cinema. He remembers Nico clumsily dancing around questions during movie trailers. He remembers Nico’s warm fingers squeezing his sweaty palm when Wes stumbled through the answers.

Most of all, Wes remembers those three words— “Thank you, Wes”—sounding a lot like, “I love you,” when he truly needed it.

* * *

When it comes to adjectivesthat describe himself,smoothis a stretch for Wes.

Stealth.Incognito. Wes loves that word. For the little time he’s been here, he’s managed to blend in with the crowd surrounding Venice Skatepark. No one’s noticed him, not that Wes is a big deal here. He’s just some curly-haired biracial kid in a swelling group of people from different racial backgrounds and ages and bad hairstyles watching the local crews hit tricks, nail ollies, and sail over props as if it’s any other day.

His hands are clammy. He’s sweating as though he’s the one risking permanent spine damage. And he’s rehearsed what he’s going to say so frequently that it’s becomeforced.

“Wes? Are you, like, hiding?”

And there goes “incognito,” devoured like fresh, bloody limbs in shark-infested waters.

Wes blinks hard against the bright sun haloing over the skatepark. Next to him, Autumn lifts both eyebrows. She’s a kickass skater girl with a sick dragon tattoo snaking up one arm, straight penny-brown hair that hangs down her back, and a labret piercing. Her usually pale white skin is sunburnt. Wes maintains that she’s hella cool despite totally blowing his cover.

“I’m not hiding,” he hisses.

Autumn’s arms are propped against the railing surrounding the main bowl. “You sure?”

“Positive.” Wesisn’thiding. He’s being covert. There’s a theoretical difference. “I’m chilling.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?”

“Yup.” Wes turns back to the action.

“He’s getting good air today,” Autumn comments.

“Who?”

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