Read Online Juniors by Kaui Hart Hemmings - Free Book Online Page A

friends.”
    â€œWhy don’t they just go to the studio?”
    â€œWhat? Now, that wouldn’t be as special.” He disarms me with his eyes green like ferns.
    â€œI can always walk around for a while,” I say.
    â€œYou really want to get rid of me, huh?” he asks. He glances over, coy and amused, and my first thought is,
No. Never.
    â€œI just don’t want you to feel obligated to hang out with me,” I say, hoping that doesn’t sound too pathetic.
    â€œLook, I’ll just show you the neighborhood. We’ll turn back, and I’ll bring you to the club. I’ll let you know when I can’t take it anymore, okay? Now, be quiet about it already.”
    â€œOkay,” I say, holding down a smile.
    He turns at the end of the road that skirts the edge of the neighborhood.
    â€œI can’t take it anymore,” he says, and I laugh, relaxing my legs.
    â€œSorry—my mom . . . ,” he says. “She gets things in her head. When I was younger, all of my playdates were highly organized. Had to be with the right kids, doing the right activities. I’m used to it.”
    â€œSo I’m a playdate?” I ask, and immediately a heat runs through my arms and chest from feeling bold and at ease.
    â€œI guess so. But a much better one than Rodney Nash. That kid was torture.”
    We drive up toward Diamond Head lookout, and he turns left and heads down a narrow road, which leads to a circular driveway. We stop in front of what looks to be an entrance to a fortress on the ocean.
    â€œDoris Duke’s place,” he says, circling the driveway before coming to a stop. “Shangri La. It’s pretty awesome inside. There’s all this Islamic art and furniture. Every detail of the house she worked on.”
    â€œWhy Islamic?” I ask, feeling I need to say something.
    â€œShe traveled a lot, saw things she liked, picked them up, buying as she went.”
    â€œMust be nice.”
    He looks over at me, and I sense disappointment, like I’m not getting something.
    â€œShe was the daughter of this tycoon, and still she was this adventurous person, didn’t want to be defined . . .” He trails off. Maybe he’s trying to sell her to me, along with aspects of himself. He’s more than the son of someone big.
    â€œThat’s cool,” I say.
    â€œIn back, there’s this pool area—it was a dock made for her yacht,” Will says. “People jump off the wall.”
    â€œFun,” I say, thinking of Danny and how he’s shown me a place near Makapu’u to jump from. A wooden plank hovering above clear blue water. I feel like I know the island by the jumps—Point in Hawaii Kai, far off the coast, black hot rocks, deep sea. The Mokuluas, little islands off Lanikai, high cliffs into roiling ocean. Maunawili Falls, slippery hike, cold mountain water.
    â€œI want to do that,” I say.
    He laughs. “I’ve only done it once a long time ago. It’s kind of a local thing, if you know what I mean.”
    Funny how people use that word here—
local.
It doesn’t always refer to the people who live here, because then we’d all be locals. Sometimes it means people who talk pidgin. People who don’t go to private schools, people who live in Waimanalo.
    He drives back to the wide expanse of Diamond Head Road, and I wonder if Shangri La was just a part of the show-her-around tour. We follow a trolley filled with people holding their phones toward the ocean, catching shots of the surfers and people at the lookout holding their phones out too. The thing with tourists—you can’t blame them. This view is beautiful, and no matter how long you’ve been here—the ocean and sunsets, the light at six A.M. , the light at six P.M. —it never gets old. Thethought gives me patience as we trail the trolley down the hill past the lighthouse.
    â€œSo how long are you