Page 87 of The Summer of Everything

Wes steals sips of Nico’s orange soda. Adult Swim is showing reruns on the television: some fast-paced anime with cool action sequences. All the color and explosions play like Wes’s brain. He can’t figure out the storyline but, for whatever reason, he’s enjoying the ride.

“My cousins are visiting,” Nico says out of nowhere. “From San Pedro.”

Ah. That explains a lot.

Nico’s appearance isn’t random. He’s not here just to share leftover pizza. It’s not because he misses Wes. Or maybe it is, but Wes also knows it’s because Nico needs a respite from his cousins, three boys who are bigger and rougher and speak exclusively in Spanish whenever Wes is around.

Wes peeks down at the half-drunk bottle of orange soda. “How many have you had?” he asks, as if it’s a beer or hard lemonade.

Nico’s made his way under the wing of Wes’s arm. “Definitely need to replenish your stash.”

“Yikes.”

Absently, Wes squeezes his arm around Nico’s taut shoulders. Orange soda is like a cheat code for Nico. Escapism via carbonation and sugar. That night at The Howls is probably the fourth time Wes has ever seen Nico that far gone. Alcohol isn’t their thing.

“So.” Wes chews and chews before tossing a crust in the box. “Tell me about it.”

It doesn’t take much convincing. Red-faced, Nico rips into his cousins in a blurring mixture of English and Spanish. He’s sniffing, eyes glassy, words mashing into each other to create a new vocabulary.

“¡Los verdaderos hombres no toleran estupideces!” Nico swallows, panting. “It means, ‘Real men don’t tolerate bullshit.’ They think I need to skip college. Get a real job. Man up and take care of my mom. Stop acting like a punk.”

Wes’s fingers find that soft spot behind Nico’s ear, below the lobe. He rubs, slowly and methodically. Nico exhales shakily.

“I’m not them.”

“You’re not,” Wes promises quietly.

“Ellos están locos,” Nico spits. “I’m better than them. I’m doing the right thing. This is my life and I just—” His voice hitches. It’s the piercing sound the body makes before the tears finally come.

But Nico shakes his head, refusing to surrender. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“For…” Nico sniffs, dragging the back of his hand under his nose to catch the snot. “I’m waffling.”

“You’re Nico-ing,” Wes teases.

Nico laughs. Then he clears his throat, inching back to study Wes. “Nice outfit.”

This time, Wes didn’t need Ella rejecting his choices and almost blinding him. He went for the “casually be yourself” look, which was just a pair of faded skinny jeans and a vintage UCLA T-shirt under his cleanest plaid shirt.

“Were you out?”

Wes takes his arm back. “Just hanging with someone.”

“A date?” Nico’s voice is neutral.

Wes doesn’t know what he expects from Nico’s tone. Anger. Jealousy. Concern.

“Kind of.”

Nico smirks. “You had a good time, didn’t you?”

“It was okay,” Wes says, indifferently.

“Just okay?” Nico asks after a sip of soda, with his voice still on an even keel.

Isokaya poor adjective? Does Nico want him to have a good time with someone else? It’s a red flag, number five on the list he still hasn’t deleted despite it already confirming his future with Nico is destined to be platonic:

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