Anne & Henry by Dawn Ius Read Free Book Online Page A

on his torso, his muscular legs.
    â€œTouché,” Sam says. “So, new girl. You got any siblings?”
    A response catches in my throat. “Just me,” I say and swallow the lie. I look away fast, pretend I’m fascinated with something on the field, unprepared for this line of questioning.
    â€œYou’re from Seattle?” she asks, pressing.
    â€œNorth.” My old house sat a few streets off Aurora Avenue amid a cluster of cheap motels and pawnshops. It was a weathered dump with low ceilings, short doorframes,and a leaking toilet the landlord used as an excuse to ogle my mother.
    Sam blows out a breath. “This must be quite the change then.”
    She says it like I shouldn’t be embarrassed by the past, as though it’s normal to feel out of place, unwelcome . . . unliked here. My guard drops a little. “For sure. Any tips on getting through the culture shock?”
    Below, Henry tucks the football under his arm and pushes his way through a crowd of oncoming tacklers. He dodges left, right, pile drives his way toward the end zone. Bodies fall all around him.
    â€œHonestly?” Sam says, and we both stand to cheer Henry over the goal. “Stay clear of Catherine, her friends, and especially Henry. It’s the only way you’ll survive the year.”
    Henry spikes the ball to the ground. Touchdown! Fireworks explode from the sidelines. The crowd chants Henry’s name and it reverberates in my head, tunnels down somewhere deep in my gut. He whips off his helmet and looks up into the crowd to wave. My chest balloons with ridiculous pride.
    He glances toward me and this time there’s no mistake. He sees me, too.

CHAPTER SEVEN
Henry
    A rthur and I used to eat at the Medina Diner once a week. It’s an old-style mom and pop burger joint where the locals hang out. While I ordered us strawberry shakes and double cheeseburgers, Arthur worked the crowd, increasing his supporters, his popularity, and his personal female fan club. Just like Dad. A slick smile, an innocent touch on the shoulder—bam! Instant follower.
    Today, my mother sits across from me, out of place at the usual table, her pantsuit and pearl earrings an odd contrast against the torn checkered tablecloth. The scent of burned grease is so thick I’m halfway to cardiac arrest. I grab my shake and suck back a long swig.
    â€œThat’s hardly attractive, Henry,” my mother says with a cluck of her tongue. She lifts her coffee cup and swirls what’s left, takes a small sip. Her mouth curls with distaste.
    I don’t bother hiding my grin.
    A couple of guys from school duck in through the doors, spot us sitting in the corner, and fake a football toss my way. I mimic the catch and the room erupts with cheers. Residual excitement from last night’s win.
    My mother sighs. “Tell me again why you chose football over something more . . . civil?”
    Because I love it.
    â€œTry a shake,” I say instead, dodging a repeat of a familiar debate. Anything to loosen her up. It’s not just that she’s overdressed. Her whole aura is too stuffy for the laid-back feel of this joint.
    My mother runs her tongue along her top teeth. “I don’t even know how you convinced me to eat here.” She lowers her voice to a confidential mutter. “The atmosphere is absolutely . . . bohemian.”
    â€œHarsh, Mom,” I say, wiping ice cream from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. Sure, the pleather upholstery is sealed in places with duct tape and the booths have seen better days. The neon signs advertising beer and soda buzz, pulse, and threaten to sizzle out. But classic rock thumps from a vintage jukebox. It’s comfortable. Real. Something normal I can cling to. “Arthur always said the place had charm,” I say, leaning on my brother’s memory to keep her seated, at least until our food arrives. “And the