Page 6 of The Summer of Everything

“Hashtag ‘amwriting’ and killing it,” Savannah adds.

Wes can’t remember the last time he thought of her as Jordan Hudson, her real name. Since he was old enough to squeak out words, it’s either been Mom or Savannah. She says it’s for confidentiality, to protect their family from invasive social media predators or overzealous fans. But Wes thinks she simply loves to lead the life of someone else, like her book characters.

While his mom drones on and on about her next book’s plot, he scans his bedroom. Wes loved the house in Italy—he lovedeverythingabout Italy, especially the boys and the ocean and, well, mainly the boys—but this room is a comfort he couldn’t find in Siena.

His graduation cap and gown hang on the back of his computer chair. Hanging above his desk are a UCLA pennant and his dad’s old basketball jersey. A standing lamp shines a beam on his shelf of Funko Pop superhero figures. The walls are covered in posters: Wonder Woman with her magic lasso; Nightwing in a battle stance; a Kim Possible he should probably take down.

Then again, he sleeps on Green Lantern bedsheets and has a pair of adult Spider-Man PJ’s, so maybe that poster isn’t the most embarrassing thing about his room.

“Has Ella settled in well?” Savannah asks, drawing Wes’s attention back to his phone.

Judging by the mounds of clothes spread across his mom’s favorite, ugly, green sofa in the living area and the tower of unwashed dishes, Wes would say Ella’s settled in quite nicely.

“She’s all good.”

“Have you talked to her parents? Do I need to call them?”

“Nah. They’re fine.”

At least, Wes thinks they are.

Unlike Wes’s relationship with his parents, Ella’s communication with her own parents is best served minimal and lukewarm. Her dad’s an investor who spends more time “investing” in young, surgically enhanced twenty-somethings around their Corona del Mar city limits. Her mom dines on red wine and prefers consuming Netflix documentaries to being actively involved in Ella’s decisions. Their only interaction is her constant commentary on Ella’s body. Neither of them seem to care that Ella has spent the summer living in the Hudsons’ loft-studio apartment hybrid.

Wes can fully admit his family’s pad is dope as hell. Located above the bookstore, it has the ultimate view of the pier and Santa Monica Beach. It’s a floor of former office spaces, gutted and renovated into a one-floor living space. Though it wasn’t always the ideal space for a family of four, they made it work: three bedrooms and two bathrooms, a gnarly kitchen that’s fully equipped thanks to Calvin. Neither Wes nor Leo have any cooking talent. Unfortunately, the Hudson boys are known for three meals: cereal, Pop Tarts, and microwaveable burritos.

“You two stay out of trouble,” Savannah warns, but she’s never mastered that authoritative voice his dad has. It’s stern-ish at best.

“No problem, Mom,” Wes replies, saluting her.

“No parties.”

As if Wes is that high on the cool people chain.

Also, per his agreement with his parents to crib-sit for the summer, Wes has to deal with Leo making unannounced visits to check on him. That’s just what Wes needs—more time with Leo.

“No problem.”

“Maybe just a small, intimate movie night with your friends,” suggests Savannah.

His friends. Wes likes to limit that group: Ella and Nico; Zay, who’s very chill with a great sense of humor; and Kyra, who makes Zay seem uptight. Wes supposes Anna is in that elite squad now. She’s his “replacement” at the bookstore while he’s been gone. She’s also pretty much the anti-Ella, which Wes needs occasionally.

“Only movie nights, Mom. Promise.”

She smiles sweetly at him. “Call me tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

Just as Wes hangs up and drops his phone on the bed, Ella twirls into his doorway. Backlit by the hallway lights, she’s a stunner in a bowler hat, jeans, and leather jacket. All black, of course. The only exception is a white, flowy blouse under the jacket.

Wes sits up for a better view. “Wow, really channeling ’80s Madonna, huh?”

“She only wishes she was me at our age,” Ella says.

“True that.”

“Though, even now, I’m positive she’d still try to hook up with this Long Beach State freshman volleyball player I’m going out with.”

“LB State? Nice flex.”

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