It’s not the response Wes was hoping for.
They fall into an easy silence. The loft’s windows are open. Downstairs, someone’s car blares Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’,” and Nico hums along. Wes does too. Another example of why Santa Monica’s magic. They trade food cartons. Nico chugs soda while Wes picks at sesame chicken.
“This is good,” he whispers.
“Always.”
Heat radiates where their hips touch. The heady scent of ocean air sinks into the loft. Under that layer of iodine and salt, Wes can smell sweat and teriyaki sauce and Nico’s deodorant.
It’s a comfort. What is not a comfort for Wes is when he peeks down at Nico’s rising chest and sees the emblem in the corner of his T-shirt. A white block S with a redwood tree in the middle.
Stanford.
While Wes has spent his life with UCLA as his endgame, Nico had another plan after sophomore year of high school. In September, he’ll be attending Stanford. He wants to study premed. Nothing against UCLA and its rep, but they both know Stanford University School of Medicine is one of the premiere schools in California. Wes hoped Nico would at least complete his undergrad with him. But he knows why Nico’s doing this. It’s also more motivation to make this the Summer of Wes and Nico.
After they finish eating, Nico cleans up the trash. Wes acquires more drinks. He’s deliberately not thinking about how cozily domestic this is. Who spends Sunday nights with their crush, crashed on the sofa, knees touching, tucked into each other’s sides? Their faces are so close, Wes could lean forward and—
Do nothing.
Wes deserves an Academy Award for Best Actor in a Dramatic Friend-Zone Role.
“So, Wesley.” Nico has a controller in one hand; the other fumbles with the remote. “Kill aliens or go Donkey Kong on your lame Yoshi ass.”
Wes yawns, shrugging. “Whatever.”
“I’ll play, you watch?”
“Perfect.”
“Hey.” Nico unsettles Wes’s very comfortable resting place against him to reach for something on the coffee table. “You forgot your fortune cookie.”
Reluctantly, Wes holds an open palm for Nico to drop the cookie into. Wes can’t lie—the fortune cookie is his favorite part of Chinese takeout. He cracks open the cookie and pulls out the slip of paper. He frowns at the message:
Change can hurt but it leads to a road paved with better things.
“Any good?” Nico asks, focused on the salivating aliens charging toward him on the TV.
Wes scowls. Even the fortune cookie companies like to mess with his mind. “Garbage.” He crumples the shred of paper, then tosses it on the floor. He’s jet-lagged and so freaking, ridiculously over this night.
He wiggles back against Nico’s side. Nico kills more aliens. Wes thinks, Stupid fortune, tomorrow’s gonna be so much better, and falls asleep.
Chapter Four
Morning blindsides Wes. It hits him like a fist, but mainly because he couldn’t find a rhythm with his sleep cycle. Thanks, jet lag.
His phone’s alarm assaults his eardrums. Outside his window, the sun pokes at the sky until it’s pinkish orange. It’s nearly eight a.m., and Wes hates everything.
He has two missed texts. One is from Nico, apologizing for ducking out last night after video games. He had to be up early to babysit his sisters. Wes barely remembers Nico leaving or crawling into his own bed.
The second text is from his dad.
From: Dad
Film and Television?
Received 11:38 p.m.
Attached to the text is a link to UCLA’s School of Theater, Film, and Television. Calvin Hudson does this sometimes, sends Wes suggestions for possible college majors. It’s supposed to be helpful, but it’s really a reminder that Wes isn’t anywhere near the stage of certainty about his future that his parents and brother were at his age.
After closing the text, Wes finally climbs out of bed. His eyes feel like sandpaper. He nearly walks into a wall stumbling to the kitchen for a Pop-Tart and leftover, room-temperature Coke. He’s not functional enough to make tea, and coffee is a bitter, venomous sludge that Wes will have no part of.
He finishes off the Pop-Tart in three bites. He forgot to close the loft’s windows last night. The air is blanketed by the scents of surf and seaweed and cool breeze.
Wes can smell it—today’s going to be a good day.
He brushes his teeth, scrubbing the taste of sugar and flat Coke off his tongue. In the shower, he repeats, “You can do this; just tell him,” while washing his hair. Anticipation buzzes in his system.
It’s his first day back to work and, quite possibly, the day he wins Nico’s heart.
In the bathroom mirror, while lazily fixing his hair, Wes assesses himself. He’s wearing his very geektastic, lucky Green Lantern T-shirt. Last year at Comicpalooza, he won free passes to a new comic book movie wearing this shirt. So, today, Wes is going to get lucky, with his best friend. Maybe.
But he doesn’t have time to think about that. The bookstore opens promptly at nine a.m. daily. He needs to haul ass downstairs, set up the till, dust the shelves, and check on his favorite corner of the store.
Wes skids down the hall’s hardwood floors, passing Ella’s room. Well, it’s Leo’s former room, now occupied by Ella for the summer. Quickly, he peeks inside. She’s there, splayed out like an octopus and snoring at the ceiling.
He whispers to her, “Today’s gonna kick ass.”
Ella snores louder.
Wes shrugs, then runs for the door. He stops for his shoes, keys, and phone charger. On the way downstairs, he does a fist-pump that he’s glad nobody witnesses.
When Wes rounds the corner, he’s met by a grapefruit sky. It’s a cool morning, but he knows the heat rises quickly in July. For now, he soaks in the quiet calm wrapped around the pier. The wind shakes the palm leaves hanging high over Tongva Park. He lifts his phone to catch a good shot of Santa Monica leisurely waking up, and text it to Nico before opening his notes app.
Number Five—The SoCal Vibe
There’s a reason every movie and TV series doesn’t have to try hard to make LA look so damn cool. It just is. But it helps that every city has a bomb-ass vibe that can’t be replicated.
Downtown LA is obvi. That place is buzzing with so many people who want to make it big. But then there’s La Jolla with its sick beaches and surf community that I love—even though I drown more than I surf. The views in Malibu are kickass. My selfie game is strong there. Venice isn’t that far away and I 100% always live my best life down on Ocean Front Walk—all the music and faces and shops where you can get anything from clothes to art to weed.