Henry Franks A Novel - By Peter Adam Salomon Page 0,34

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. You think that’s where he went to school?”

Henry smiled back at her and shrugged. “You okay?” he asked.

Her smile wavered, but she stayed facing him with her arms on the back of the seat. “I told you my mother wouldn’t be happy.”

“Bad?”

“She’s a little old-fashioned.”

“Old-fashioned?”

“She’s forbidden me to date you.”

“We’re dating?” Henry asked.

She laughed, then closed her eyes and stilled her smile. “No. Just … damn, she saw us holding hands.” Justine barely said the words out loud and a fine blush ran up her cheeks. “I don’t know, Henry. What are we doing?”

The bus pulled into the high school and the noise grew in volume. Henry leaned closer, resting his forehead on the green plastic of her chair. When he finally looked at her, he was smiling.

“Will you sit with me on the way home?” he asked.

Justine held her backpack in front of her as they made their way off the bus. “Yes,” she said before walking into school next to him.

In the hallway in between classes, her pink toenail polish passed by. When he looked up to wave she was looking back, but there wasn’t time for much more than that in the crowded hall. Before the bus pulled away to take them home, however, she squeezed in beside him. Her fingers rested in her lap before he reached over and traced her thumb. She wrapped her hand over his, holding it against her thigh, and they drove the entire way home just looking at their hands, joined between them, in silence.

They walked together from the bus stop, but she’d let go of his hand before they got off the bus and they didn’t touch as they approached Henry’s house. Next door, her mother popped her head out.

“Later?” he asked.

“I have a plan,” she said, before turning away and running home.

In his house, Henry trudged up the stairs to his room and tossed his backpack in the corner. His computer booted up with a touch and he sank into his desk chair, studying the pattern of pushpins in the wall.

There was a knock at the front door. Another, louder, more insistent, and he scrambled down the stairs.

“It’s hot out here!” Justine said, her fist preparing to knock again. “Can I come in to help with your homework?”

Henry shut the door behind them. “We have homework?”

“Had to think of something, and she probably sees right through me, but … ” She smiled. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Henry shook his head, trying to clear it. “This was your plan?”

“I’m here, how about we leave it at that?” She reached for his hand as they walked up the stairs. “So, Stanford?”

He sat at his desk, Justine standing next to him, and brought up the alumni website. “No access, so I gave up.”

“Call them,” she said, pointing at the contact information taking up the bottom quarter of the screen.

He laughed, a short bark of a sound. “No.”

“Why not? It’s either that or hack their site, and I can’t do that, can you?”

“No,” he said. His shoulders slumped and he looked up at her.

“Let’s call; they’re three hours behind us.”

“And say what?”

She smiled then shook her head. “Hi, my name is