Anne & Henry Read Online Free PDF

swallow the urge to say something—it is cute in a dysfunctional sort of way. I snatch up the knife and wait for John to pass over the pumpkin.
    â€œYou think I’m letting you anywhere near me with a sharp object?” His mouth twists into a sneer.
    Galvin paces the room, inspecting our faces. “Make sure you cut all the way through,” he says, and mimes a sawing motion with his hand. “You want the pieces to slide in and out easily.”
    At the class’s combined chortling, he holds up his palm. “ Mature , people. Real mature.”
    I focus on John’s steady hand, the small tufts of dark hair on his knuckles, the way his tongue sticks out from the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on the task. The first pumpkin segment drops out, lands on the newsprint. I wipe it clean, wait, repeat.
    John’s cheeks puff out. He cuts one tooth at a time.
    â€œThink we could speed it up?” I say.
    He looks up. His dark eyes are full of misgivings and mischief. “Maybe I like to go slow.”
    â€œI heard you were more of a two-minute guy.”
    His mouth twitches, like he can’t decide whether to chuckle or sneer, as though doing either would concede a point in my favor. “Stop living in the past,” he finally says, unaware of how deep those wounds cut. “You’ve been playing with boys until now. Real men live in Medina, babe.”
    â€œYeah?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe you could point one out when you see him.”
    Galvin pauses at our station, squints at the pumpkin. “One eye is lopsided,” he says, and drops a sparkler, plus seven pea-size gray pebbles on the newsprint. They smell like the inside of fireworks, a little like rotting eggs. “There are earplugs in the cupboard. Consider wearing them when we do the experiment.”
    â€œSounds good to me,” John mutters.
    Galvin returns to the front of the class, clears his throat. “In 1862, Friedrich Wöhler discovered that calcium carbide and water would react to form a very flammable gas.” He scrawls a formula on the board, adds orange flames and a sad face emoticon. “We’re going to demonstrate that reaction with our jack-o’-lanterns.”
    My skin tingles with curiosity.
    â€œNow, slide the pumpkin segments back into place—the face should be intact, like you haven’t carved anything,” Galvin says. “Then, turn your masterpiece around so it faces the center of the room.”
    John pushes in the eyes, the nose, struggles a bit with the mouth. I shave a little flesh from the pumpkin’s mug and his teeth glide into place. “We just needed to loosen it up a bit,” I say.
    He guffaws, covers his mouth with his hand. “I guess you’d know about being loose.”
    Here, I could crush him, but I bite my lower lip, refusing to take the bait. It’s my first day, and people are already watching me, trying to figure me out. How much of me do I want to put on display? I’ve been there before, fucked up, barely recovered.
    â€œPoke a small hole through the back of your pumpkin,” Galvin says, pausing after each instruction to ensure everyone keeps up. “And then pour a small layer of peroxide at the bottom of the gourd.”
    As soon as I do, it begins to react with the pumpkin, starts to gurgle and froth, dissolving the skin like some kind of flesh-eating disease. John pours water into an empty tuna can, sets it in the bottom of the pumpkin, and adds the calcium carbide pebbles.
    â€œWe’ve only got a few minutes here, guys, so here’s what’s going to happen,” Galvin says. His voice rises, enthusiasm taking hold. The room buzzes with infectious anticipation.
    â€œInsert your sparkler into the hole at the back of your pumpkin.” Galvin moves over to the light switch, pauses. “I’m going to turn off the lights. Count to ten—that shouldn’t be too hard,