Page 73 of The Summer of Everything

“Please.” Yup, Wes isn’t beyond begging. He repositions in Nico’s spot on the counter as Nico gathers his skateboard. Adobe Illustrator is still open on the screen. He scrolls through the bookstore designs. Underneath is a gallery of other sketches and doodles. Most of it is original art. Sick graffiti tags and a few realistic portraits. Wes recognizes Mrs. Alvarez and Sofía, but much younger, when Sofía only came up to Wes’s kneecap and Mrs. Alvarez didn’t have an irremovable sadness behind her smile.

“Hey.” Wes pinches the sleeve of Nico’s black T-shirt when he passes. “You’re drawing again?”

Nico peeks at the iPad. “Sometimes.”

“These are really good.”

“Nah. They’re shit. I’m just messing around.”

“No,” Wes insists, tugging harder on Nico’s shirt. “This is incredible. You could get into art school with this stuff.”

Nico doesn’t respond, which Wes guesses is an invitation to continue, though Nico’s eyebrows shift inward.

“You know, UCLA is one of the top five art schools in California,” he says, pointing at the image of Nico’s mom and sister. “You could learn a lot there.”

Nico’s eyes narrow.

Shut up. Shut up.

But Wes doesn’t. “You could kick it around here. Be at home with your sisters, study art. And…”

Be with me.

Holy hell, that ten percent of himself that hasn’t accepted he and Nico aren’t going to work is still getting in the way. He’s so selfish. Is he trying to convince his best friend to stick around Santa Monica to pursue an art degree for Nico’s benefit or his? He doesn’t even have an airtight argument. Nico’s already been accepted into Stanford. What’s he going to do? Call the admissions office and cancel? Who cancels on Stanford?

“Stanford is a top five art school,” Nico says. His cheeks are hollowed, showing all the tension behind his jaw. “It’s also where I’m going to study medicine because of my family, in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t,” Wes says, his voice small.

“Then drop it.” Nico snatches the iPad from Wes’s loose grip. “Art school isn’t for me. Art school won’t bring back…” Nico nudges his glasses up, wiping at his eyes. “Mierda. Forget it.”

“Okay,” whispers Wes. But he knows he won’t.

He stares at Nico’s back as he pushes out the door. Briefly, Nico looks over his stiff shoulder. Wes’s mouth opens, then closes. Nico disappears. Wes knows he won’t be back with a burrito and a MexiCoke.

He knows he’s royally fucked up.

Chapter Seventeen

“So, I told him…” Leeannpauses to take a sip of her green iced tea.

In true hot-tea-only elitist form, Wes frowns at her.

Leeannahhhsat him because she’s aware of his vehement disdain for iced teas. She continues, poking her phone screen awake: “We have to finalize the wedding party in the next two weeks. I love your brother with all my heart, but he’s such a slacker when it comes to the finer details of this wedding thing.”

Chin propped against the meat of his palm, Wes hides a smile behind his long fingers.

Leo, a slacker? In what world?

“I’m sure Grace and Tiffany will be thrilled when you finally choose a maid of honor,” he says.

“Assuming they’re in.”

“Assuming they’re in,” Wes repeats, laughing.

“I dunno.” Leeann picks at her everything bagel, careful not to get the chunky avocado she’s spread all over it on her fingers. She chews, head tilted, looking thoughtful. “I should just have one of those Mad Max, post-apocalyptic duels for that spot. I love my sister, but I think Tiffany might win.”

This morning, Wes witnessed Tiffany verbally take down a florist who wasn’t prepared with a selection of sample flowers for Leeann despite an appointment scheduled two weeks ago. No offense, Grace, but Tiffany would slay that contest.

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