Spark

CHAPTER 20

The locker rooms were deserted. No shocker there; school wasn’t supposed to start for another half hour, and first period was always saved for freshman health. Gabriel turned the water as hot as he could tolerate and just stood there, letting it blaze into his skin. He’d run far and hard this morning, and he’d hoped the pain would steal his focus and force his brain to think of something other than the fight with his brother.

No luck.

Keep acting like this, and I’ll be forced to.

Goddamn Michael.

A door slammed farther out toward the gym. One of the coaches maybe, or someone grabbing a quick half hour in the weight room.

It probably meant he should get moving. Gabriel slapped the faucet to kill the stream of water.

When he was rubbing his hair with the towel, he heard a locker open somewhere out of sight. Then voices, too far away to make out. Laughter. Gabriel pulled his cell phone out of his bag to check the time. Still early.

Whatever. He yanked jeans out of the bag to pull on.

Then he heard a shout, a scuffle, and the crash of metal on metal as something hit a locker.

Okay, WTF?

He dragged a shirt over his head and walked down the aisle of lockers barefoot.

Six guys, sophomores and juniors, stood in the open area at the back corner of the locker room. Gabriel only recognized them vaguely. JV guys, he thought.

They froze when he came around the corner. Exchanged nervous glances, like they weren’t sure whether they should be relieved he wasn’t a teacher. He knew that look. He’d practically invented that look.

Gabriel gave half a smile. “Come on. What’s up?”

Then he heard the faint shifting sound inside the locker, and one of the guys hit the face of it with his fist. “Shut up, retard.”

One of the other ones laughed. “Stacey, you dumbass. Like he can hear you.”

Stacey. What an idiot name for a guy—and Gabriel hoped to god it was a last name. No wonder this prick was slamming people in lockers. He couldn’t even be original.

Then he realized what the other kid had said.

Like he can hear you.

“Oh yeah.” Stacey struck the locker again, harder. He laughed and raised his voice, until he was practically shouting into the locker vents. “Shut up, you fucking ret—”

Gabriel slammed a fist into his shoulder. The kid staggered back into the other lockers.

One of the other guys got in Gabriel’s face. “What the fuck, man. It’s just a joke.”

“Hilarious. Let him out.”

Stacey recovered and stepped up beside his friend. His hands were balled at his sides. “This isn’t your business.”

Gabriel shoved him again. “I’m making it my business.”

Stacey shoved back—and he wasn’t like those freshmen from the other day. He carried some solid mass, and he drove Gabriel back a step.

Another one shifted forward, a dark-haired thug who looked like he needed to spend more time in the gym and less at Taco Bell. He shoved Gabriel in the chest, too. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Open it,” said Gabriel. Electricity sizzled in the lights overhead, ready to ignite with his temper.

Stacey snorted. “What if we don’t want to?”

“I’ll make you want to.”

Another one stepped up beside them. “You and what army?”

“This one.”

A new voice. Gabriel turned his head. So did the jerks surrounding him.

Chris stood there at the edge of the line of lockers, a backpack slung over one shoulder, his arms folded across his chest.

The other kids exchanged glances again. Chris had a bit of a rep after beating the crap out of some seniors after homecoming—guys who’d been trying to assault Becca.

“Or,” Chris said with a shrug, “maybe I should just let you all settle it. I’ll get the coach to come unlock the locker.”

“Go ahead, Chris.” Gabriel gave Stacey a quick shove in the chest. “I don’t like fighting girls, but I think I can hold my own until you get back—”

“Shut up,” Stacey snapped. He glanced at Chris again. “Whatever. Come on, guys. Forget it.”

They all started to move away.

Gabriel grabbed Stacey by the arm and slammed him back into the locker doors. “Let him out first.”

Stacey swore, but he worked the combination until the lock popped open. Then he jerked his arm out of Gabriel’s grip and started to follow his friends.

Any other day, Gabriel would have followed him and made his morning miserable. But now he just wanted to make sure Simon was okay.

Layne had said her little brother was having a hard time. Gabriel wondered if she knew just how hard.

He eased the locker door open. Simon was wearing jeans and a decent pair of running shoes, but no shirt. His arms were shoved up tight against his chest. His face was furious, guarded, wary—and humiliated at finding Gabriel standing outside the locker.

“It’s okay,” said Gabriel. “They’re gone.”

Simon’s eyes flicked left, to Chris. He made no move to climb out of the locker.

“He’s all right,” said Gabriel. “He’s my brother. Chris.”

Chris lifted a hand. “‘Sup.”

Simon still didn’t move.

“This is Simon,” said Gabriel. “I know his sister.” He paused. “He’s deaf.”

“Got it.”

Gabriel lifted a hand to gesture. “Come on. You can’t stay in there all day.”

Simon looked away, at the gray sidewall of the locker. His jaw was set, his shoulders tight. He didn’t move for a long moment.

Just when Gabriel was about to ask if they’d superglued him in there or something, Simon extricated himself from the narrow box, then dropped his arms from his chest.

Chris blew out a breath. “Jesus Christ.”

Words were scrawled across Simon’s chest in what looked like permanent marker.

Most were some variation of Retard or Loser.

Simon’s breath was shaking. His fists were still tight at his sides. Gabriel knew that feeling, that if you let go, just a little, everything would unravel.

“Look,” he said, pointing. “Idiots can’t even frigging spell.”

Simon glanced down, where one of those thugs had scrawled Rettard.

Then he almost smiled.

“That’s actually kind of ironic,” said Chris.

Simon took a deep breath and his shoulders loosened. Then he held out a hand and mimed a phone.

Gabriel patted his pockets, but he must have left his phone in his bag. “Chris, give him your phone.”

Chris did. Simon tapped out a text.

Thanks.

Chris glanced up. “I hate guys like that.”

Simon tapped a few more letters on the screen and handed the phone back to Chris.

Me too.

Gabriel pointed toward the showers. “If you want to go scrub at it, I’ll loan you a shirt when you’re done.”

Simon nodded and turned to walk—then stopped short. He took the phone again and typed out another line.

Don’t tell Layne.

Gabriel stared at the words, then glanced up at Simon, who was watching him with pleading eyes.

“All right,” he said.

When Simon was safely in the shower, Gabriel dug through his bag for an extra shirt for Simon and a pair of socks for himself. Chris had followed him back to the bench and now just sat there watching him.

Gabriel sighed.

“You know,” said Chris, “that’s probably not going to come off with soap and water.”

Gabriel didn’t look at him. “That antiseptic crap in there will practically take your skin off, so maybe . . .” He shrugged. At least it was Friday, and JV wouldn’t practice again until Monday. Simon wouldn’t have to shower with the rest of the team until then.

And hopefully the words would have faded.

“Ryan Stacey is in my English class,” said Chris. “He’s an asshole.”

“I got that, thanks. He pulls this again, I’m going to light him on fire.”

No response, but Gabriel could feel his brother watching him.

“Damn it, Chris. What?” He looked up. “What are you even doing here?”

“Wow. No ‘Thanks, Chris, for saving my ass—’”

“You did not save my ass.”

“Yeah, well, I probably saved you from a suspension. You think Mike’s on your case now—”

Gabriel glared at him. “I think you need to stay out of it.”

Chris didn’t back down, but then he wasn’t that type. “What happened with Nick?”

Gabriel looked back at his bag. The worst part was, he had no idea what had happened with Nick. He couldn’t even remember why he’d picked that fight.

“You know,” said Chris, “I had to listen to a raft of crap from Becca about the things you said to Quinn, but I know you—”

“Boo-hoo.” Gabriel yanked the zipper closed. “I’m sorry I interfered in your love life.”

Chris sighed and shrugged his backpack onto his shoulder. “All right. Forget it. Sorry for caring.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?”

“Not anymore.” Chris rounded the bank of lockers.

Gabriel wanted to punch something.

Maybe he could go find Ryan Stacey.

But then Chris reappeared. He threw a glance at the wall that separated the lockers from the shower room. “Who’s his sister?”

Gabriel looked back in his bag and kept his voice nonchalant. “Just a girl in my math class.”

“Just a girl, huh?”

Gabriel glared at him. “Just a girl.”

Chris smiled. “So was Becca.”

Layne sat at her desk, waiting for class to begin. She’d started working through the problems at the end of the next unit, desperate for something that would make her look busy.

Unfortunately, her brain wouldn’t think about numbers. It was all too content to replay the feel of Gabriel’s hands at her waist. His breath against her hair. He wasn’t even sitting beside her yet, and her mind was already scripting PG-13 fantasies.

No, probably just PG. She’d never even kissed a boy, much less anything else.

Thank god she’d been wearing that jacket.

And he’d pushed her away, anyway. She might as well scrap the fantasies.

Layne knew the instant he walked into the room. She could feel his eyes find her, so she kept her own on the paper.

Write. Look busy.

But out of the corner of her eye, she watched him drop a piece of paper in the homework basket.

He’d done it. Had he found someone else to help him cheat?

Someone snickered to her left. “Working ahead, lesbo?”

Taylor, sitting backward on her desk, probably waiting for Gabriel. Layne sighed and ignored her.

“You know,” said Taylor, “maybe if you spent five minutes looking in a mirror, you wouldn’t look like such a loser nerd.”

Layne looked up. “Maybe if you spent five minutes less looking in a mirror, you wouldn’t look like such a prostitute.”

Half the class caught its breath. Layne could hear it, the anticipation, the eagerness for Taylor to snap.

Part of her wanted to suck the words back, to reverse time ten seconds.

The other part wanted to finish up the comment by stabbing Taylor with her pencil.

“Aw,” said Taylor, giving her a mock pout. “You’re jealous. So sweet.”

“I’m not jealous of you.”

Gabriel stepped through the tension to drop into his seat. He still looked tired. If anything, he looked more drawn than he had at six o’clock this morning. He’d showered and changed at some point, but he’d never bothered to find a razor. It made him look immeasurably rakish and sexy—and overwhelmingly sad, too.

He didn’t even glance at Layne.

He didn’t look at Taylor, either, just dragged a textbook from his backpack.

Layne sighed and turned back to her work.

“What’s wrong, lesbo?” said Taylor. “Run out of insults?”

Gabriel lifted his head. “Leave her alone, Taylor.”

“You’re defending her? She just called me a prostitute.”

He raised his eyebrows and looked at Layne. “Really?”

God, her cheeks felt like they were on fire. “Well . . . I said she looked like one . . .”

Gabriel looked back at Taylor, taking in the black fishnets, the tiny little skirt, the top that left three inches of midriff bare. “I can see it.”

Perfectly arched eyebrows shot up, then narrowed. “I don’t remember you complaining last spring.”

Layne couldn’t breathe around the sudden lump in her throat.

Get it together. Like it was a shock he’d been with a girl like Taylor.

“Just back off,” said Gabriel.

“God, you are so sensitive lately.” Taylor uncrossed her legs to lean forward. Layne had a pretty clear view down that top, and she wasn’t sitting anywhere near as close as Gabriel. She had to look back at her math work.

“You coming to Heather’s after tryouts?” said Taylor.

Gabriel looked away. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on. Everyone knows about the math thing. That just means you could get there early.” Her hand moved, and Layne kept her eyes fixed on her work so she wouldn’t have to watch Taylor touch him.

“How do they know about that?” His voice had a sudden edge.

“Please. The whole cheer squad knows. They’re working out a schedule to get you the homework.”

“Look. Forget it. I don’t need their help.”

“Sure sounds like you need someone’s help.” Taylor pulled lip gloss out of her bag and recrossed her legs, throwing her hair back over a shoulder. “Maybe you’d like a personal tutor.”

She said tutor like she was offering something completely different.

Layne told her brain to stop supplying images of Taylor and Gabriel making out while textbooks and papers fell to the floor.

Her pencil was ready to dig right through her notebook.

“Maybe,” said Taylor, her voice suggestive, “we could get to work tonight.”

Gabriel laughed a little, his tone equally suggestive. “Maybe I already have a tutor,” he said.

Layne’s pencil snapped against the paper.

“Who?” said Taylor.

“Layne.” He still wasn’t looking at her.

Layne felt like the end of that pencil had lodged in her throat.

“Layne,” said Taylor, putting a finger to her lips. “Layne. I don’t think I know anyone named . . .”

“Me,” snapped Layne. “My name is Layne.”

“But wait,” said Taylor in that sickly sweet tone. “Everyone here knows your name is butchy dykey les—”

“Hey.” Gabriel came halfway out of his chair.

“Excuse me.” Ms. Anderson was standing right there, almost next to Layne’s desk.

Layne flushed again and looked back at her math book.

“Sorry, Ms. Anderson,” said Taylor, her voice still sweet. “We were just talking about how much we love this class since you took over.”

The teacher pursed her lips. “Let’s settle down so we can begin.”

When the teacher went back to the front of the room, Layne tried to get her heart to settle down. What did he mean? He wanted her help now?

A folded piece of notebook paper landed on the edge of her desk.

She unfolded it to find Gabriel’s handwriting.

You don’t have to. I just needed

her to shut up.

Layne swallowed. He was so hard to read sometimes. Like with his phone number. Did this note mean he wanted her to help, or did it mean he wanted her to give him an out?

When she’d hugged him in the woods, his entire body had been tight, like he wasn’t sure how to react. She hadn’t imagined the emotion, the pain in his voice.

And then he’d pushed her away.

No. Wait. She’d pulled away.

This was so confusing—and her life was already full up on confusing.

Another note appeared on the corner of her desk. She unfolded it slowly.

I’m sorry about this morning. There’s

a lot going on. I shouldn’t have

been such a jerk.

He’d apologized to her twice now. She didn’t get the impression Gabriel Merrick apologized for very much.

Layne carefully pulled a piece of paper free.

I’ll help you, she wrote. She folded it up.

And then she stared at it for the whole period, deliberating. If she was reading this wrong, it was just another opportunity for him to reject her. He could roll his eyes and ignore her.

He could hurt her. Again.

Thank god she’d started the questions for the next unit, because she didn’t hear a word the teacher said.

When the bell rang, she shoved her books into her bag quickly.

And before she could change her mind, she dropped the note on his desk.

Then, without waiting to see his reaction, she walked out of class.