Read Online Juniors by Kaui Hart Hemmings - Free Book Online

Melanie asks.
    â€œWe don’t,” he says. “Nice to meet you.” He sticks out his hand, and I shake it. It’s smooth on the outside, callused on the inside.
    â€œYou too,” I say. “I think I’ve seen you around Punahou. I’m going to high school there.” Why did I say
high school
? Why not just
school
? “I’m living in the cottage now. With my mom.” He grins as though I’d said something far more interesting, or maybe he totally misheard me.
We’re l
iving in the cottage
. I’m totally high a
nd cool.
    â€œWelcome,” he says, looking down, then back up at my eyes.
    â€œYes,” I say, for some stupid reason.
    â€œWill was just leaving for the golf course,” Melanie says. “Hon, maybe show Lea the club and the neighborhood before you go?”
    â€œOh, that’s okay,” I say. “I’m fine. I don’t want—”
    â€œCan you do that, hon?”
    Melanie doesn’t have a job that I know of, yet she’s wearing a nice dress, along with big earrings and thin gold bracelets. I feel like she’s always either very dressed up or wearing exerciseclothes. She’s different from the other women here—the paddlers, loud and confident, the moms in their bikinis and caps. I can’t imagine her in the ocean.
    â€œUm, sure, I have some time,” Will says, glancing again at his phone.
    â€œThanks, hon,” she says, then goes back to talking with Robbie.
    â€œReady?” Will asks. He seems to scan me, toe to head.
    â€œYeah,” I say, at once mortified that this is happening, yet inexplicably grateful to Melanie for making it seem as though I don’t have a choice.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    I feel self-conscious sitting next to Will, even though he’s looking ahead. I lift my thighs so they don’t splay out on the seat. We drive down Kahala Avenue, and the day has become even more beautiful. It hasn’t gotten hotter. Just clear blue skies and a crisp air.
    â€œSo,” Will says, “this is the ’hood.” He looks quickly at me, then back at the road and smiles. “Waialae’s down thataway. Great golf course and tennis program.”
    â€œWhen do you need to golf?” I ask.
    â€œAbout an hour,” he says.
    â€œSorry,” I say. “You don’t really need to show me around. I’ve been here before so—”
    â€œIt’s fine,” he says and looks over at me and down at my legs. “I don’t mind.”
    He drives with one hand on the wheel, looking so much like a man, like someone who could take care of you your whole life. For some reason, I don’t want to like him or think he’s cute.Maybe to set myself apart from everyone else. He looks like someone who’s never been refused.
    â€œYou can drop me somewhere if you want,” I say.
    â€œYou want me to drop you on the side of the road?”
    I look at the mansions on the side of the road, some that put me in mind of Tuscany, others Greece, some . . . who knows? Beverly Hills in the eighties? What’s up with the lion statues and the turquoise turtles on iron gates?
    â€œI meant if you want to get to golf earlier, it’s fine. I could just sneak back to the cottage.”
    â€œMy mom would see the gate opening,” he says. “She’ll be doing yoga in about a minute on the lawn.” He changes the station on the radio, landing on an R&B love song. I hope he’s not leaving it here because he thinks I like this sort of thing.
    â€œShe got an idea for me to drive you around,” he says. “It’s best just to go with her ideas.” I’m put at ease, comfortable with the fact that all mothers are so similar—friend pushers. Social curators.
    â€œShe does yoga at a certain time?” I ask.
    â€œYeah.” He laughs. “She hires this girl from the studio to do it with her and her