Sirius and Mary disappear within minutes of each other at about half one in the morning. It doesn’t take much detective work to figure that one out.
Evan and Emmeline leave around half an hour later. Pete’s nowhere to be seen, Mac is making out with some blonde chick, Alice and Frank have disappeared off together, and Flint and Bones are trying to talk a bunch of girls into skinny-dipping. It seems like the right time to leave, especially since Evan is quite sure he doesn’t want to see any more of either Flint or Bones than he already has.
Emmeline kicks off her shoes and puts her feet up on the dash, settling back in her seat.
“You know,” she says, as Jack Johnson tells them over the stereo that silent films are full of sound, “this car is, like, totally growing on me. I kind of love it now.”
“Me too,” Evan admits. “Gonna miss it when my sister reclaims it.”
Emmeline shoots him an interested look. “So she’s coming, then?”
“Yeah. Next week.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s cool—”
“Does she surf?”
“Nah.” Evan catches her fleeting look of disappointment and grins. “Not unless there’s a kite attached.”
“Wicked. I can totally get down with that.”
Evan pulls into his parents’ driveway and kills the engine.
“Thanks for letting me crash,” Emmeline says through a yawn as she gets out of the car. “Worst part of doing college from home. My folks have like zero chill.”
“It’s cool,” Evan says, unlocking the door.
He heads for the fridge and grabs two bottles of water. “What do you think about Mary and Sirius?” he asks, tossing one to Emmeline.
She shrugs. “She likes him. I can tell.”
They hit the waves a bit later than usual the next morning. They’re the only two who make it.
Emmeline stands beside him at the water’s edge, Evan’s orange Fishtail tucked under her arm, squinting out at the ocean.
“I think Mac’s organic tequila was, like, regular tequila in disguise.”
“What makes you think that?” asks Evan.
She turns to squint at him. “Organic shit is meant to be like good for you right?”
“I think that’s the general ideal,” agrees Evan.
“Nothing about those margaritas was good for me—I feel so freaking bad man.”
Evan laughs, then wishes he hadn’t. His head is making its objections to the morning known. They paddle out anyway. The water is cold enough to wake him up, though it does nothing for the taste in his mouth. For a while, they sit on their boards beyond the break, letting a few waves pass. They manage a few decent rides between them, though neither has much patience for paddling back out. When Emmeline surfaces after a particularly graceless wipeout, pushes her wet hair out of her face and points firmly towards shore, Evan doesn’t argue.
They leave their boards on the wet sand and settle a little further up the beach. Emmeline pulls on her sweatshirt, then rummages in her bag for her sunglasses. Evan drinks some water and stretches his legs out in front of him. For a while, neither of them says anything. He watches the water run back down the beach, leaving little seams of foam behind.
“Hey.” Emmeline draws her knees up beneath her sweatshirt. “About all that stuff you told me last night. Up on the balcony.”
Evan turns towards her.
“I just wanted to say thanks. For telling me, and for, like, trusting me with it.” She picks at a loose thread on her cuff. “It means a lot. And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that. It’s, like…” She shakes her head. “Seriously messed up. You didn’t deserve any of that.”
He nods, not quite sure what to say.
Emmeline reaches over and squeezes his hand. He turns his over and holds on for a moment. She lets him be quiet, her thumb brushing once over his knuckles before she releases him.
“Also…” She pauses, seeming to think over her words. “You could tell them, you know. The gang, I mean. About you. If you wanted.”
Evan looks at her—he can’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses and for a second he wishes he could.
“I get why you haven’t. After all that stuff with your stepdad and your mom, it must be hard. But you could.”
“Maybe,” he says, turning his attention back towards the waves.
Something about the idea makes him uncomfortable. It had been so much easier to be gay in New York, where no one knew him, where he didn’t have years of history. Here, even with Emmeline sitting beside him, he can feel the old fear stirring. He cares what these people think of him. He wants to keep what he has with them.
“You know Mac’s adopted, right?” Emmeline says.
“I did not know that.”
“He’s got two moms. Like, full-on lesbian hippies.”
“Wait, really?”
She nods. “We think that’s where the whole health-food thing comes from. And Mary thinks you’re awesome. It wouldn’t make any difference to her. Pete would probably say something dumb at some point, but, like, when does he not?” She brushes some sand from her knee. “Frank and Alice literally only care about surfing and each other. And Bones and Flint don’t have enough brain cells between them to spell homosexuality, let alone have a problem with it.”
“Good to know.”
“No, for real—I’m totally serious. Bones legit thought mermaids were real until, like, two years ago. You could tell them you were sexually attracted to fish and they wouldn’t even blink. They’d just wanna know which fish you thought was the hottest.”
Evan laughs.
“And then they’d argue with you about it.”
He laughs, and she grins at him before her expression softens.
“Obviously, you don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to. I was just thinking about what you said. About feeling like you fit in. And like—you should get to be, like, your whole self with your friends, you know?”
Evan looks at her, feeling a sudden rush of warmth.
“Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll think about it.”
And he does. As they walk back up the rocky path, then on the drive home, with Emmeline fiddling with the radio. Even after he drops her off.
Your whole self.
He keeps coming back to that. He was out in New York, and he is here too, mostly. He’d brushed it off easily enough when Sirius teased him at James’s, hadn’t minded Sirius’s friends knowing he was gay. So why does telling the others, Mary, Pete—Mac, Flint, Bones, Alice, Frank, why does that seem scary?
The answer comes to him the next morning, as he straddles his board, the early sun turning the water to gold.
Sirius is safe.
For all his shit-talking and teasing, Evan knows Sirius has his back. He has since Evan was six years old, when Reg first led him through the gate at the bottom of the garden to where nine-year-old Sirius was shooting hoops. Reg introduced them, and Sirius grinned and tossed Evan the ball. Sirius would never put him in danger. He wouldn’t bring Evan around people who had a problem with him being gay. If they were Sirius’s people, Evan could trust them, because he trusted Sirius.
This is different. These aren’t Sirius’s people.
They’re his.
Evan has never really had people of his own before. Not beyond Sirius, Reg and Dora—and maybe James, he supposes. But now he does. Friends he’s made himself, without Reg or Sirius or Dora there to introduce him, to make it easy. He can’t rely on their judgement this time. He has to trust his own.
And his own hasn’t always served him well.
He’d trusted Ryan, and that had been a fuck-up. He’d trusted Barty. He’d trusted his stepdad.
What if he’s got it wrong again? What if these people—the ones he’s finally beginning to feel he belongs with—don’t want him once they know? What if they stop caring about him the way his step dad had?
That’s the part he didn’t tell Emmeline. The part that hurt most. It wasn’t the beating, or even the camp. It was the way Mark looked at him that day, after Ryan’s dad dropped him home—as if he didn’t recognise Evan. It was the way he never came to another basketball game or surf competition again after that. That was what really hurt the most. The knowledge that the only dad he’d ever had didn’t want him anymore, didn’t love him.
It’s stupid, he knows. Childish, even. He’s old enough to understand that anyone who has a problem with who he is isn’t someone he needs in his life, that he shouldn’t want friends who aren't okay with him being gay. But lying there in the dark, he can’t stop imagining what it would feel like to see that same look on one of their faces, the one his step dad had had. And some small young frightened part of him, the part that is still fifteen, can’t seem to get over that fear.
And then, thursday—the day before Dora is due to arrive, it comes out quite by accident. It’s not planned. And it’s also not the person he would have chosen if he had planned it. Then it probably would have been Mary. Mary is the one after Emmeline that he’s the most sure of, or maybe Mac, knowing now what he does about Mac having gay moms, he thinks he’d feel okay telling Mac, but it’s not Mary or Mac he tells. It’s Pete.
It’s one of those bright, hazy Thursday mornings where the ocean looks fake-blue and the gulls are louder than your hangover—a morning on which Pete actually makes it out of bed in time to make it to the beach with the rest of them. Afterwards, he pulls Evan aside, hands shoved in his boardshorts, and asks if he’s got plans that night—does he want to grab a drink.
Evan says no, he doesn’t have plans.
“Sick, dude,” says Pete. “I know the best spot. You’re gonna love it.”
Evan assumes it’s a group thing—he’s never really hung out with Pete one-on-one—so he doesn’t think much of it. Until he shows up and finds out the spot Pete suggested is a horrendously tacky tiki bar, and Pete’s there waiting outside, alone, in flip-flops, cargo shorts and a Quiksilver tee. He greets Evan with his trademark dopey grin and a fist bump combo.
“Bro, this place does the best piña coladas in Southern California, no joke. You can practically taste the aloha in that shit.”
About halfway through the first round of piña coladas, Pete gets an uncharacteristically serious look. He puts his drink down and leans across the table.
“E-dude. I gotta be real with you, man. I had, like… ulterior motives inviting you out tonight.”
Evan raises an eyebrow.
Pete sighs, looking almost apologetic. “Bro. I’ve been observing, you know? And I just—dude, I gotta know your intentions.”
“My intentions?”
“Straight up.” Pete nods solemnly. “You’re my boy. You know that. But Emmeline’s been my homegirl for a long time, and you guys have been spending a lotta time together.” He gestures between them, apparently keen to establish that this is nothing personal. “I just gotta make sure your intentions are, you know. Honourable. You feel me?”
Evan presses his lips together. Pete looks so earnest about it—sitting there with his brow furrowed—-laughing feels almost cruel.
“You’re a good guy, Pete.”
Pete’s face breaks into a grin. “Thanks, E-dude. That means a lot, man.”
“And as for Em, my intentions are entirely platonic.”
The grin falters, he looks confused for a second.
“We’re just friends,” Evan clarifies.
“Oh.” Pete sits back. “Wait. For real?”
“For real,” says Evan, and then adds. “She’s not really my type, man.”
He isn’t sure why he adds it. Maybe it’s the piña colada. Maybe it’s the look of honest bewilderment on Pete’s face, which Evan is finding increasingly difficult not to smile at.
“Dude.” Pete shakes his head. “You’re joshing me, right? Em’s, like, everyone’s type. She’s smoking.”
“I know she is—”
Pete spreads his hands, as though Evan has just made his point for him.
“—but I’m gay.”
It just slips out.
For a beat, Pete stares at him, wide-eyed. Evan’s pulse jumps. Fuck. Maybe he should’ve—
“Oh, dude.”
Pete glances around, then leans across the table, lowering his voice to a stage whisper that does absolutely nothing to make him quieter.
“For real?”
Evan nods.
Pete breaks into a huge grin, beaming pure California sunshine. “Dude.” He shakes his head. “That is so rad.”
Evan blinks. “It is?”
“Yeah, man. That’s, like, the best news I’ve had all week.”
It takes Evan a moment to catch up. He’d braced himself for a lot of things. Being the highlight of Pete’s week wasn’t one of them.
“You have no idea, bro. I’ve been in a full-blown emotional riptide. ’Cause you’re my homie, and she’s my homie, and obviously I want all my homies happy, right?”
“Right.”
“But I was suffering, dude. I’ve been into Em since, like, forever. And if you guys were a thing, I was gonna respect that. Be happy for you. Maybe go join a monastery for a while.”
“A monastery?”
“Just till I got my head right.” Pete waves a hand. “I dunno, man. Somewhere inland.”
Evan bites the inside of his cheek.
“I would’ve been so chill about it on the outside. You wouldn’t even have known. But inside?” Pete thumps his chest. “Total emotional wipeout, bro. We’re talking rescue copter levels.”
Evan blinks. All that dread, and Pete’s been sitting here trying to work out how to be noble about his crush.
“So the whole thing about my intentions—”
“Dude, that was legit,” Pete assures him. “I can be concerned for Em’s wellbeing and also, like, personally devastated.”
Evan laughs. He can’t help it.
He says yes when Pete asks if he’s up for another round—the piña coladas really are crazy good—and the conversation moves on. Aside from his considerable relief that Evan isn’t about to steal the girl he’s crushing on, Pete doesn’t seem to have any particular opinions on Evan’s sexuality. He’s far more interested in Evan’s opinions on Spider-Man, though mostly as an opportunity to share several of his own.
Evan finds himself thinking that Pete and Harry would get along like a house on fire.
Another round of piña coladas arrives, and Pete launches into a long, rambling story involving multiple trips to Mexico and a frankly surprising number of carpets. Evan is halfway through it before he realises Pete is talking about his job.
“Your dude always wanted to be, like, an architect, but…” Pete shakes his head sadly. “My grades said otherwise, you know? My pops always said I had the passion, just not, like, the brains.”
He pauses, frowning.
“He was kind of a douchebag, now I think about it.”
Evan opens his mouth, but Pete has already moved on.
“Anyway. I sold real estate for a while. Made pretty good moolah doing that. Always been good with people, you know?”
He removes the tiny paper umbrella from his drink and tucks it behind his ear.
“Then one day I was like, dude, I could be more than this. Offices just aren’t for me. I’ve got the vision, and the vision totally has me. I just had to, like, manifest it, bro.”
“The vision for?” Evan prompts, because, if he’s being honest, he has absolutely no idea what Pete is talking about.
Pete beams at him. “Houses, dude.”
“Right,” says Evan, feeling no closer to enlightenment.
“Started small. Picked up this busted little place in Redondo. Real sad, dude. Beige carpet, popcorn ceiling. Major lonely-divorce energy.” Pete shakes his head at the memory. “Gutted the whole thing. Knocked down a wall, opened it up, put in concrete floors, a skylight, this little water feature—boom. Instant feng shui. Sold it for almost twice what I paid.”
“You flip properties?” Evan asks slowly, understanding finally settling in.
“Sure do.” Pete takes a satisfied sip. “After that first one, it just totally snowballed. Do a lot of the work myself—got qualified in electrical and plumbing, got a few guys working for me, a couple contractors I’m tight with. You treat people right, bring good energy to the site, and suddenly the drywall guy’s hooking you up with wholesale Italian tile.” He spreads his hands. “It’s all about flow, man. Light, space, energy. Water staying inside the pipes. You know?
It’s about as absurd as Pete himself is. But Evan can sort of see it, especially after seeing Pete’s house—and he begins to suspect that somewhere underneath the perpetual stoner there might even be a touch of genuine artist. He tells Pete he’s been looking for a place of his own and Pete gets an excited look in his eye.
“Dude. Where? What’s your budget? You looking to stay near the beach? Obviously you wanna stay near the beach. How near are we talking?”
The former real estate salesman is suddenly out in full force, and Evan finds himself answering questions he hadn’t even thought to ask himself.
By the time they leave, he’s fairly drunk and has promised at least three times to call Pete about a condo he’s working on that is, apparently, “so totally your vibe, dude, it’s actually kind of freaking me out.”