Read Online Hurricane Kiss by Deborah Blumenthal - Free Book Online

for a moment and then laughed. “I’m kidding.”
    I could feel my face turning pink. So I was a total dork.
    â€œRiver one, Jillian nothing,” I said, writing the score in the air with my finger.
    â€œNot nothing,” he whispered, his eyes holding mine. “Definitely not nothing.”
    He stepped toward me. The air between us was charged. It was late afternoon. The sun was low in the sky, warming my back. My mom was out. So was Ethan. It was just the two of us, our bodies inches apart.
    And he was still staring.
    I swallowed, trying to ignore the steady stream of water droplets trickling down my shoulders and back, slipping inside my suit.
    He lowered his gaze to my lips.
    I needed air.
    â€œSo,” I blurted out, trying to draw a breath. “Was that why you came over … because of how I swim? Or just to goof on me?”
    He grinned, socking his head. “Hell no, I nearly forgot. Our refrigerator died and my dad wanted to know if we could use your freezer until tomorrow when the new fridge comes. If you have room. And you don’t mind if—”
    â€œâ€”It’s fine.”
    â€œCool.” He laughed. “Or cold, or whatever.” He headed toward the back door of his house, our backyard gate slamming behind him. A few minutes later it slammed again and he was back with a stack of frozen dinners under his arm. He looks embarrassed.
    â€œFrozen food,” he said. “It’s what’s for dinner.”
    â€œYou really live on those?”
    â€œUh … yeah. We don’t cook much …” A flicker of sadness passed over his face, and then it vanished.
    Why hadn’t I just shut up? He didn’t have a mom, and his dad worked. Who was there to cook for him or worry about what he ate?
    â€œI’m sorry, I didn’t mean …”
    â€œNo worries.”
    â€œI just meant I know the coach gets on your case about eating right, so—”
    â€œRight,” he said, nodding robotically.
    â€œYou’re almost in first place, so I guess he doesn’t want to …”
    He looked off, waiting impatiently.
    â€œRiver?”
    â€œWhat?” he said, turning back to me.
    â€œYou can use the pool anytime you want. We’re hardly ever out here.”
    â€œThanks,” he said, the smile returning. “I’ll take you up on that.”
    The following week at about ten at night I was upstairs on the phone. Absentmindedly, I walked to the window. The house lights cast enough of a glow for me to see him swimming from one end of the pool to the other, over and over.
    I started counting to see how many laps he’d do, but he kept going back and forth, back and forth, in a regular rhythm and I lost count, eventually turning away. I thought about going outside and bringing him cookies and lemonade. Maybe he was thirsty. Or wouldn’t have minded taking a break. But I didn’t want to bother him, or break into his fantasies, whatever they were.
    The honking of horns draws me out of my thoughts. River and his dad ignore each other, their barriers up even though they sit nearly shoulder to shoulder in the front seat. The stony silence is pushing me to take sides. There’s no middle ground. Stay in the car? Come up with another plan? I look at my watch. I’m on a game show with only seconds left before I need to answer—that’s how it feels.
    The sky is changing color, everything deepening to a mix of silvery grays with shots of white light, but the shift is so subtle I feel I need to take pictures, to prove it to myself, so I know I’m not imagining it. We may be trapped in place, unable to move, but nothing’s holding Danielle back. She’s slowly building strength, getting ready to stage her life-altering performance.
    So typical of us women. Hazardous, wildly unpredictable! At least that’s what male meteorologists used to think—that’s why they used only female names