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Back Parachutes Save as PDF
Chapters (93)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. One
  4. Two
  5. Three
  6. Four
  7. Five
  8. Six
  9. Seven
  10. Eight
  11. Nine
  12. Ten
  13. Eleven
  14. Twelve
  15. Thirteen
  16. Fourteen
  17. Fifteen
  18. Sixteen
  19. Seventeen
  20. Eighteen
  21. Nineteen
  22. Twenty
  23. Twenty-One
  24. Twenty-Two
  25. Twenty-Three
  26. Twenty-Four
  27. Twenty-Five
  28. Twenty-Six
  29. Twenty-Seven
  30. Twenty-Eight
  31. Twenty-Nine
  32. Thirty
  33. Thirty-One
  34. Thirty-Two
  35. Thirty-Three
  36. Thirty-Four
  37. Thirty-Five
  38. Thirty-Six
  39. Thirty-Seven
  40. Thirty-Eight
  41. Thirty-Nine
  42. Forty
  43. Forty-One
  44. Forty-Two
  45. Forty-Three
  46. Forty-Four
  47. Forty-Five
  48. Forty-Six
  49. Forty-Seven
  50. Forty-Eight
  51. Forty-Nine
  52. Fifty
  53. Fifty-One
  54. Fifty-Two
  55. Fifty-Three
  56. Fifty-Four
  57. Fifty-Five
  58. Fifty-Six
  59. Fifty-Seven
  60. Fifty-Eight
  61. Fifty-Nine
  62. Sixty
  63. Sixty-One
  64. Sixty-Two
  65. Sixty-Three
  66. Sixty-Four
  67. Sixty-Five
  68. Sixty-Six
  69. Sixty-Seven
  70. Sixty-Eight
  71. Sixty-Nine
  72. Seventy
  73. Seventy-One
  74. Seventy-Two
  75. Seventy-Three
  76. Seventy-Four
  77. Seventy-Five
  78. Seventy-Six
  79. Seventy-Seven
  80. Seventy-Eight
  81. Seventy-Nine
  82. Eighty
  83. Eighty-One
  84. Eighty-Two
  85. Eighty-Three
  86. Eighty-Four
  87. Eighty-Five
  88. Author’s Note
  89. Acknowledgments
  90. About the Author
  91. Books by Kelly Yang
  92. Back Ad
  93. About the Publisher

The waiter returns with our drinks, and Mr. Connelly holds up his vodka tonic. We clink glasses.

He takes a long swig and studies me. His eyes fall on my hair, which is usually up in a ponytail or in a messy bun, but tonight is down over my shoulders. “You look nice,” he says. “You should wear your hair like that more often.”

The comment makes me self-conscious, and almost by reflex, I grab a fistful of hair and hold it up in a hand ponytail. Mr. Connelly reaches jokingly for my hair with his own hand, like, Nooooo.

Our fingers touch slightly, and he looks at me, his eyes lazy with alcohol. He moves over closer to me, almost like he’s going to kiss me, and I drop my hands and stare at the condensation on my lemonade glass.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” I mutter softly.

He laughs and swirls his vodka. “I have not,” he says. He asks me to wear my hair like that tomorrow.

“I don’t think so,” I say, shaking my head.

“Why not?” he protests. “You afraid of looking good and sounding good?” He holds his drink up at me. “You’re going to be dangerous in about ten years.”

I feel his eyeballs traveling up and down my upper body, and I squirm in my seat. This is getting really weird.

“You know, if you’d been around when I was seventeen, oh man . . .” He reaches over and places his hand on my leg. I freeze, staring down at his hand. Shit!

As calmly as I can, I start to get up.

“Where are you going? I thought we were going to go get seafood!” he calls after me.

The thought of seafood now makes me want to hurl. I storm out of the bar and into the hotel lobby.

“Dani,” Mr. Connelly shouts at me, but I keep walking. When I get outside, he catches up to me, grabs my arm, and pulls me around.

“Stop, Dani, you’re overreacting,” Mr. Connelly says. “It’s not like that!”

I turn to him with wet, angry eyes. It’s not like what?

“Please, let’s not make this a bigger deal than it has to be,” he begs.

“I’m going back to the hotel,” I say. “Don’t follow me.”

I walk the two and a half miles back to the hotel in my cheap Payless leather pumps, tears docking onto the pavement.

Thirty-One

Claire