Its Not Summer Without You Chapter 23 Free Read Online

Full Read the Online Chapter 23 of Its Not Summer Without You Book PDF by Jenny Han for free.

Its Not Summer Without You Chapter 23: Later that afternoon Jeremiah and Conrad went surfing again. I thought maybe Conrad wanted to tell him about the house, just the two of them. And maybe Jeremiah wanted to try and talk to Conrad about school again, just the two of them. That was fine by me. I was content just watching.

I observed them from the porch, sitting in a deck chair while my towel was wrapped snugly around me. Coming out of the pool, drenched, and having your mom drape a towel over your shoulders, almost like a cape, felt incredibly comforting and just right.

Even without a mother there to do it for you, it was good and cozy. Achingly familiar in a way that made me wish I was still eight. Eight was before the death or divorce or heartbreak. Eight was just eight. Hot dogs and peanut butter, mosquito bites, and splinters, bikes and boogie boards. Tangled hair, sunburned shoulders, Judy Blume, in bed by nine-thirty.

I sat there thinking those melancholy kinds of thoughts for a long while.

“Someone was barbecuing, and the scent of charcoal burning filled the air. Curiosity struck: could it be the Rubensteins behind those grill sizzles, or perhaps the Tolers? Were they preparing burgers or maybe sizzling up some delicious steaks? As I inhaled the enticing aroma, my stomach growled in response.”

When I stumbled into the kitchen, there was nothing to eat. Just Conrad’s beer. Taylor told me once that beer was just like bread, all carbohydrates. I figured that even though I hated the taste of it, I might as well drink it if it’d fill me up.

So I took one and walked back outside with it. I sat back down on my deck chair and popped the top off the can. It snapped very satisfyingly. It was strange to be in this house alone. Not a bad feeling, just a different one. I’d been coming to this house my whole life and I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been alone in it. I felt older now. I suppose I was, but I guess I didn’t remember feeling old last summer.

When I took a drink of my beer, I was relieved that Jeremiah and Conrad weren’t there since I knew they would be critical of me for making a bad expression.

The moment I heard someone clearing their throat, I grabbed another drink. I glanced up and almost choked.I glanced up and almost choked. It was Mr. Fisher.

“Hello, Bel y,” he said. He was wearing a suit like he’d come straight from work, which he probably had, even though it was a Saturday. And somehow his suit wasn’t even rumpled, even after a long drive.

“Hi, Mr. Fisher,” I said, and my voice came out all nervous and shaky.

My first thought was, We should have just forced Conrad into the car and made him go back to school and take his stupid tests. Giving him time was a huge mistake.

I could see that now. I should have pushed Jeremiah into pushing Conrad.

Mr. Fisher raised an eyebrow at my beer and I realized I was still holding it, my fingers laced around it so tight they were numb. I set the beer on the ground, and my hair fell in my face, for which I was glad. It was a moment to hide, to figure out what to say next.

I did what I always did—I deferred to the boys. “Um, so, Conrad and Jeremiah aren’t here right now.” My mind was racing. They would be back any minute.

Mr. Fisher didn’t say anything, he just nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. Then he walked up the porch steps and sat in the chair next to mine. He picked up my beer and took a long drink. “How’s Conrad?” he asked, setting the beer on his armrest.

“He’s good,” I said right away. And then I felt foolish because he wasn’t good at all. His mother had just died. He’d run away from school. How could he be good? How could any of us? But I guess, in a sense, he was good because he had purpose again. He had a reason. To live. He had a goal; he had an enemy. Those were good incentives. Even if the enemy was his father.

“I don’t know what that kid is thinking,” Mr. Fisher said, shaking his head.

What could I say to that? I never knew what Conrad was thinking. I was sure not many people did. Even still, I felt defensive of him. Protective.

Mr. Fisher and I sat in silence. Not companionable, easy silence, but stiff and awful. He never had anything to say to me, and I never knew what to say to him.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “How’s school?”

“It’s over,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip and feeling twelve. “Just finished.

I’ll be a senior this fall .”

“Do you know where you want to go to college?”

“Not really.” The wrong answer, I knew, because college was one thing Mr. Fisher was interested in talking about. The right kind of college, I mean.

And then we were silent again.

This was also familiar. That feeling of dread, of impending doom. The feeling that I was In Trouble. That we all were.

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