Heart on a Chain by Cindy C Bennett Read Free Book Online

imagine that anyone would go out of their way to be my friend, let alone Henry. I wake early with excitement, but gradually my self-doubt chips away at it until I find myself dragging my feet, not leaving until the last possible minute.
    Once at school I fall back into my old pattern of avoiding places where he might be. I’m not sure what I’ll do if I see him and he ignores or, even worse, laughs at me.
    By the time lunch comes, I’m taut with tension. I walk into the lunchroom, head down, stand in line to get my lunch, and then head for my usual corner.
    And stop dead in my tracks when I see him sitting at the same table, looking right at me, smiling. At least, I guess he is smiling at me because a glance behind me doesn’t reveal anyone there looking in his direction.
    As I come closer, still hesitant, he steps out from his chair. I stop again, frozen, tense, waiting for… what? For him to flip my tray out of my hand? For the joke to come at my expense? For his mocking laughter?
    He walks toward me, a questioning look in his eyes, the smile on his lips faltering somewhat. He runs his fingers through his hair, stopping when he’s standing in front of me.
    “ Hi,” he says.
    The sound causes me to twitch nervously, and I quickly glance around to see if anyone has heard. He still has a chance to back away. He takes another step and raises his hand toward me. I step backwards, ready to duck if he pushes my tray upwards. He halts the motion, color draining from his face. He stares at me, and I feel my cheeks flush with chagrin.
    “ Let me carry that for you,” he says, quietly, taking my tray. I’m reluctant to release my grip, having lost more than one meal in the past from this very tactic. Not wanting to get into a tug-of-war with him, I let go. To my surprise, he simply turns around and places it on the table next to his own—then pulls the chair out. I look at the chair, then back at him. Another tactic I’ve fallen prey to before, the chair being pulled out from under me as I go to sit.
    Henry simply waits.
    With some reservation, I start forward, gripping the edge of the chair as I sit to keep it from being pulled out, but I don’t feel a backward tug on it. It’s a little uncomfortable to be sitting at the table, and I look longingly at my usual spot on the floor. I feel very exposed. Henry sits next to me; his size and presence shelter me, offering some sense of security—false or not, I find it comforting.
    “ How are you doing today?” The question is unexpected, and I put down the slice of pizza I’d been about to bit into.
    I shrug, “Fine, I guess.”
    He grins, “I meant your hands and knees.”
    “ Oh.” I glance down at my palms, and suddenly his large hands are there, pulling my hands toward him. His touch burns through me from the point of contact, all the way to my stomach. I’ve had more human contact in the last twenty-four hours than I’ve had for as long as I can remember—excluding the violent kind, of course—and it has all been from him.
    He examines my hands carefully, as if he were about to make a diagnosis. He rubs the pad of his thumbs softly over the scabbing scratches, and I shiver involuntarily.
    “ They look better. Clean, not infected.” He glances up at me, and grins again. My heart thuds and I pull my hands back. He doesn’t seem offended, the smile never wavering. “You aren’t limping so badly, either.” This surprises me; I thought I wasn’t limping at all. “Did you walk to school today?”
    I nod, still tongue tied.
    He shakes his head. “You miss the bus?”
    “ No, I never ride the bus. I always walk.”
    “ Healthier, huh?”
    I almost laugh at his words.
    “ Yeah.” Healthier with the decreased chance of being beat up!
    “ Then you blow it all by eating that greasy crap,” he teases, indicating my pizza. To him, greasy crap; to me, likely the only meal I’ll get today and therefore beyond delicious. I can’t say that, of course, so I