The Gingerbread Boy Read Online Free PDF Page A

stepping closer.
    Catherine wondered just what they were each an epitome of, and why Joey had called Daniel “Mowgli.” But it seemed to be a private joke. The room began to take on its former chill and she wrapped her arms in front of her, feeling abandoned all of a sudden, and so peculiar that she missed Daniel’s embrace.
    “Look at your lady friend,” said Joey, gesturing toward her. “She’s freezing. She’s going to get sick if you stay up here any longer.”
    Daniel seemed about to reply, but Catherine found her voice. “Don’t worry about me. People don’t get sick from the cold, it’s the germs that make you sick.”
    “Then you might not want to head back down to the first floor again.” Joey said. “Never saw so much bacteria. Probably latched onto y’all like a bad smell.”
    Catherine cocked her head to study this “Joey.” Everything about him, from his lazy Southern drawl to his boyish face and huge, gangly body suggested a simpleton, but Daniel said Joey was one of the smartest people he knew.
    “Uh, Joey,” Daniel interrupted,” I’d like you to meet Catherine. Catherine, spelled with-a-C. And Catherine, this is Joseph Thayer, the Third.”
    Joey stretched out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.” Catherine took it, and her hand disappeared into his.
    “Consider yourself lucky to be serenaded by this guy,” Joey said, releasing her hand and gesturing toward Daniel. “Even if it is some silly waltz he probably just made up.”
    Catherine looked at Daniel in surprise. “You made up that song you were humming?”
    Daniel shrugged. “I’m a musical kind of guy.”
    “It was beautiful,” she said. “I love classical music. You must enjoy it too.”
    Daniel and Joey looked oddly at each other, managing half-smiles.
    “Let’s just say I love almost all music,” Daniel said, bending down to retrieve his hat and scarf, “Except some types of rap. I’ve never gotten used to that. It makes me feel like banging my head against a wall.”
    “Classical music makes me feel like banging my head against a wall,” Joey groaned.
    “Then you must have listened to it a lot,” Daniel chided, “to explain that dopey mug of yours.”
    “What do you mean my mug? The only time I’ve ever seen orangey eyes like yours was in a genetics lab, and they were attached to vermilion fruit flies.” Joey shot back.
    “And what were they doing to you in that genetics lab?” Daniel asked.
    Joey tipped his nose in the air. “Trying to learn how to clone such an intelligent, dashingly handsome fellow, of course.”
    Daniel folded his arms. “Oh, and when they found one, they’d try to apply those characteristics to you?”
    Joey scowled.
    Catherine watched in amusement as Daniel and Joey continued to hurl good-natured insults at each other. It must be a practice that only the worst enemies, or best of friends, could take part in without throttling each other. Finally she stepped in. “Enough! You guys act like the Two Stooges.”
    “The T wo Stooges?” Joey asked, slouching slightly so that the kneecaps on his jeans bulged on toothpick-thin legs. “You’re here, aren’t you? I count Three Stooges in this room, Eastie.”
    Catherine blushed. She often forgot about her accent. She wondered if she dared call Joey “Southie” in rebuttal. She noticed Daniel eyeing her curiously.
    She tilted her chin toward him. “I can take it. I’m not too serious, remember?”
    “Better get used to the wisecracks around here.” Joey advised, “It never ends.”
    Daniel’s eyes widened, and Catherine wished she could tell if they really were orange. She folded her arms and studied him. “I remember you telling me that Mr. Thayer was an old fashioned southern gentleman. That must have been before the genetics experiment. Maybe they reversed the process by mistake.”
    Joey opened his mouth as if to say something, then remained silent.
    “Nice job, Catherine.” Daniel whispered. “He’s