Page 97 of The Summer of Everything

“Never mind.”

Wes almost says it. But he’s become such a pro at giving up, the words are like cotton candy in his mouth, dissolving instantly. And the one time he fights, the one time he demands the universe give him what he wants, he fails.

He failed Once Upon a Page. He failed Mrs. Rossi. The truth is like swallowing glass.

“Wesley,” Nico repeats, firmer.

Who was Wes kidding? He can’t save the bookstore. He can’t make Nico see him a certain way. Life isn’t a shortened-for-content, perfectly cast, movie version of his favorite book.

“I’m leaving,” he finally whispers.

There’s no waiting for protests from Nico or Cooper. He doesn’t make eye contact with Ella. He pretends Anna isn’t standing next to Lucas, wearing a banana costume, looking like a real-life sad-face emoji. Shoes squishing, he slams out the bookstore’s front door.

No one follows him.

Wes makes it as far as the stairwell leading up to the loft before falling to his knees, dry-heaving and crying at once.

He’s so done.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Wes has broken rule numberone.

For three days, he’s called out sick for his shifts. In reality, he’s perfectly healthy, but he can’t be inside the bookstore. Not after his Tony Award-winning breakdown.

“I have a cold,” he says groggily to Mrs. Rossi’s voicemail every morning. She always calls back an hour later. He never answers. She’s texted. He doesn’t check the texts. Yesterday, at eleven a.m., there was a knock at the door and Wes, the burgeoning adult he is, hid in the kitchen with a blanket over his head as if it were an invisibility cloak.

Mrs. Rossi left him a Tupperware of homemade chicken soup, a gallon of cold-pressed orange juice, and a handwritten note on cartoon kitty stationary:

Eat. Drink. Feel better! Love, the Rossi family X.

Wes follows her first two instructions, but it doesn’t cure anything. He’s never missed a shift. He’s neverliedto Mrs. Rossi. Guilt eats him alive at three o’clock every day. He’s been sunk into the green sofa’s cushions while Nico’s downstairs, probably holding a cup of tea, anticipating Wes’s appearance behind the front counter.

But, for seventy-two hours, Nico doesn’t call. He doesn’t text. He doesn’t update his Pinterest. And Wes feels less and less horrible about it all.

Is this what the fall will be like? No communication? One of us at Stanford, the other… who knows?

Wes is waiting for hisSurvival Guide to Being an Adulthandbook to show up, but it never does.

For her part, Ella continues her day-to-day routine without saying a word to him. He was expecting her to pack her bags and leave, but she didn’t. She also didn’t set his bed on fire while he showered the other day, for which Wes is also grateful. Ella just… keeps going.

He doesn’t FaceTime with his mom, though he texts. Calvin texts, too, but Wes only replies with single-word responses. He hasn’t decided on a field of study. He hasn’t figured out any of the mysteries of the universe.

It takes twelve DMs on multiple social media apps and a Facebook friend request to Wes’s prehistoric account before he finally agrees to speak to anyone.

@coopsarrow is hard to ignore.

“So, what you’re telling meis…” Cooper’s hands are raised, palms out. Moon-sized eyes stare at Wes. “… no one making this movie caught the absurd illogic in this plot?”

“Nope.”

“And they tried to explain it away by saying time travel isn’t likeBack to the Future, but they didthis?”

“Yup.”

“How do you ignore science?”

Wes guffaws, tipping back on the green sofa. He hasn’t laughed in days. It’s this strange rumble from his chest, shaking off all the mucous and exhaustion built up from emo-crying over his life. Damn, he’s missed it. “This is why DC is the superior brand,” he says smugly.

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