Page 7 of The Summer of Everything

“I know,” she says, winking.

“So, this is happening?” Wes rubs his jaw. “You’re, like, going on adate-date?”

“Correct.”

“But…” He pauses to choose his words carefully.

Thing is, Ella doesn’t date. Well, occasionally, like on Leap Year Day. She doesn’t conform to any heteronormative directives. She rejects the idea that anyone should seek out romance as an agency to existence. Monogamy might as well be a foreign language to her. All this, Wes totally respects. But it makes incidents like this, whenElla is going on a date, kind of weird.

“Why?” Wes finally asks.

“Because I’m bored, and you haven’t been around for a month, and…”

“But I’m back.”

“Obvi. But I already made plans. And maybe I like this guy.”

“Okay.” Wes wants to call bullshit.

“It’s my prerogative, Wes. He’s cute, I’m a hottie, so why not?”

“Huh.” Wes nods approvingly. “That’s fair.”

“Great,” Ella says through her teeth. “Now do the gay bestie thing and comment on how amazing my hair looks.”

“Uh, that’s stereotyping.”

“You are a stereotype.”

Fact, but he’s notthatstereotype.

“You look…” Again, Wes considers his words. “Like a material girl.”

Ella flips him off with a snort-giggle. Wow, he’s really missed that noise. “Whoever this dude is, he doesn’t stand a chance,” Wes adds, because it’s true.

Ella hovers in his doorway. She never hovers.

“What?” Wes asks.

“Wes,” Ella says, gently.

Wes’s spine goes rigid. This is it. This is how every scene before someone announces, “They’re dead!” starts. Wes can feel his heart crawl into his esophagus. He’s already trembling.

“Is it Mr. Rossi? Is he dead?” he stammers. Mr. Rossi’s at that age where “natural causes” is sure to be scribbled on his death certificate. “Wait… is it Zay?”

Wes still hasn’t shaken the guilt about teaching Zay how to play Beirut with Fireball whiskey over winter break this year. What was he thinking? Zay just turned seventeen. But that was kind of Ella’s fault, too, so if Wes is indicted for involuntary manslaughter, he’s taking her with him.

“What? No,” Ella says incredulously.

Wes inhales deeply. His forearm hairs stand tall, but he’s prepared. He can handle this.

“They closed Book Attic,” Ella eventually says.

“Book Attic?”

“Yes. The bookstore on Fourth Street.”

“Yeah, I know,” Wes says nonchalantly.

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