Page 15 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
“How to kayak?” Kristyn asks. “Don’t you just sit in the boat and paddle down the river?”
Perry scoffs, but Brody only smiles, his expression kind. “Itcanbe that simple. But I teach whitewater kayaking. It’s a little more complicated.”
“Oh, right. Of course,” Kristyn says. “Jake and I went whitewater rafting down the Menominee River in Wisconsin once. His idea,” she says, lifting a hand to her chest. “I was terrified. I guess that’s not where my brain went when you said kayaking. We were in these enormous rafts.”
I’m grateful to Kristyn for keeping the conversation going, because my brain is still functioning in slow motion. I’m only just blinking away the image of Brody’s bobbing Adam’s Apple, and now I have to think about him in a kayak, paddling through whitewater? There is little doubt in my mind that were I to happen across a random man, a stranger, and he mentioned he was into whitewater kayaking? I would immediately find himsexy. My taste for adventure, and for men whoalsolove an adventure, has always been strong.
Whenever we talked about our plans,Iwas the one who was going to leave Silver Creek in search of adventure whilehewas the one who only ever wanted to stay in the mountains. In my head, that meant stayinghomeand doing the things he always did when we were in school. He studied. He worked on the farm. Occasionally he would race the 4x4s with his brothers, but that was the most adventurous thing he ever did.
Brody says something else that I miss, but then Perry cuts in, snapping my attention back onto the conversation. “He’s being modest.” Perry looks at me with an intensity that almost feels like he’s trying to tell me something. “He’s a level five whitewater kayak instructor. The best Triple Mountain has. He also runs a whitewater kayaking program at Green River Academy that’s getting statewide attention for how well it’s doing.”
“That’s where you teach?” I ask Brody, and he nods.
He’s sitting with his elbows resting on the table, his fingers steepled together in front of his face. His shoulders are slightly hunched, and I can tell by his body language that he’s uncomfortable with Perry’s praise. But when he meets my eye, there is something else there, too. A glimmer of pride? And... a question. He wants me to know about his kayaking. And he cares what I think about it.
“That all sounds really amazing, Brody,” I say.
His mouth lifts in the smallest of smiles. “It’s not a big deal.”
Perry scoffs. “It is a big deal.” He turns his attention back to me. “He likes to downplay it, but he’s really good.”
Brody makes a noise that sounds so similar to the one Perry just made, I almost giggle. Brody and Perry are the least similar of all the Hawthorne brothers, but there’s a common thread that runs through all four of them. Gestures, and sounds, apparently,that they all share. “Dane Jackson is really good,” Brody says. “I do fine.”
Perry rolls his eyes. It’s kind of adorable how enthusiastically he’s talking up his baby brother. “Dane Jackson is a professional athlete. Kayaking is his job. It’s not a fair comparison. Plus, what you’ve done at the academy is impressive.” He shakes his head and reaches for his drink. “No matter what idiots like the Carsons say.” This last part feels more like a general complaint than something he’s saying to anyone in particular.
I look at Brody, and he meets my gaze with a new heaviness in his expression. It ignites a flare of worry in my gut. “Who are the Carsons?”
“Parents of a student,” Brody says, his jaw tight. “There was an incident that happened at the end of the school year, and now they’re complaining about the safety of the program. But it’s not a big deal. It’ll all work itself out.”
The expression in his eyes says it’s areallybig deal, but I don’t feel like I can push him. Not five hours into our newly reestablished friendship.
“An incident?” Perry’s tone is thick with disdain. “Some punk kid ignored Brody’s instructions and got in the water when he wasn’t supposed to. His kayak flipped over, he couldn’t get out, and it took Brody twenty whole seconds to jump in and save him.”
I look back to Brody, and he nods. “That’s the gist of it. Except I’m not even sure he was under water a full twenty seconds. Had he been listening instead of sneaking away and trying to skip ahead, he would have learned how to get himself out of the boat when he flipped upside down. For beginners, it’s a question of when not if you’re going to flip. But that didn’t stop him from whining to his parents that he almost drowned.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “He flipped over, but he stayed in the boat? Was he strapped in?”
Brody shakes his head. “Not exactly. In a whitewater kayak, you wear this thing called a spray skirt around your waist. Then, when you’re sitting in the boat, the skirt stretches over the rim of the boat opening, sealing you in and keeping your kayak from filling up with water when you hit rapids.”
“Got it. Which works great until you flip upside down?” I might have a tiny bit of sympathy for the punk Carson kid. The idea of being trapped in a boat while hanging upside down in the water? I’m more adventurous than most, but that sounds terrifying.
“Only if you aren’t prepared. You can do a wet exit—that’s when you exit the boat while you’re underwater—in about four seconds. You just have to learn how.”
“Which the Carson kid didn’t do,” I say, finally connecting all the dots.
“And now his parents are passing around petitions and going to the news and making a big stink about Brodyandthe program,” Perry says. He swears under his breath, and I stifle a laugh.
I didn’t spend a ton of time hanging out with Perry when we were growing up. By the time Brody and I were in high school, he’d already left for college. Still, I’m positive this is the most I’ve ever heard him say at once. I shouldn’t have expected anything different though. That’s the way the Hawthornes are. Connected. Fiercely loyal. They’vealwaysbeen that way.
Somehow, I both crave that level of closeness and feel terrified of it at the same time.
“So what’s going to happen?” Kristyn asks. “Surely his parents aren’t getting any real traction. It was their kid’s fault for not listening.”
“They can’t necessarily come after me,” Brody says. “Or the school. Not legally. They signed the waivers and knew the risksinvolved. But they’re doing their level best to shut things down. I have to appear before the school board in a couple of weeks.”
“But they’ll listen to you, right?” I ask. “Hear your side?”
Brody nods. “I think so. But the bad press is hard for the district to ignore. We’re a charter school that depends on public funding. Negative attention like this stirs up people who think their tax dollars are better spent in more traditional schools with typical classroom settings.”
