Page 77 of The Summer of Everything

“Eat up,” Leo instructs. “ETD nine minutes.”

Did Leo really just ETD Wes? As if he’s on such a time crunch that he can’t say “estimated time of departure.”

“Eight minutes.”

Annoyed, Wes drops the last half of his bagel. He stretches until something satisfying pops in his back.

“Ohmygod.”

Ella peeks into the living room space. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt and mismatched socks. Rubbing one eye, hair sleep-ruined, she says, “I thought vampires were only allowed inside if youinvitethem.”

“Good morning, Ella,” Leo says with fake cheer. “Does your membership to the Hayley Williams fan club still include a free band tee from Hot Topic and a lifetime supply of black eyeliner?”

Ella smirks, flipping him off. “I’m making coffee.”

“Try decaf!” Leo shouts as she fumbles toward the kitchen.

“We’re going surfing,” Wes yells. “On my day off.”

“Wonderful. Don’t drown,” she replies over the burbling coffeemaker.

Leo clears his throat loudly. Wes frowns. He can’t believe he’s standing, preparing to brush his teeth and shower and find beach attire for this event. He and Leo don’t do things together. Brotherly bonding is prohibited. It’s in the Geneva Conventions or something.

“Six minutes.”

“You’re the worst,” Wes growls, skulking off to his bedroom as if they’re still children fighting over what television show to watch.

Fact: Leo, future lawyer and husband, always won those wars.

As unironic destiny would haveit, Leo is commandingly better at surfing than Wes. His body is loose but precise as he glides. His turns are clean. He navigates every wave as if he was born on the water.

Wes is settled into the warm sands, watching. His forearms rest on bent knees, his wetsuit is already halfway peeled off, and his board lies discarded a few feet away. He sniffs, squinting against the high sun. The waves are cloudy blue before breaking. Fifty feet out, Leo paddles to catch the next one before coasting back to shore.

“Okay.” Leo jams the tail of his board in the sand to keep it upright before plopping down next to Wes. He drags a hand over his wet face. “Talk.”

For a future lawyer, Leo’s ability to negotiate a conversation is inferior. He dusts sand off his hands and turns his eyes to the turquoise and gold water. Around them, the aroma of kelp and coconut Sex Wax mixes with that petroleum odor his wetsuit produces. Wes can still taste saltwater at the back of his throat as he says, “Just that easy, huh?”

It’s as if Leo doesn’t recognize the misconnect between them, as if he can’t see the huge404 Message Errorevery time they speak.

“C’mon.” Leo elbows him. “I’m better than Dad.”

“True.”

“So. Talk.”

Wes’s eyes sting from the water. He closes them, then finally opens up. He tells Leo about Mrs. Rossi and the bookstore and the bone-crushing, unsettling weight of his world ending every time he walks through the door. He explains their plans to save his second home. He spews everything in the most inarticulate way, but he can’t stop himself. He word-vomits all over Zuma Beach until his stomach is empty and his throat hurts.

And Leo says nothing.

“Well?” Wes struggles to control the aggravation in his voice.

“Okay.” Leo chews on his bottom lip, contemplating. “Thanks to my internship, I have a few connections around the city. Do you want me to call BookZone? See if they have any openings in the fall?”

“What?”

BookZone is UCLA’s independent campus bookstore. Wes has visited once, but only as a preemptive move to familiarize himself with the future home of his textbook needs. He knew all his other reading material would come from Once Upon a Page.

“I can make a call,” Leo says as if he’s doing Wes some kind ofGodfather-esque favor.

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