Hannah's Touch Read Online Free

don’t know.” I hadn’t slept well, thinking about M.C.’s comment and worrying about Logan’s missing medallion. And when I finally dozed off, a dream of Logan woke me. He wanted me to do something, and I couldn’t figure out what. I was tired. Even extra makeup couldn’t hide the bags under my eyes.
    â€œI can’t believe you landed in the hospital because of a bee sting.” Marie stared at me. “What really happened?”
    For a second, I almost told her. But after Logan died and I started questioning God, Marie decided my soul needed saving, and she kept hounding me to see her parish priest. If I told her I felt a presence and a voice and Logan, she’d have the guy calling me.
    Not that I was passing judgment. But still. My dad was a lapsed Catholic who had no time for religion, and my mother believed everybody—Christians, Buddhists, even our neighbor who worshipped some star in the next galaxy and believed silver ufos would take us all there when the world ended.
    No wonder I had commitment issues.
    â€œHannah?”
    I mumbled something about allergies and overprotective parents.
    Ms. Drummond clapped her hands. “Listen up!” When the talking faded, she continued. “Today you’ll break into your dinner groups and I’ll walk you through a simple recipe for a shake.”
    Marie leaned close. “Kristen, Lexi and I made an amazing shake with Coffee Crisp ice cream, chocolate powder and a whole lot of vodka Saturday night. Kind of like a Frappuccino, only better. You should have been there.”
    No thanks. I felt lonely with my friends, especially when everybody was having fun. They always made it a Really Big Deal when I didn’t drink. I hated being singled out. Besides, how could I party with Logan lying in the ground?
    â€œI want to see you work together before we finalize the groups,” Drummond said. “After that, we’ll get you started developing menus.”
    This sounded good. Tom and I did not work well together. Even a blind toad could see that.
    â€œThe usual rules apply,” Ms. Drummond added. “Clean hands, aprons, long hair tied back. The ingredients are in your stations. Look them over and get ready for my demonstration.”
    I slid from the stool and headed for the back of the room. Marie fell into step beside me. “A bunch of us are grabbing pizza at lunch,” she said. “Why don’t you come?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    She frowned. Marie knew “maybe” meant “no.”
    When I walked into the only cooking station large enough to take a wheelchair, Tom peered at me over his sunglasses. Logan would never wear sunglasses again. I bit down hard on my lip. Because Tom had goaded him into that car.
    â€œHey, Hannah Banana,” Tom said.
    Beside him, Alan Kim laughed and fiddled with one of the chef’s knives.
    â€œDon’t call me that.” Never mind that Tom had coined the phrase first. It belonged to Logan.
    â€œLighten up,” Marie murmured.
    Ignoring them both, I checked the counter to see what we had. There was vanilla yogurt, milk, juice and a selection of fruits: bananas, blackberries, pears. “Looks like your basic fruit shake,” I said.
    Tom grinned. “I’ve got a way to make that special.” He flipped open his jean jacket. I saw a small bottle of Malibu rum. Marie snickered.
    Alan whistled. “Nice work, Shields.” He picked up a second knife, juggled the two of them clumsily.
    â€œDon’t even think about it,” I said.
    â€œYou never used to be such a priss,” Tom challenged. “Not way back when.”
    I felt the flush creep into my cheeks. A long time ago (before I developed a brain), I’d dated Tom Shields (gag me). In fact, he’d introduced me to Logan. He hadn’t been so bad back then. A little bit out there, but mostly okay. We’d gotten along.
    Not now. Every time I looked at Tom,