Juniors Read Online Free PDF Page A

take a glance at myself in the side mirror. There’s nothing worse than feeling like you look pretty good and being called an ass.
    He passes my uke through the window.
    â€œI’ll see you Thursday?” he says. “I’m still tripped out you’re moving in with Whitney West.”
    â€œYeah, tell me about it,” I say.
    â€œI haven’t cooked with you in a while,” my mom says. “Bring me some of that eggplant, and we’ll Iron Chef it up.”
    I cringe.
    â€œSounds good,” Danny says. He puts his hand out for our farewell shake, which is more like a slap than a grip, then he walks out to the busy road and puts his hand out to stop traffic so my mom can back out. Only Danny could stop traffic so quickly.
    We wave good-bye and get back on the road.
    â€œYou guys are so cute,” my mom says.
    â€œStop it,” I say. I force down a smile. I’ll always be a little donkey in his eyes.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    We drive in silence to Kahala, listening to music turned up loud. We have the same tastes: Gillian Welch, the Roots, Gabby and Cyril Pahinui, Graham Nash, plus random pop songs on the radio. She’s okay like that.
    She turns on Hunakai, the beginning of our new neighborhood, and I pretend not to look, but I see everything. The landscaping, the mailboxes, the lack of people walking their dogs or doing their own lawns or washing their cars. Some homes are laughably hideous, gold gates with blue metal dolphin fixtures, block-long driveway entrances; they make statements I can’t quite decipher, yet they all seem to say,
Look at me, but
don’t come close.
I don’t have an angry, simplistic distaste for peoplewith money—I like it, want it, need it—but some people sure spend it in weird ways.
    â€œGrandigross,” I say.
    â€œNo kidding,” she says.
    We move into a nicer section. Some of the large homes sit next to old and small ones that haven’t been torn down and resurrected. While these little ones are perfectly nice, in comparison to their fellow remodels, they look neglected. I guess it’s like those shots showing the before and after, the after automatically making the before a failure.
    It’s not as though I haven’t been to Kahala, even though I’m looking around like a total gaper. I surf at Diamond Head with Danny, but it’s different this time. I’m nervous, and this nervousness is tinged with excitement and undue pride, like I’m a better person for living here.
    â€œYou’re a good sport,” my mom says.
    â€œYeah, yeah,” I say. “I’ll live.”
    She turns on Aukai, which is wide and quiet, hushed—it’s almost like no one is here. Where is everyone?
    â€œI’m serious,” she says. “You’ve always been ready to go.” She pats my leg.
    It’s true. The house in Topanga Canyon for her dystopian thriller, the apartment on Stanyan for the utopian (never released) comedy. I was happy to leave both times. Even moving here, she gave me a choice. I could finish up school while she flew back and forth, or we could move together. I chose the adventure, chose to leave the comforts of Storey, of the neighborhood, friends, and routines. I’m realizing that at some point, I should try to make a life I’m not so eager to leave.
    â€œTennis courts down that way,” my mom says, nodding to the left, where I see a little kid straddling a bike, zoned out and picking his nose. “They’re members of Waialae. Melanie said she could sign you up for lessons if you wanted.”
    â€œWhy would I want tennis lessons? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
    My mom clears her throat. I hate when she pushes things on me or tries to guide me to something I may have done on my own. It’s annoying—like when she sees someone she knows, and before I get the words out, she tells me to say hello.
    â€œGrandpa