Spark

CHAPTER 8

Gabriel dribbled the basketball a few times and threw, making the basket for an easy three-pointer. He was alone on the court, killing time until Nick was done with whatever after-school do-gooder activity he’d signed up for.

Layne hadn’t said a word to him in class.

Gabriel hadn’t known what to say to her, either.

Dribble, dribble. Shoot.

Basket.

If Nick hadn’t broken his leg, Gabriel would be finishing the soccer season this week. He’d played under his twin brother’s name so he could get around the school’s stupid rule limiting students to playing on two varsity teams per year. Gabriel missed the team, the camaraderie, the physical exertion fed by a common goal.

He didn’t really miss any of the guys.

It made him think of Michael’s comments.

Stupid. He didn’t need friends. He had his twin brother.

His phone chimed. Speaking of Nick.

Go ahead without me. I’m going home with Quinn.

Of course. Gabriel shoved the phone back in his pocket.

Nick hadn’t even talked to him last night. Usually they did the postmortem when one went out without the other. But maybe Nick didn’t feel like he had to. He’d been with Chris, after all.

Whatever.

Dribble. Shoot.

The ball hit the rim and ricocheted sideways, toward the bleachers.

Gabriel swore and jogged to retrieve it—but Layne’s brother stepped out of the shadowed corner by the door and picked it up.

Simon wore basketball shorts and a loose T-shirt, the clothes making him look smaller than he really was. Sweat darkened his shirt and matted his hair at the temples—he’d probably been out running. The JV coach always made them run at the end of a practice, Gabriel remembered.

If Simon had stayed late for practice, did that mean Layne was still around?

She’d said her little brother dragged her to all the basketball games last year, so Simon had seen him play. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that it meant Layne had seen him play, too.

He should have apologized. In class. He should have said something.

Yeah, and how would that go? I’m sorry I stopped those douchebags.

He scanned the bleachers, as if he could have missed a lone girl sitting there while he shot baskets.

Empty.

Gabriel shook it off. “’Sup, Simon.”

The kid grinned and held out a fist like he had yesterday.

Gabriel hit it. “How was practice?”

Simon lost the smile. His face was flushed from the run, and with the sudden darkness in his eyes, it made him look angry.

“Not good, huh?” said Gabriel.

Simon signed something furiously.

Gabriel frowned. “Dude. I’m sorry, I—”

Simon made a frustrated noise, then a gesture that didn’t need much translation. Forget it. He tossed the ball to Gabriel and turned away.

“Hey,” said Gabriel. Simon kept walking, and it took Gabriel a moment to realize that the other boy couldn’t hear him.

He jogged a few steps and caught him by the arm.

Simon swung around. His eyes were red.

Gabriel fished his cell out of his pocket and held it out. “Here. Text it.”

Simon’s eyes widened. He took the phone and worked the buttons like his thumbs were on fire.

Then he held it out. Gabriel read.

I can practice, but can’t play. Coach says liability.

Gabriel frowned, but he understood. If Simon couldn’t hear, how could the coach call plays? How could the other kids get his attention on the court? He wouldn’t hear a whistle or the buzzer.

Simon took the phone from him again.

I’m good. Not a liability.

Gabriel smiled.

Simon took the phone a third time.

I just want to play.

Gabriel lost the smile. He understood that.

“You’re good?” he said.

Simon clenched his teeth and nodded.

Gabriel slid the phone into his pocket and tossed the ball back at Simon. “Prove it.”

The kid was faster than Gabriel expected, light on his feet and agile. Fit, too—he was all over the court despite just finishing practice. His ball control sucked; Gabriel could tell he was used to getting by with speed. He missed half the shots he took.

At first Gabriel tried calling out pointers—but then he remembered again that Simon couldn’t hear him.

Yeah, he saw where the coach was coming from.

Finally, he caught the ball and held his hands in a T. He’d been playing in jeans and a hoodie, and his own hair felt damp.

“You need to slow it down, buddy.”

Simon was breathing hard. He nodded.

“He needs to remember the bus schedule,” said a voice from the bleachers. “We’ve already missed the late one.”

Gabriel turned. Simon didn’t. Layne sat there, a textbook open on the bench beside her, a notebook in her lap.

“How long have you been sitting there?” he said.

She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Like twenty minutes.”

God, he was baking in this sweatshirt. He swiped a hand across his forehead. “Why didn’t you say something?”

She glanced away, tucking a loose piece of hair back into her braid. “Because Simon never gets to play.”

“So you missed the—hey!”

Simon had smacked the ball out from under his arm and was tearing off across the court.

Layne laughed, but then she caught herself and sobered.

They stared at each other across twenty feet of gym floor. Gabriel pushed the hair back from his face. “You need to go?”

She clicked her pen. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Gabriel wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. He couldn’t figure out her tone. It certainly wasn’t friendly.

The ball hit him in the arm. Simon was back, dribbling beside him.

His expression said, We playing or what?

“Go,” said Layne. “Play.”

It sounded like a challenge.

Gabriel grabbed the edge of his sweatshirt and dragged it over his head. Half his T-shirt came with it, but he yanked it down.

When he flung the hoodie onto the bench, Layne was staring at her textbook, the edge of her lip between her teeth.

Her cheeks were bright pink.

Interesting.

Then Simon was throwing him a pass, and the ball was in play.

Gabriel had never been so aware of an audience before. He played harder, feeling her watching him. But when he looked up, her head was always bent over her notebook, her pen moving along the paper.

Oof. The ball hit him in the stomach, hard. Gabriel caught it automatically and glared at Simon. “Dude, what the hell?”

Simon grinned. He pointed at him, then Layne, then signed something.

Layne shot off the bench. “Simon!” She came across the court and smacked him in the arm.

“What did you say?” said Gabriel.

Simon was just laughing silently.

Gabriel glanced at Layne. “What did he say?”

“Nothing.” Her cheeks were red for sure. She grabbed Simon’s arm and tugged, then signed as she walked. “Come on. We’ll call Dad to pick us up on his way home.”

“I can give you a ride,” said Gabriel.

“Don’t be silly. He won’t be more than an hour or so.”

An hour? “That’s stupid. And your brother seriously needs a shower. Let me give you a ride home.”

Simon nodded emphatically, and then signed something.

Layne gave a huge sigh and turned for the bleachers. “Fine. Whatever.”

While she was packing her things, Gabriel grabbed Simon’s arm and turned to face him. “What did you say?”

Simon grinned and gestured for his phone.

I said you’d play a lot better if you weren’t staring at my sister.

Gabriel fiddled with the dials when they pulled onto the main road, trying to get some heat going. Layne was curled into the front seat, her backpack on the floor. Her eyes were locked forward, her hands in her lap. Lights from oncoming cars flickered off her glasses.

“You warm enough?” Gabriel said, just to break the silence.

“I’m fine.” Her voice seemed very small in the confines of the car.

“You’ll have to give directions.”

She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. “We live in Compass Pointe. You know where that is?”

“Yeah.” Compass Pointe was the rich neighborhood at the north end of town, the kind with eight-bedroom houses and servant quarters over the garage—though he didn’t know any that actually had servants. Michael did the landscaping for three houses out there, and they were three of his highest-paying customers.

“Shouldn’t you be in a private school or something?” he asked.

“My father says he got by on a public education, and that should be good enough for anybody.” She paused. “He’s a defense attorney. A good one.”

“I’m surprised you’re not driving a BMW to school.”

She bristled. “First of all, my parents have the money, not me, and second of all, I don’t have a license yet. I didn’t think you’d be the kind of guy to get all weird about where I live—”

“Whoa!” God, it was like he couldn’t avoid colliding with the chip on her shoulder. “I’m just saying. Heather Castelline lives out here and no one can get her to shut up about crap like how much her manicure costs.”

Layne made a face. Her arms were folded across her chest now. “I’m not Heather Castelline.”

Gabriel snorted. “Obviously.”

Layne didn’t say anything, just turned her head and looked out the window. Her sudden silence smacked him across the face as effectively as a hand would have.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t figure her out at all.

And it was making him crazy.

Then he noticed the little sniffing sounds, the way her fingers had a death grip on her biceps.

“Layne?” He glanced over. “Are you crying?” Simon was silent, oblivious in the backseat.

She didn’t turn her head. “Forget it.”

What had he said? He wished he could pull the car over, but they were in the middle of three lanes of traffic on Ritchie Highway. He didn’t even know how to play this. “I don’t . . . what’s—”

“I don’t know why you have to be so mean all the time,” she said, turning her head just far enough that he could see there were definitely tears on her cheeks. “Do you have any idea what it feels like, the way you treat people?”

“What the hell did I say?” he demanded.

She sniffed. “Obviously.”

Jesus, this was so infuriating. “Obviously what?”

“You said obviously. Obviously I’m not Heather Castelline. Well, you know what? Not everyone is a hot blond cheerleader, Gabriel Merrick. I’m sure in your world, every girl should have a perfect rack and great legs and flaunt them for your benefit, but we aren’t all such paragons of perfection.”

Wow.

Gabriel stared out the windshield at the traffic. The ridges in the steering wheel were biting into his palms. “I guess you told me.”

This was worse than fighting with Michael. At least he could haul off and hit his brother and tell him he was being an asshole.

But Layne was still crying silently, staring out the window, her shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly.

When he came to a red light, he looked over. “Hey.”

She didn’t look. “I said, forget it.”

“I know what you said. Look at me.”

“If I look at you, Simon will know I’m crying.”

The light turned, and he had to look back at the road anyway.

He spoke into the silence, hearing his voice come out rough. “When I said ‘obviously,’ it was because Heather Castelline is a total bitch who’ll only give you the time of day if she needs something from you. Nicky went out with her once, and he spent two days swearing he’d rather cut his balls off than date a girl like her again.”

Layne didn’t say anything.

“She’s the last person who’d criticize me for getting into it with some sophomore tool in the hallway, and she’d be more likely to copy my quiz than to fix the wrong answers. She sure as hell wouldn’t stay after school because her brother was having a good time.”

Layne didn’t speak, but he could swear she was looking at him now.

Gabriel kept his eyes on the road. “It had nothing to do with what you look like.”

She swallowed. “Okay. Whatever.”

“Besides, you could totally have a perfect rack and great legs. I just can’t tell. If you want to flaunt them so I can make final judgment—”

She punched him in the arm.

But now she was smiling.

And blushing.

He had to stop for the next light, and he looked over. Dampness still clung to her cheeks, but she didn’t look like she was plotting to kill him.

When he made the turn into her development, she said, “I can still help you with math.” She paused, her tone nonchalant. “If you want.”

“What, you mean now?”

“Did you understand tonight’s assignment?”

He hadn’t understood an assignment in about five years. His shoulders were already tense. “I’ll be all right.”

“You planning to go home and have your brother do it for you?”

He wasn’t even sure if Nick was home. Gabriel didn’t say anything. He didn’t like that Nick did the work for him, but Layne knowing . . . That, he hated.

He pulled into her driveway and sat there, putting the car in park but not killing the engine. He stared at the pattern his headlights made on the garage, wide circles of light bouncing off the stone façade of her house.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “Tough guy can’t be good at math?”

“Hey.” He swung his head around, his jaw tight.

She didn’t back away, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. “How can you sit there in class every day, pretending to follow along?”

“That’s the easy part.”

She stared back at him. “I don’t think it is.”

He looked back at the garage and didn’t say anything. She was right. It was killing him, but she was right.

Simon reached between the seats and tapped Layne on the shoulder. Gabriel didn’t need to understand sign language to figure out the message.

What’s going on?

Gabriel turned the key and yanked it out of the ignition, reaching over the center console to grab his backpack. “All right,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s give it a shot.”