Free Anna To The Infinite Power by Mildred Ames Page A

Flashing earrings, for God’s sake!”
    In the safety of Rowan’s room, Anna was almost tempted to believe he was right. Perhaps her headache had distorted her reasoning. She felt better now, but not enough better to forget her fears entirely. “If I have to go to her house next Saturday, will you go with me, Rowan?”
    “Anna, I have orchestra practice on Saturdays. You know that.”
    “Please, Rowan.”
    “Don’t be silly. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
    “Rowan, I’m begging you. Please go with me. I’m so scared.”
    She thought she caught a glimmer of something like pity in his eyes. Then he sighed impatiently. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I can’t go with you, but as soon as practice is over, I’ll head for Michaela’s. You won’t have been there much more than a half hour. She surely won’t have done you in in that length of time.”
    He didn’t believe her, but Anna didn’t care. “You can’t come earlier?”
    “No, I can’t. Now stop pestering me.”
    Anna nodded, resigned that she had gotten as much from him as he was likely to give. “I guess I can tell her you’re coming. That should help if she’s planning anything.”
    “Oh, no -- not that again! Anna, if you don’t get out of my room right now, I swear I’ll throw something at you.”
    “All right, all right. I’m going.” She left, feeling calmer. Rowan was undoubtedly right. She was letting her imagination play strange tricks on her. Which wasn’t at all like her. It was just that the headaches she suffered often made her half-crazy. That was what had happened today. Her headache had started it, making her dream up all sorts of stupid pictures that had nothing to do with anything real.
    Anna decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in the communications room, working on a project for school. She grew so involved that by the time Sarah Hart called her for dinner, her headache had disappeared, and she had almost forgotten her earlier fright. Now she couldn’t believe she had acted so irrationally.
    Dinner consisted of soybeans, cooked and flavored like Boston baked beans, a small canned ham, coleslaw from a cabbage that had matured in the hydroponic roof garden, and a dark, sweet bread Graham Hart had made earlier and frozen.
    The atmosphere was strained, Sarah and Graham Hart exchanging only a few polite words, long heavy silences between. Anna watched them sullenly. At one point Graham stabbed a piece of ham with his fork, held it up, and said, “I suppose we have Anna to thank for this.”
    His wife lowered her eyes and said nothing.
    Then, sounding almost apologetic, he added, “I wasn’t complaining.” He turned to Anna and changed the subject. “Well, did you learn anything at Michaela’s today?”
    Anna scowled. “A little, Mr. Hart. But not anything about music.” She watched with satisfaction as three pairs of eyes darted to her.
    Graham Hart gave a self-conscious laugh. “What’s this Mr. Hart business?”
    “I have to call you something,” Anna said.
    “Anna, please don’t make things worse,” Sarah Hart said.
    Graham Hart looked thoroughly confused. “Why can’t you call me what you’ve always called me?”
    “That wouldn’t seem right. After all, you’re Rowan’s dad, not mine.”
    “Do you have to remind me?” he asked irritably. Anna said nothing.
    “Besides, what difference does that make? If we’d adopted you, you’d have called me Dad, wouldn’t you?”
    “I suppose so, Mr. Hart.”
    Rowan put in, “Just call him Graham.”
    “Rowan, you keep out of this,” his father said. “She’ll do no such thing! She’ll call me Dad, just the way she always has. You hear that, Anna?”
    “Yes, Dad,” Anna said demurely.
    “And no sarcasm!”
    “No, Mr. -- ”
    “Dad, Dad, Dad!” His face went florid now.
    “Yes, Dad.” Anna, pleased with herself, glanced at Sarah Hart and shrugged as if she couldn’t understand what Dad was getting so excited about.
    “And what did