Returning home after leaving the pier, Wes is surprised to find Ella sitting on the green sofa, feet under her, phone squeezed between her hands and dark trails down her cheeks.
“Hey,” he says cautiously, nudging the door closed with his foot.
Ella’s eyes are wide and glassy. “Sup.”
“Okay.” Wes toes off his shoes, moving guardedly as if she’s a velociraptor ready to claw out his organs. Ella’s not that scary—thirty percent of the time—but she never cries. He’s certain she has cried, probably as an infant, but he’s never witnessed it firsthand.
She sniffles. Her nose is red.
“Ella?”
She exhales loudly, clearly annoyed by the way Wes is tiptoeing closer. “Chill out, super-geek, I didn’t just fail to raise a hell demon to run for mayor while I exact revenge on the girl who left me for dead.”
Wes snorts. Last summer, provoked by a book snob obsessed with a certain poorly written vampire saga, Ella and Wes binge-watched the entire Buffy the Vampire Slayer television series online. It’s an hour’s drive from Newport Beach to Santa Monica, so Ella spent weekends on the green sofa after her shift downstairs at the bookstore. Faith, the rebel slayer, was an instant favorite of Ella’s. Wes leaned more toward Willow because, hello, lesbian witch. But they both agreed season four never happened.
Ella turns her phone over and over between her hands. “Mom called.”
Oh.
Wes has met Victoria Graham on three occasions. Each time, she barely spoke four words to him. She’s not a mean person, simply someone fully focused on her priorities. Wes isn’t one of them. Victoria is a striking woman with reddish-brown hair, wide shoulders, and an affinity for anything pastel. And her words cut faster, harder, more lethally than anything Ella’s ever used to fend off strangers brave enough to look her in the eye for more than five seconds.
The tension between Ella and her mom is something Wes learned early in their friendship to observe but never ask about unless prompted. Ella claims that, when she was little, Victoria would fawn over her cheeks and chubby thighs. But somewhere between nine and ten, things shifted. Victoria stopped pinching Ella’s cheeks and started “suggesting” Ella join a soccer team or a volleyball club. Ella should try flirting with the boys from the football team instead of hanging with the art club kids. Listen to a little more fun pop music instead of brooding goth rock.
“Are you—” Wes pauses, rubbing his chin. Choose your words carefully. “Do you want to punch something?”
Ella sniffs, wiping snot from her nose. “Always.”
“Cool,” says Wes, dropping down next to her. “Not me?”
“You’re basically bones and curls. It’d be disappointing to break you without trying.”
Wes eases an arm around her stiff shoulders. “Did she say something?”
“She always says something.”
“Does she want you to come home?”
Ella’s laugh is this sad, pathetic thing. “No, she’s quite fine without me there to tarnish her image. Why have a daughter in person when you can just as easily FaceTime her to expound your disappointment in her? Technology’s the best.”
Wes hums. Is it selfish that he wants to talk to his own mother? Despite her constant word vomit about writing and publishing and Twitter, there’s something about the sound of his mom’s voice that Wes needs once a day. It’s a comfort.
With all the madness of the day, they haven’t spoken. She messaged him about depositing money into his bank account for groceries, but that’s about it. Wes does the math. Savannah might be still awake, writing.
“I can’t wait until summer’s over and we’re moving onto campus,” sighs Ella. “It’s like, for the most part, I’ll be done with them. Four years or more where I’ll be focused on becoming my own person.”
“You’ve always been your own person.”
“You know what I mean.”
Wes does. But he also hates thinking about the end of summer. It’s this loud, unavoidable countdown in his head.
In September, he’ll be at UCLA.
In September, Nico will be at Stanford.
In September, Wes is supposed to step out of being a teenaged slacker and become this instant adult who has career goals, relationship goals, money goals. So many goals. He’s supposed to study hard, graduate, get a six-figure job. He’s supposed to prove to the world that he’s responsible and capable of solving things with next to zero stress, but that’s all he sees in adults—stress and money problems and failures.
Who wants that?
He should probably tell Ella all of this, but when she says, a grin in her voice, “We’re gonna kick ass at UCLA,” he falters.
“Go Bruins,” Wes replies, trying to drum up as much enthusiasm as possible. Absentmindedly, his arm tightens around her. Ella snuggles in; her head rests on his collarbone.
“Oh god, you reek of the hell spawn,” she mumbles.
“We were at the pier. Anna, Kyra, Coop…”
“Nico?”
“Yeah.”
Ella snort-giggles. “So I missed the crew.”
You did. Wes doesn’t say it. Thing is, he and Ella fight occasionally. Most friends do. But they don’t do apologies. Well, Wes does sometimes, but Ella definitely doesn’t. He thinks it’s against her emo-punk code.
“Coop thinks we should…” Wes struggles to finish. It’s been on his mind, what Cooper said at the pier. Fighting for the bookstore. How they’re in the endgame and all that. “He thinks we shouldn’t just give up.”
Ella wiggles a little on the sofa, but she doesn’t say anything.
“I dunno. I kind of think, maybe he’s right?” Wes continues. “I have no clue what to do, but maybe we should consider it?”
“Consider what?”
“Doing anything other than rolling over and letting this rank coffee franchise just take over our turf.”
“Our turf?” repeats Ella, mockingly. “Gee, Wes, do you want to put together a petition and hold a rally too?”
Wes slides his arm off her shoulders. “I don’t want to just sit around and lose everything.”
She’s silent again, curled on the sofa. Her hair falls around her face, blocking Wes’s view of her expression. But, softly, she says, “Fine.” Before Wes can jump on the sofa and fist-pump, she adds, “But we’re not discussing any of this with Mrs. Rossi.”
“Okay,” Wes agrees. It’s not the perfect solution, but it’s a start.
* * *
Little Tony’s Big Slice is nearly empty when Wes arrives after closing the bookstore. The family traffic has vacated the premises. Couples sit at round tables while a few solo diners eat pizza, swiping greasy fingers over their phone screens. The bookstore crew has already snagged a corner booth near the back. It’s a tight fit with six people but it works.
“Is this an intervention?” Cooper asks as Wes slides into the booth.
“What?” Zay peeps over his plastic menu.
“Listen. I know some of you…” Cooper glances at Ella. “…don’t approve of my musical choices, but I’m getting better.”
“You played Peter Gabriel today.” Ella glares back. “I didn’t even know what a Peter Gabriel was until today.”
Cooper frowns. “But you let him…” He points at Zay. “…play Nina Simone for an hour.”
“Don’t bring Nina into this,” Zay warns, but he’s beaming.
“This isn’t about your questionable music integrity,” Wes interrupts. He pats Cooper’s unreasonably tall hair. “You’re doing better, though.”
“We clearly have very different definitions of that word,” Ella says, plunking her paper straw into a glass of Dr. Pepper.
“Is it about finding new jobs now that we’re all about to be unemployed by the end of the summer?” Zay asks.
“We’re not gonna be unemployed,” Wes argues gently.
“I was overqualified for the job, anyway,” Ella proclaims. “I’m the most equipped to be successful out of all of us.”
“Bullshit.” Zay guffaws.
Ella balls up a napkin and flicks it at him. It bounces off his nose. He sweeps it off the table.
“It’s not about that,” Wes says, resting a hand on Ella’s before she can assault Zay with more accuracy. “We’re not looking for new jobs.”
“Then what’s this about?” Nico asks.
Wes is sandwiched between Nico and Ella. Little Tony’s minimal staff means their table hasn’t been fully cleaned from the previous customers. Nico’s repeatedly sticking and unsticking his fingers from the Formica’s surface. He and Wes switched shifts today so Nico could take his sisters to the beach. The smell of salt and sun and sweat lingering on his clothes and skin distracts Wes. Ella clears her throat.
“Right.” Wes wasn’t point-five seconds from burying his nose in Nico’s collarbone. He owns his weirdness, but that’s probably going too far. “The email said Mrs. Rossi is behind on her property payments. I’ve been thinking it’s because the store’s not bringing in enough money.”
“It’s not as busy as it’s been in the past,” Ella agrees.
“Corporate capitalism,” Anna says, scowling. “Online convenience has continuously made it financially impossible for brick and mortar establishments to remain afloat. The limitless ability of online corporations to provide cheap deals on product without skimming a high percentage off the producer has nearly eliminated independent providers’ potential to compete. It’s destroying the traditional business market.”
Wes blinks at Anna. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m a business major.”
“Yeah, but.” Wes shakes his head. “You never talk like that at the store.”
Anna’s expression never falters. “Just because I don’t, doesn’t mean I can’t.”
Huh. Wes really needs to work on spending less time pining over Nico and more time getting to know his coworkers.
“You also smoke up with Cooper on lunch breaks,” Zay points out.
“I’m a business major and an environmentalist.” Anna exhales contentedly. “Green is good.”
“Green is life,” Cooper affirms.
“Back to the bookstore,” Ella says, sounding exasperated. “We need to figure out ways to increase revenue, or it’s going to end up just like Book Attic and that Barnes and Noble.”
“And Page-Turner over near my neighborhood, too,” Zay adds.
“They closed Page-Turner?” Ella asks, eyebrows raised.
“Yup.”
Wes refuses to be fazed. Page-Turner was an obvious Once Upon a Page rip-off. They even had a neon sign in their front window that read, “Read More Books,” except the lighting in the “K” burnt out. “Read More Boos” was an accidental marketing dream around Halloween but hardly brought in any traffic the rest of the year.
“So…”
A sigh accompanies the bored expression of their waiter as he stands over the table. Constantine, the restaurant owners’ son, is a lanky dude with a perpetual sneer and shaggy, brooding-hero hair. He attends the University of Southern California, which makes him an automatic enemy. Kyra goes there too, but she gives Wes free tea.
“What’ll it be on your pizzas tonight?” Constantine asks, staring at the wall behind their booth rather than anyone at the table.
Wes’s crew have been regulars around here since he got his first paycheck and blew it on comics, a pair of sick Adidas, and a whole Little Tony’s thin crust pepperoni pie.
“Hawaiian,” Anna says cheerfully.
“Mushroom and onions,” Ella insists. This time, Zay chucks a balled-up napkin at her. She deflects, and it tumbles onto the floor. Constantine’s irremovable scowl deepens.
“What’re your vegetarian options again?” Cooper asks, flipping over the laminated menu.
Clearly annoyed, Constantine rubs his temples.
Under the table, a warm hand cups Wes’s knee. He can feel the soft skin through the hole in his jeans. In his peripheral vision, Nico’s smile shines. “Extra pepperoni for us.”
For us. Wes glows. It’s so much easier to date Nico in his head. In his imagination, they’re still best friends and boyfriends. They play video games and go to the same college and make out a lot. It works. There are no complications. He doesn’t have to make any loud, bold confessions.
He turns his head, unable to steady the grin on his mouth. “No jalapeños?”
“You hate them.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“I’m being thoughtful.”
“What a concept.” But Wes is grateful. He’s weak when it comes to spicy things.
In each corner of the restaurant, speakers are attached to the walls. Billy Joel’s humming overhead. The rich scent of marinara and melting cheese and the right hint of herbs escapes the kitchen. It’s all very East Village—at least, that’s what Wes’s mom says. He’s never been to New York City or anywhere outside of California, except his recent trip to Siena.
“Okay,” Constantine squawks over the undecided chatter about pizza toppings. “You’re getting two extra-pepperoni pies. It’s decided.”
“But—” Cooper begins to protest, but Constantine cuts him off.
“Can you all agree on drinks?”
“Beer,” Ella says firmly.
“Coke,” Wes quickly says before Constantine officially loses his shit. “A pitcher is cool.”
“Uh,” Cooper raises his hand like a second-grader asking for the bathroom pass. “Do you carry bottled mineral water?”
“Oh my god,” Ella mumbles, face-planting in her hands. She lifts her head, turning to Constantine. “Can we also get a basket of those killer breadsticks?”
Constantine, broad shoulders tight, inhales deeply, then plasters on a fake grin. “Anything else, princess?”
“Uh.”
“No? Perfect.” Constantine huffs before stomping away from their table.
Ella looks around the table, confused. “Anyone know what that was about?”
Anna stares at her phone, shrugging. Wes and Nico pointedly refuse to make eye contact with Ella. They know, but they’re not saying. Zay, the brave soul, finally declares, “I think it has something to do with last Halloween when you two hooked up, and then you proceeded to ghost him.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“C’mon, El,” Zay says. It’s a shame. Wes really loves Zay, but there’s no way he’s going to survive repeating this story. “Last year. Amalie’s Halloween party down in Venice? You and Wes dragged me—”
“Invited, and you accepted,” Wes corrects him.
Zay rolls his eyes. “Anyway. We went. There were Jell-O shots consumed. The music sucked. Wes was Green Lantern—”
“Again,” Nico teases under his breath.
A compulsory blush doesn’t stop Wes from whispering back, “John Stewart is a legend. I stan.”
“You were…” Zay waves a hand at Ella. She’s wearing black, black, and more black, per usual. “…you, I guess.”
Ella lurches back, offended. “What does that mean?”
“Point is, you got hammered and made out with Constantine on Amalie’s parents’ bed. You two exchanged numbers, but you never called.”
“Whoa, Ella,” Cooper says, scandalized. “How could you?”
“I didn’t,” Ella says, firmly. To Zay, she screeches, “You lie!” Then she asks Wes wordlessly, eyes huge and daunting, Did I?
Wes nods once.
“How could you let that happen?” Ella smacks his shoulder.
“I was buzzed?” Wes offers pathetically.
“We got into this massive game of strip beer pong, which didn’t go to well for us,” Nico says. “That Green Lantern costume is kind of one-dimensional, so…”
“It’s dope, and you know it,” Wes argues.
“It is, but one layer of clothing in any game where you have to remove an article of clothing when you lose isn’t helpful,” Nico states.
“True that.”
Wes doesn’t remember that entire night, but he definitely recalls Nico standing nervously, scrawny arms trying to cover his chest, in a pair of cornflower blue boxers. It’s a nice, hi-def image he’s used appropriately.
“How are any of you my friends?” Ella’s hands cover her face. Her muffled voice is mortified. “Con-Constantine? Seriously?”
“Can we get back to saving Once Upon a Page?” Wes requests. “We need money.”
“Oh. Are we going to, like, cyber-rob some wealthy Fortune 500 billionaire from Silicon Valley who’s too greedy to share his wealth?” Cooper bounces in his seat.
“What?”
“I just read this book about a group of teens who hack into one of the character’s deadbeat dad’s stacks because he refuses to help pay for her college tuition,” Cooper explains, phone out. He’s Googling something.
“Um, no?” Wes replies.
“Dude, are you one of those dark web hackers?” Zay asks, hiding his own phone. “Is the Wi-Fi in here secure?”
Cooper has this almost-evil gleam in his eyes.
“We’re not doing that.” Wes shakes his head. “We need to come up with some ideas to help boost sales in the store. You know, promotional things. Ways to attract more customers.”
“Like, community events? Book signings?” Anna offers.
“Exactly,” Wes says eagerly.
“But we only have until September,” Ella adds, finally snapping out of her Constantine-shaped dark dimension. “According to my research…”
More snooping, Wes wants to interject, but Ella’s actually being helpful with this, so he doesn’t.
“… that’s when Tea Leaf and Coffee Cup House plan to begin renovations and officially take over property payments.”
“We can do this,” Wes says.
“Us?” Nico twirls his index finger around at the table. “In less than two months?”
“Yes. It’ll be work, but we can.”
Yeah, Wes sounds like a self-help book. Six Ways to Save Your Dream Slacker Job. But he believes every word of the wishful thinking he’s spitting out.
“Each of us needs to come up with a promotional idea. Then we’ll plan it out. Kyra can help,” he says adamantly.
Across from him, Zay shrugs. “I’m down. I’ve helped with fundraising ideas at my church.”
“I’m in,” says Anna.
“Yes! Save the bookstore. Damn the man.” Cooper thumps a fist on the table.
“This is going to be so bad,” Ella says under her breath, but Wes ignores her homegrown pessimism.
He stares at Nico, attempting to maintain a smile. “Come on.” He squeezes Nico’s shoulder. “You kick ass at group projects.”
“You were the worst lab partner.”
“But we didn’t fail.”
“No thanks to you.” Nico closes his eyes. “Fine. I’m in.”
Wes silently screams. He’s not a born leader, but he knows something’s happening. It’s all very adult. Adult-ish. “But we can’t tell Mrs. Rossi about this. She has enough on her plate.”
Since Wes’s return, she’s been in the store less and less. Yesterday, she only worked half a shift, claiming the flu. She was ghostly pale when she left. Wes thinks it’s the stress of watching her business collapse on top of her. She deserves a break.
“Isn’t that kind of wrong? It’s her store, after all,” Zay says.
“No. It’ll mean more if we manage to save the bookstore for her. She’ll know how important she is to this community,” Wes insists.
“Whoa. Are we going rogue? Like that one Star Wars movie?” Cooper looks ready to burst. “Can we come up with a cool group name? Like Chronic Club?”
“This world’s future is in very capable hands,” Ella mutters.
Constantine returns with two pitchers of Coke, a stack of plastic cups, and a basket of garlic breadsticks. He hovers for a minute, staring at Ella. She crunches into a breadstick, avoiding eye contact. “Pizza will be up shortly,” Constantine says curtly, then disappears into the kitchen.
“Awkward,” Cooper says, snickering.
“Shut up,” Ella says between bites.
Zay pours; Anna passes. Wes savors his small victory. They’re all in.
Ella raises her cup. “To you losers,” she says. “Let’s kick some ass while we still have time.”
“Cheers!”
“To friends,” Wes says, cup still raised. He half turns to Nico. He hopes having the courage to save the bookstore won’t take too much time away from planning to tell Nico how he feels.
“To friends,” Nico repeats with a smile that doesn’t reach past his cheeks.
Maybe people like Wes only get one summer miracle.