Page 98 of The Summer of Everything

“Whoa.” Cooper shakes his head as if his brain is fried. The end credits of the last Avengers movie are rolling across the screen. “Mind blown.”

They’ve been marathoning Wes’s definitive list of must-see Marvel films for most of the morning. Cooper, the novice, had only seenInfinity Warbecause of Devon. But, due to length and continual explanations from Wes about plot points, they’ve only made it through two films. Wes doesn’t mind. He’s slumming it in a Shazam onesie with a sauce stain on his chest from yesterday’s microwavable burrito. He hasn’t showered in approximately twenty-six hours. His jaw is itchy with stubble. There’s cheese puff grime in his cuticles.

Yeah, this is adulting at eighteen.

At least he remembered to brush his teeth this morning.

Cooper cracks a yellow can of Red Bull and chugs. The kid’s got a lead stomach. He burps, then says, “So, for continuity purposes… are we going to talk about it?”

Wes tosses one of his mom’s throw pillows at Cooper. He catches it one-handed. He’s got major hand-eye coordination skills too.

“No,” Wes yells at the ceiling.

“But you don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”

Wes guesses it’s either what happened at the bookstore or Nico or Ella. Maybe it’s Manu. He’s done a daily check to see if Manu’s unfollowed his Insta account. He hasn’t. Wes is sad and grateful about that. At the end of the day, he wants to be Manu’s friend. But the idea of initiating that conversation with Manu makes him nauseous.

Cooper stares at Wes expectantly.

He takes a slug of his own Red Bull before whispering, “Fire away.”

“Well,” Cooper says, grabbing a handful of cheese puffs from the bag. “What’s the deal with school?”

“What do you mean?” Wes can’t knock the surprise out of his voice.

Cooper shrugs one shoulder before stuffing the cheese puffs into his mouth. The dust paints his lips orange. “Everyone else is talking about it except for you.” He chews and chews before downing the rest with a gulp of Red Bull. “Anna’s going to be finishing up her degree. Ella plans to brainwash the next generation of kids into being steampunk, ultra-goth, black coffee drinking, rage-against-the-system leaders, which I’m totally not against.”

Wes snorts before stealing back the bag.

“Nico’s all Stanford trees that and med school prodigy this.”

It’s impossible to prevent the flinch that wracks Wes’s entire body. If Cooper notices, he doesn’t mention it.

“Even Zay’s on some graduate early so he can conquer the music industry gnarliness,” Cooper continues, dusting cheesy crumbs all over his sweats. “Again, I’m not opposed. Have you heard his stuff? It’s wicked.”

Admittedly, Wes hasn’t heard any of Zay’s latest tunes. Another tidal wave of guilt takes him under. How many pieces of his friends’ lives has he missed in two months of stress and anxiety?

“But not you,” Cooper says softly, his expression puzzled.

“I’m… Uh.” The stutter is unavoidable. “I’mgoing. You know that. UCLA, next month.”

It’s the only part of Wes’s outline, his entire five-year-adult-plan that’s always been there. But the more Wes thinks about it… Is he the one who scripted that agenda for himself?

“Yeah, yeah. Go Bruins.” Cooper fists pumps the air with zero enthusiasm. “But, like. You don’ttalkabout it.”

“I don’t talk about—”

“Yes, you do,” Cooper says empathically. “Your obsession with Weezer? You talk about that. Your utter disdain for Oasis and all things Peter Gallagher? You discuss that too. You talk about your love of tea, your favorite comic books, the worst pizza toppings, how you’d direct a Green Lantern movie to erase that CGI, trashcan fire, Ryan Reynolds version from the annals of history.”

“It was complete shit,” Wes moans. “Ugh.”

“Geoff Johns, Nirvana’s musical impact on alternative rock greatness, the revolution Dr. Dre created in hip-hop,” Cooper lists every topic on a different finger. “And forgive me if this one burns, but even how you feel about Nico—you whisper to Ella about it when you think none of us are paying attention.”

Wes stares at his lap. His left foot wiggles anxiously.

“The things you hate, care about, or are madly in love with, you talk about,” Cooper says quietly, curving forward enough that he appears in Wes’s peripheral vision. Fuzzy, goofy Cooper reminding him that he’s avoiding life like a hypochondriac avoids a person who sneezes.

“I…” The lie can’t make it past Wes’s tongue.

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