Page 71 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Wordsdohave power. And words are one thing I know I do well.
There’s the spine tingle I’ve been missing. I’ve been looking for a story, and I’ve had one in front of me this whole time. Idon’t need to write about the Green Race. At least not yet. I need to write about Brody’s whitewater kayaking program at Green River Academy.
It’ll be a slightly harder sell getting a national publication interested in something that’s so local. But if I broaden the scope a little bit, pull in the inherent risk involved inallschool sports, maybe mention other outdoor experiential learning-based schools...
But that won’t feel like travel writing. It will feel more like investigative journalism.
I bite my lip. I’m not sure I have the chops for it.
But I have to do something. Worst case scenario, I take whatever I write to the newspapers in Silver Creek, Saluda, Hendersonville, maybe even Asheville, and ask them to run it for free. I would love to do more, to generate some national attention on how beneficial programs like Brody’s can be. A huge flux of positive national press attention would stomp out measly letters to the editor like this one in a second.
My mind starts racing with everything I’ll need to do. I’ll need to talk to some students who are in the whitewater kayaking program now. Or at leastwereat the end of the school year. Some students who have already graduated and moved on would also be great. Brody’s principal—I think I saw him at the school board meeting. Griffin. Brody himself, obviously, but a part of me wants to do this without him knowing. I don’t want to give him false hope. And it might be fun to make it a surprise.
A flash of red in the distance immediately ends my planning.
Brody’s in a red kayak.
I stand up, hands on my hips as I watch the kayaker approach. ItisBrody. I recognize the shirt he put on before he left. I take a few steps closer to the water, my heart racing as he nears the final rapid. I’ve seen a few other kayakers navigate this particular stretch, but it didn’t feel like this.
My heart jumps into my throat when, at the base of the rapid, Brody’s kayak spins and flips. But then seconds later he rolls back to the surface—I cannot imagine the hip action that made that happen—and he’s cruising again, his paddling slowing as he approaches the calm section of river where he’ll get out of the river.
By the time I reach him, Brody is already out of his kayak, pulling it onto the shore. I move forward, driven by some inexplicable need to have my hands on him, to feel him solid and warm and breathing under my touch. He’s barely out of his PFD when I plow into him, my arms wrapping around his waist. I don’t even care that he’s wet.
“Whoa, hey.” He drops the paddle he still has in one hand so he can hug me back. Awkwardly, since he’s still wearing his spray skirt. “You okay?”
“Yes. Sorry. I just...I don’t know. You just ran some crazy rapids.”
“And I’m okay,” he says on a chuckle. “Great, actually.”
I take another deep breath and take a step back. Whatever she-bear reaction I’m having to the idea of Brody getting hurt needs to chill. He’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is totallyfine.“Did you have a good time?”
The man is actually glowing, his skin flushed, his eyes bright.
“It was awesome,” he says. “A little frustrating at first. A couple of beaters put in right before us and slowed us up, but once we got past them, everything was pretty smooth.”
“Beaters?”
“Kayakers who don’t have the skill to paddle the river they’re on. They spend most of their time either swimming or getting beat up.”
I wonder if I will ever pick up on all the lingo. “How did Aislynn do?”
Brody’s face morphs into something like awe. “Dude. She can paddle. She totally killed it out there.”
Despite Kristyn’s teasing, I am plenty happy to be filling the role of shuttle bunny if only to see Brody doing something he really loves. But I’m glad Aislynn is here to represent women doing something other than spectating.
The rest of the group is showing up now, laughing and clapping each other on the back, buzzing with the same energy I see in Brody. Even Aislynn offers me a smile. Maybe seeing me cuddle with Brody the whole drive down convinced her I have no intentions of making any sort of move on Ryan.
Once everyone is changed and gear is loaded up, we grab a late lunch at the lodge.
I really like Brody’s friends. I like Brodywithhis friends. Griffin is technically boss to two of the guys who are here—Ryan is also an instructor—but it still feels like Brody is the one who sets the tone and steers the conversations. He’s the peacekeeper here just like he is in his family. I’m willing to bet he’s the same way at his school, too.
“Okay, Kate,” Griffin says, leaning toward me. We’ve all finished eating at this point, but we’re sitting on the patio next to the river, and no one seems in much of a hurry to leave. “You know Brody better than all of us. Tell us something we don’t know about him.”
I study Brody, my lips pursed playfully. There are a million different stories I could tell, but the one with adorable video evidence seems like the obvious place to start. “Has he ever told you he was on the Ellen Degeneres show when he was a kid?”
Brody groans.
“What?” Griffin says. “You met Ellen Degeneres? Why?”
