Page 84 of The Summer of Everything

In less than an hour,Wes has learned many things, but the most important is—Manu’s way out of his league.

Third Street Promenade is an endless stretch of gray sidewalk, colorful shops, and restaurants sighing delicious scents into passing pedestrians’ faces. The complex has two movie theaters bookending opposite corners, along with multiple coffee shops and an Apple store unceasingly crammed with locals and tourists. But, tonight, Third Street is relatively mellow. The perfect evening for an unofficial date.

Wes is glad they haven’t put a label on this. They’re just two boys sitting on a café’s outdoor patio, chatting. Farther down the pavement, dinosaur-shaped shrubbery watches over passersby like sentries. Fairy lights are wound around trees; their shine rivals the streetlamps and neon signs.

Manu lowers his coffee cup. “Your turn.”

The scalding temperature of the black tea Wes slurps matches the fire in his cheeks. They’ve started a game—one fact in exchange for one embarrassing truth. Wes loves it, except when it’s his turn again.

Mentally, he’s compiled a list. A Manu list, the first of its kind.

Things I Know About Manuia

1. He’s from O’ahu, Hawaii.

2. Two major scars: one on the inside of his left ankle; the other on his left shoulder blade—the “scapula.” Google it. Both from surfing.

3. Oldest of five siblings. Four brothers, one sister.

4. Asked his first boy out to a high school carnival where he blew chunks all over said guy’s brand-new Nikes following an unfortunate ride on the Tilt-a-Whirl!

5. Studying to be a veterinary physician. Sounds way more complicated than grooming cats and playing with puppies.

6. He’s Polynesian, Filipino, and Japanese. Bonus Points: Hates the “Okay, but where are your parents FROM?” question. They’re from Hilo and Long Beach respectively.

7. Five Year Plan: Finish his degree, get a job in SoCal, buy a house, and visit Tokyo.

See, the imbalance is definitive. Manu is ready to adult. Wes just wants to save a bookstore. Thing is, Weslikeshim. He loves how humble Manu is; the way he makes eye contact when someone speaks to him; how he’s not aware his pinky sticks out when he sips his coffee.

He likes that he can assess these things, and Manu doesn’t even flinch.

“Okay.” Wes rubs his hands together, thinking. “Fact: I’m—”

“No, no. Wait.” Manu laughs. It’s this deep, warm noise, like campfires sound in the middle of nowhere. “You already did fact. Embarrassing story time.”

Wes holds up a finger. “When did we agree on rules to this game?”

“They were implied.”

“Implication does not equal explicit statement,” Wes argues.

Holy Batgirl, why does he sound like Leo?

“Fair.” Manu rests an elbow on their table, then seats his chin on his knuckles. “Should we establish rules, then?”

Is he talking about this game or something else?

Wes swallows, throat dry. He sips more tea. Manu’s watching him. A feathery tickle crawls from Wes’s lower spine to the back of his neck. The patio is surrounded by stainless steel tiki torches. Golden flames dance light over Manu’s eyes.

“No rules,” Wes stammers.

“Fine. Fact: I like you.”

“Wait, no, it’s my turn and…”

Wes shuts the hell up. Manu likes him. He said it. No hesitation. There were no long moments of fumbling and creating lists about why he should say it. He didn’t spend an entire summer—and a greater portion of the last few years—debating over whether he should say it. It happened, and Wes’s been staring at him, jaw slack, eyes bugging, for entirely too long for this to be an acceptable response to someone saying, “I like you.”

Someone’s throat clears. Their waitress hovers above them with a small plate in the palm of one hand. A giant cinnamon roll dripping in melted cream cheese icing descends upon them. “Enjoy,” she says, then walks three tables down to take another order.

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