Henry Franks(8)

five




The piece of paper hidden beneath his pillbox had two words on it: Victor, Elizabeth. Out of curiosity, he’d Googled the names, but there were too many hits to realistically count. Henry dry-swallowed his medications, took a single look at the names, then folded the paper back up before sliding it into place beneath the plastic box.

“Victor,” he said. The word seemed weightless, without meaning. A stranger’s name. It felt wrong when said out loud, unreal.



His father had left for work by the time he ventured downstairs, and he rushed through breakfast even though he had nothing else to do all day long other than sweat and eat.

He stood on the front porch, watching Justine’s brother jumping through a sprinkler, and briefly considered mowing the lawn just to see if his father would notice.

“You can join us.” Her voice came from behind him and he gripped the rusted metal railing to keep from jumping out his skin. “Not dressed like that, of course, but you’re welcome to jump in. The water’s, well, not hot, at least.”

Justine walked up to the side of the porch and when he turned his head, she was closer than he’d expected her to be. Her hair was tied up and the sun glinted off the tiny gold hoops in her ears and for a moment he forgot to breathe.

“You do know it’s summer, right?” she asked. “You know, heat, humidity. Did I mention heat?”

Henry brushed the hair out of his eyes and tried, but failed, not to stare. Cut-offs left long tan legs glowing in the morning sun. A pink bikini top was visible through her white T-shirt. Honey-brown eyes and a welcoming smile. He couldn’t figure out where to look, so he let the hair fall back down.

“I’m familiar with the concept,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not really a summer person.”

“You’re in blue jeans and a T-shirt,” she said. “In August. As far as I can tell, you’re a mammal.”

He laughed. “I’m usually inside, where it’s air-conditioned.”

Justine looked around, taking in the entire porch. “I know, you’re part hermit. But you do realize that you’re actually outside at the moment?”

He mimicked her motions of looking around. “My dad took me to Jekyll last week. That was outside.”

“Did you actually go on the beach?”

“Drove past it. Does that count?”

She smiled. “No.” Sunlight glistened on pink lips and white teeth and golden skin.

He breathed, counted to ten in silence, and tried to return her smile.

“Want to join us in the sprinkler?” she asked again, turning to walk back to her yard. With one motion, she took her T-shirt off and dropped it to the ground. “Coming, Henry?” she said over her shoulder.

He went down the steps two at a time, and then stopped on the sidewalk, watching Justine jump through the sprinkler in her wet denim cut-offs and pink bikini top. He picked up her T-shirt as he walked into the water, holding it in his hand as he let the water rain down on him, soaking his jeans. His hair plastered itself to his face, hanging down his neck, and he brushed it back and looked up at the sun, burning down on his pale skin.

He smiled.

“If I wanted my shirt wet, I’d have left it on,” she said, pulling it out of his grasp.

Henry looked at it and shrugged. “You dropped it.”

She laughed. “Not that I’m complaining. You’ve been inside all summer and I finally got you in the sprinkler. My vacation is a success.”

“You always could have knocked,” he said.

Justine threw her wet shirt at him. “I don’t knock.”

The shirt landed on his face and, for a moment, all he saw was white. So faintly it might have been his imagination, he could smell her on the fabric.

“Why not?” he asked, through her shirt, before taking it off.

“Well, one, my mom might kill me. Or at least ground me for what little remains of vacation if I did anything, anything at all, that she would consider to be even remotely improper.” She smiled, holding her hand out for her shirt. “Two, I obviously didn’t have to; you’re here.”

“Improper?” Henry held her shirt up, looking at her wet hair hanging on her bare shoulders.

“Well, her definition and mine aren’t quite the same thing.”

He threw the shirt back, jumped through the sprinkler one more time, and then started walking back to his house.

“Henry?” she called out to him.

When he turned around, she was sliding back into her T-shirt. It clung to her skin and he could still see the pink bikini top through the wet fabric.

“Just because I don’t knock doesn’t mean you can’t,” she said, before smiling one more time and then running inside her house.





six




His shirt glued itself to his skin within moments of leaving the house, and he was sure his deodorant had failed before the school bus even arrived. After standing on the sidewalk too long, the bottoms of his sneakers seemed to adhere to the concrete and the first step onto the bus was sticky.

Justine melted into the seat in front him. She fought with the window and gave up with it open almost an entire inch. The August breeze through the opening was hot against his face. Her brown hair was up, as always, exposing a great deal of tan neck all the way down to the straps of her tank top. One thin river of sweat began with a single bead at the base of her hair and disappeared down her back.