Free Anne & Henry by Dawn Ius

is.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “Or who’s going.”
    I fold my arms across my chest, waiting for elaboration.
    â€œThe party’s at Catherine’s.”
    â€œDefinitely not,” I say, my gut twisting at the mere mention of her name. It’s one thing to accept an invitation fromHenry’s mother, to hang out at his house—another entirely to willingly step into the lioness’s den without explicit consent. Her sweet smile may fool most of the school, but I’ve had a close-up view of her inner bitch.
    â€œIt’s a murder mystery,” Charles says, like he hasn’t heard me. “You know, the kind where everyone dresses up and tries to figure out who the killer is. Just come. If you don’t like what you see, no worries. You can bugger off.”
    Okay, so now I’m a little intrigued. I’m always up for a good mystery.
    Sam shifts, nudging my hip with hers, a reminder to stay away from Henry and Catherine and keep a low profile. It’s harder than I thought. “Can Sam come?” I say. If she’s with me, I can’t get in trouble, right?
    But Sam shakes her head. “Sorry, no can do.” Her voice is small and shy. Sincere. If she was free, or could make up any excuse to get free, she’d jump at the chance to spend time with Charles.
    Charles fishes his cell out of his pocket and opens a new contact page. Punches in my name. “Phone number and e-mail,” he says. “That way Catherine can send you directions and your costume requirements.”
    Or the coordinates to hell.
    â€œI think I’d better sit this one out,” I say, reverting to gut instinct. I have a strong suspicion Catherine has no clue Charles has invited me to her party.
    â€œYou don’t strike me as chicken,” he says.
    It’s clear he’s egging me on, and I’m too smart to fall for the trick. But then—
    Something catches my eye and before I can look away, I’m staring at Henry. He stands across the hall chatting up some girl, his leather bomber jacket proudly flashing the Medina Greyhounds colors. He sees me.
    My toes curl inside my boots with longing. My pulse races. Maybe I should worry about Catherine’s reaction, consider the consequences of my actions, but as I tear my gaze from Henry’s, I’m already saying “Yes.” Sam’s elbow jabs into my rib cage.
    â€œGood on ya,” Charles says. He enters my information into his smartphone. As he exits the contact screen, a picture emerges as the background, a group shot, maybe from the rowing team, Henry at the center, grinning, posing, making eyes at the camera. A lump forms in my throat. “See you there?” Charles says.
    â€œWhy do I get the sense I’m being set up?” I say.
    â€œThey’ll give you a chance eventually,” he says, all serious and sweet. “Take it from me, just keep working at it.”
    I bite my lower lip, dare to trust. Somehow I think Charles has some leverage on the whole fitting-in thing. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
    He doesn’t have to make an effort, doesn’t have to care. Beneath those surfer-dude looks, I sense that he does.
    Charles shrugs. “I know what it’s like to be new,” he says. “This isn’t the easiest town to fit into.”
    As he saunters away, Sam blows out a breath like she’s been holding it for as long as Charles has lived. I relate to the feeling and, despite my better judgment, try not to think about Henry.
    â€œHe’s bloody amazing,” she says.
    â€œCareful,” I say, and rest my hand on her shoulder. Look her straight in the eyes. “The janitors are going to need another bucket to mop your melted ass up off the floor.”
    She drops her head as though in shame. “We all have our weaknesses.”
    Which I guess is why I’m going to Catherine’s murder mystery party, even if