Page 66 of The Summer of Everything

Friend.

Wes hears that word loud and clear. It’s been attached to him for years and years, but it’s never stung like it does now. In his mind, Wes can see his list in perfect, hi-def quality.

Signs Your Crush Isn’t Into You!!!

3. If your crush constantly refers to you as a friend, THEY MEAN IT!

4. If you always ask, “Does my crush like me?”, FALL BACK!

“Is that what you—”

“No, no. It’s not.” Nico hiccups, then shakes his head. “I’m drunk. I’m messed up. No es nada.” He grabs the hem of his red sweatshirt, uses it to wipe his face. There are no tears there, only sweat.

Wes curls his fingers around Nico’s wrist. Under his fingertips, Nico’s pulse is a slow thump.

“Wesley.” Nico swallows. Wes studies his Adam’s apple, then the way his lips move as he whispers, “I’m tired.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Maybe I should go.”

Maybe you should. Wes’s breaths are shallow. He’s checked off two more items on his list. It’s a huge, screaming, blood-red sign. But something deep in his marrow keeps dragging him in another direction. Closer to Nico.

“We’ll go,” he says, pulling. “Me and you. I’ll walk you home.” It’s not that far from The Howls to the Alvarez house off Palisades Beach Road.

“No, no. You should stay. Chill,” insists Nico. He pushes to his feet. He’s just coordinated enough to straighten his sweatshirt and dust sand from his shorts.

“I’ll go with you.” Wes stands too. He wants to let Nico piggyback him, like Devon and Cooper, all the way to his house. Then he wants to crawl into Nico’s bed and hug him. Nothing else. He wants to protect Nico from whatever he can’t say to Wes.

Screw Stanford. Screw UCLA. Screw the future. Just Wes and Nico and their protective bubble. But that’s not possible. Nothing Wes wants is possible, except maybe saving the bookstore. At least he has that.

At least he still has Nico’s friendship.

“Come on.” Wes links their fingers together.

The slightest glint of hesitation registers in Nico’s eyes, but he doesn’t yank away. “What about the others?”

“Here.” Wes tugs out his phone. One-handed, he unlocks it, taps on his messages, and types. “I’ll let Kyra know. Anna too. We can call Ella on the way. She’ll take care of Zay and Cooper.”

“She won’t take care of Cooper.”

“You’re right. But Zay will,” assures Wes, leading Nico up the soft sand. The wind is heavy against their backs. That’s why Wes is shivering. That’s why his eyes sting. He’s not going to cry.

I can’t tell him. We’re just friends. This is what’s best.

That’s what he repeats to himself the entire walk back to Nico’s house.

Hands behind his head, Oz stared at the crow-black sky. Blades of wet grass tickled the nape of his neck. Avoiding his mother had become his new specialty. Moms, though nurturing, never understood teenage boys.

“Life’s right there, Oz,” whispered Sarina.

It was. Beyond the big, ominous stars that hung overhead. Too far away to touch with his fingertips. That’s how Oz viewed his whole life before Sarina—too far away.

He was only seventeen when she died.

He was eighteen when she returned.

“Life’s right there.”

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