Read The Leaving Season for Free Online

Grand Canyon. I wanted to sink straight into the floor.
    Reaching for a handful of potatoes, I avoided meeting Lee’s gaze. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œYou ask that same question every time I see you.” His gaze took in the room and he waved at each of the volunteers, who glared at him in return. I shoved the potatoes into a box. Why was he here? Just to annoy me? Or was he actually a new volunteer? My heart sank at the thought.
    He leaned over my shoulder and began rearranging the vegetables in the box.
    I pushed his hands away. “Don’t touch my potatoes.”
    Lee grinned exaggeratedly. “That’s not what the other girls say.”
    I felt my cheeks blush despite myself. “Seriously, Lee—”
    â€œChill, it’s no big deal.”
    I continued to work but peeked sideways at him when he wasn’t looking. He was wearing a black T-shirt with the words Mötley Crew over a silk-screened image of a pirate playing a guitar. His blue jeans had holes in the knees and frayed hems, and his low-tops were decorated with green and blue Sharpie.
    â€œYou’re staring at me,” he said coyly as he waved his fingers in front of my face.
    I felt the eyes of Harry and the others on me. “Please. If you’re going to stand there, make yourself useful.”
    â€œWhatever you want, Yoko.”
    I pressed my lips into a line. “Do not call me that.” Then I grabbed a pen and pad of paper with the words From our farm to your table—Roseburg Farms written in scarlet script at the top. “Write down what’s in each box very clearly and then tape it to the side.”
    His head lolled lazily toward me, and he jerked his chin at the box. “I can’t see inside. Tilt it. No, more this way. A little more.” He shrugged. “Still can’t see.”
    I sighed. He was exasperating. I scooted closer to him and showed him the contents of the box. He licked the tip of the pen and began writing.
    â€œDear Veggie Lover—”
    â€œDon’t write that!”
    â€œDear Vegetable Lover?”
    â€œJust list the items in the box.” I held up a tomato. “One tomato.”
    â€œIs that with one e or two?” I grabbed the pen from his hand and he grabbed it back. “I’m helping!”
    â€œNo, you’re not.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “You’re being a pain.”
    â€œIn your ass?”
    I felt my lips start to twitch into a smile. Stop that, Middie! I turned my head so he couldn’t see me blush. “I think you should go.”
    There was a long pause. “Fine.” He stood up and waved to the group. “Bye, peeps! That means ‘people,’ in case youdon’t know.” He turned in a circle. “How do I get out of here again?”
    Ugh. “Come on.” I led the way from the back room through the office and into the parking lot. Once we were out in the sun, Lee stopped and glanced around, shading his eyes.
    â€œNow, where did I park . . . ?”
    Oh my god. “There are five cars in this lot. One of them is—”
    Lee snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right, I don’t have a car. I have a motorcycle.” He pointed at the space between a Honda and a Toyota.
    â€œThat’s not a motorcycle,” I told him when I saw where he was pointing. “That’s a scooter . It has a kickstand . And it’s about a hundred years old.”
    His ride was a slate-blue Vespa with a leather seat that could fit, at best, one and a half riders. It had a pair of round mirrors jutting out above the handlebars, attached by chrome rods, with a single headlight in the center. A chrome handle wound around the seat for that half person to hold on to.
    â€œLooks pretty motorcycle-y to me. It has a motor and two wheels . . . with which to cycle.”
    He swung his leg over the seat as if he were mounting a huge Harley. With one foot braced