Anne & Henry Read Online Free PDF Page A

thrill. He almost makes it easy to forget I’m the new girl.
    Until I realize this is a group assignment and I’ll be paired off. My throat constricts. There’s an odd number of students, an extra. Me.
    â€œSince we seem to have a missing student this morning,” Galvin says, freezing me with one of those easy grins, “you can work with me, Anne.” He plants a stalky pumpkin on the desk. “I’ll be right there. The rest of you—”
    Galvin’s gaze shifts to the opening classroom door and flashes with annoyance.
    â€œMr. Thompson, how nice of you to grace us with your presence.” He glances down at his watch. “And only a few minutes past the hour. Please, share with us your excuse this time.”
    â€œSorry, teach. I was chatting up the ladies and missed the bell.”
    Snickering ripples through the class. My insides twist. I already know that voice. It grates on the back of my skull and turns my veins cold.
    John.
    â€œIlluminating,” Galvin says. “Given your mad skills with the ladies, I’m sure you won’t mind working with your new classmate, then. I’d like you to meet—”
    â€œWe’ve met,” I say. It’s clear now I should have left John alone at the party, kept away from him and his friends. Let them believe the worst of me. Like I’m not already used to that.
    If Galvin hears the tension or senses John’s disgust, he ignores it and refocuses on the class.
    John slithers across the room, finds me hiding in the back, spreading newspaper on the workstation, gathering a small knife, a glass dish. I’ve been in Medina a couple of days and I’ve already had enough of John.
    â€œTogether again,” he says.
    I bite back a sarcastic response and slide into my lab coat.
    Galvin writes on a whiteboard at the front of the class in orange and black. “Your first task is to carve a pumpkin,” he says. He draws a simple jack-o’-lantern face, triangular eyes, nose, a long mouth with three teeth, two up, one down. “Now, for all of you Picassos in the room, you’ll need to keep your pumpkin faces simple.” He taps on the picture, pokes his finger through one hand-drawn eye. “This is about as artistic as I want you to get.”
    A student on the opposite side of the room snickers, raises his voice. “No fair. I’ve already drawn my Frankenstein face.”
    â€œYou are a Frankenstein face,” a girl chimes in.
    I recognize her as one of Catherine’s friends, a sparkly princess from the party.
    John yanks our pumpkin toward him, slides the knife in and out of its flesh in a circle around the stem. “Sorry to wreck your daydream, darling, but this class doesn’t go all day.” He pulls the top off and the pumpkin’s guts hang like human entrails, ragged and slimy.
    â€œGo ahead, get right in there,” John says, nudging his head toward the cavernous hole in the top of the gourd. “You seem the type that likes to get dirty.”
    I snort. Stick my hands in the pumpkin and pull out a handful of guts and squish them around, fold them over my knuckles. A long, stringy strand slides between my fingers and lands on the newspaper with a gushy splat. I drop the rest of the guts on top, poking around for seeds to separate them from the pile of slimy orange mush. It seeps under my fingernails, taints my chipped black polish.
    â€œWhat is this? Food studies? Just get the shit out of there,” John says, more growl than command.
    I flutter my lashes, thrilled I’ve gotten under his skin. “You wish I was kneading you like this.”
    John’s wolf grin deepens. “A little culinary foreplay? Now that’s hot.”
    I choke on a laugh, for once unable to offer a comeback.
    He wipes the pumpkin’s skin clean with a paper towel, scrawls out a simple face with a black Sharpie. One eye is biggerthan the other, the nose too small. I