Henry Franks by Peter Adam Salomon

Author:Peter Adam Salomon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: teen, teen fiction, young adult, ya, memories, horror, peter adam salomon, Henry Franks, ya fiction, accident, serial killer, young adult fiction
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2012-07-12T22:00:00+00:00

eighteen

Henry woke on the floor, tangled in blankets. Memories of a nightmare disappeared as he struggled to cling to his dream. An image of a touch, the feel of a glance, but nothing made sense as he kicked the sheets off. While he brushed his teeth, however, all he thought of was a kiss.

The sun was already hard at work burning the dew off the grass as he walked to the bus stop. He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, balancing on the curb. Along the road, a handful of other kids congregated apart from him and all he could do was watch as they laughed at a joke he couldn’t hear.

Justine walked along the street, kicking a pile of grounded moss as she wandered from side to side, keeping in the shade of the trees that lined Harrison Pointe. As she approached she grasped her backpack, holding it in front of her like a shield. She stared at the ground between them, studying his shoes. Her mumbled “Good morning” was barely audible.

“Justine?” he said, his hands deep in his pockets as she took a step back from him.

She looked over her shoulder, to where her mother stood on their front porch, and, without looking at Henry, took another step away. Before she’d taken a third, she stopped.

“Damn,” she said as the bus pulled up.

Kids piled up the stairs, jostling to reach the same seats they always sat in. The clatter of latched windows being forced down echoed through the bus. The benches squeaked.

Henry sat, slid over next to the window, and watched as Justine worked her way up the aisle. Staring at her feet, she bumped into the girl in front of her and stumbled backward. With a blush, she sat down in the seat in front of Henry and stared straight ahead.

He leaned toward her as the bus pulled away from the curb. “Justine?”

She looked at him over her shoulder, her hair curling down around her face, then lowered her eyes and turned back around.

“You all right?” he asked, resting his hands on the back of her seat.

Without a sound, she nodded.

Henry sat back, his fingers resting for a moment longer on the vinyl before falling to his lap. She cast a quick glance back toward him before turning away again. Conversations grew and died around them, replaced by laughter and the quiet sounds of kids fanning themselves with whatever was handy.

“What words end in ‘ORD’?” Henry asked, bending his head forward to speak to her neck, not really sure how to be the one to actually initiate a conversation with her. Her skin glistened in the heat, a stray strand of hair sticking to her back.

Her head came up but she didn’t turn around.

“In one of the old pictures of me and my dad, he’s wearing a shirt that says ‘ORD.’ I’m thinking Stanford.”

“Oxford,” she said, her voice soft. Then she turned around, her eyes lighting up with the words. “There’s Oxford, too, in England. Probably lots of others.

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