Juniors by Kaui Hart Hemmings Read Free Book Online Page B

takes a sip of wine. A soft light descends through the trees.
    I eat the zucchini that’s fallen out of my burrito. “It’s fun. I like Samantha, and Rick is so awful that he’s kind of awesome. And your legs are golden and glistening.”
    â€œRemember my friend on
Lost
?” she says.
    â€œOf course. Can you pass the sour cream?”
    She passes me the little white bowl. Even when it’s just us, she always plates things in serving dishes.
    â€œShe got twenty thousand an episode when it first aired, and then when it became a hit, two hundred and fifty an episode.”
    â€œThat’s so cool.”
    â€œThis isn’t
Lost
,” she says, tapping the script. “But here’s to hoping for a back nine for twenty-two episodes!” She raises her glass, then leans in for a messy bite. Back nine is an order from the studios if they like the series, bringing it from thirteen episodes to twenty-two. I raise my glass of water. Here’s to hoping. I look down at the script.
    â€œOf course they made the local girl silly,” I say.
    â€œI know,” she says, with a full mouth. “Just wait—later, Jenkins—the main guy—gets in a fight with the local doctor because the local wants to cure a patient by chanting.”
    â€œThat’s so loathsome. But this is so good,” I say, chewing. “Spicy.”
    â€œIt’s the chorizo,” she says. “And do you like the sweet potato in it?”
    â€œLove,” I say.
    â€œSo,” she says, and I immediately know she’s going to ask about Whitney. She finishes her bite. “How was this afternoon?” She says it casually, as if she hasn’t been dying to ask me this question for hours. “What did Whitney have to say?”
    She has a hopeful glimmer in her eye, and this time I know it’s a real question, unlike “How was school?” She wants to know everything.
    â€œNothing, really,” I say.
    â€œShe had to have said something.”
    I take my time with my next bite. I shrug my answer. “Not really,” I say.
    â€œNothing?” She takes a sip of her wine. “God, this wine is good.”
    â€œNothing that stands out,” I say.
    â€œWell, do you like her?”
    â€œJeez, Mom, relax.”
    â€œI’m relaxed. Very relaxed. Pass the cream back. My mouth is on fire.”
    We continue to eat, bluegrass playing, the sun gone.
    â€œDid you guys make plans to—”
    I let my fork clang against my plate. “No, we didn’t make plans!” I yell.
    She laughs. She loves riling me up, and I like pretending I’m riled—it’s our little rhythm.
    â€œI think it’s fun, that’s all,” she says. “We both have friends who live by us. Maybe you guys can carpool.”
    â€œOh my God, Mom, she’s not my friend, and I’m sure she carpools with her actual friends or her brother.”
    Some of her friends I can’t believe are in high school. They look like supermodels and act like twenty-year-olds. It’s strange to feel so much younger than people your own age, something I never felt at Storey. I’m in classes with a few of Whitney’s friends, and what surprises me is that some are really quiet and some are really smart. Brooke Breene, for instance. When we sit down in history, she whips on her glasses and takes notes in a plain Moleskine notebook. It made me rearrange my thoughts when I got here. The pretty girls can be the smart girls too.
    Mom doesn’t push the carpooling question any further, maybe not wanting to bring attention to the obvious: Whitneyhas her own friends and doesn’t need any more. No one needs more friends at the end of her junior year.
    â€œOkay,” she says, holding up her hands. “Anyway, Friday they’ve invited us over for dinner. So we can all get to know one another.”
    â€œFine,” I say.
    â€œThink you’ll be happy