At dinner, Kona ate all the chili and only a little of the mango cobbler, even though he loved it. He knew he’d need it later.

“Kona, shower then bed,” called Mom.

Kona looked up from his computer. “Just a minute. I need—”

“Now, Kona. And hang up your towel this time. I’m not your maid, you know.”

Kona hit ctrl-S and powered down the computer. Arguing was useless. There were too many things adults didn’t get. 

In the bathroom, he ran water in the sink, wet his toothbrush, and added some toothpaste before rinsing it all down the drain. He turned on the shower and sat on the toilet lid, counting slowly to 100 hippopotamuses.

At 101, he carefully leaned into the shower, wetting only his hands, working his wash cloth into a lather and squirting shampoo down the drain before turning the water off.

Taking his wet hands, he ran them quickly through his bangs and behind his ears, brushing his thick brown hair away from his face. The built-up grease helped; his hair looked wet, at least from a distance.

Kona put on clean boxers and loose fitting shorts, ran his towel around the shower stall to dampen it, and dumped it on the floor for his mother to find.

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Excerpted from Sniff by Lehua Parker. Copyright © 2013 by Lehua Parker. Excerpted by permission of Lehua Parker, LLC and Lauele Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher or author.