The lights flickered, and his breath caught. The sub glanced up.
Gabriel swallowed his words. “Tryouts are tomorrow.” He kept his voice low, even. If he blew the lights again, Michael would flip out.
“And Coach Kanner agreed to hold a spot for you. If you can prove you’re doing the work.”
He wanted to punch something. He’d never wanted to hit a girl, much less a teacher, but right now—
“You don’t have to get an A,” she said evenly. “You just have to pass.”
He gritted his teeth and fought to keep his hands at his sides. “You can’t do that.”
“Actually, you’re right. I should follow procedure and report you to the principal. Then you could sit in his office, take an exam in front of him, and see how you do. Want to handle it that way?”
Fury had his chest in a vise grip. He ground the word out. “No.”
Her voice softened. “I’m trying to help you here. I can give you some extra time after class, if you’d like—”
“No, thanks.” He slung the backpack over his shoulder again and turned for the door. “I think you’ve done enough.”
After school, Gabriel stood on the free throw line in the empty gym and shot an easy basket. Twice.
He kept thinking of what Michael had said the other night, about being surrounded by people, yet not having any true friends. The first few weeks of the season were everything. Figuring out positions, how to work as a team. He’d probably miss the first game. The other guys wouldn’t want him walking onto the team late. He sure wouldn’t.
He’d already been to talk to the coach. He’d done that instead of going to lunch—what was he going to do, sit by himself? Pretty clear where Nick stood. But then the coach hadn’t been too encouraging.
And the one person who’d offered to help him—well, he’d done a pretty good job of chasing her off last night.
He was so fucked.
The halogen lights buzzed more loudly for an instant, and Gabriel closed his eyes. Breathe.
He wanted to pull the lighter out of his pocket, to spin the flame through his knuckles—but getting caught with a lighter could be an automatic suspension. Like he didn’t have enough problems.
Still. He felt like a junkie looking for a fix.
“You all right?”
Gabriel opened his eyes. Hunter stood there, almost directly beneath the basket.
“Dude. You’re starting to freak me out with this showing up out of nowhere.”
“You weren’t at lunch.”
Gabriel shrugged and threw at the basket. It bounced off the rim.
Hunter’s hand shot out to catch it, and he passed it back, lightning quick.
Gabriel raised an eyebrow and bounced the ball against the court. “You play?”
“Nah.” A shrug. But then he dropped his backpack against the wall and put his hands up. Gabriel tossed him the ball, and Hunter sank a basket from the line. “Team sports aren’t really my thing. You know.”
Hunter’s abilities drew other people to him—but just because they were drawn to him didn’t mean they were nice about it. Gabriel knew that from Becca.
He thought about what Hunter had said: You weren’t at lunch.
Maybe Hunter was every bit as lonely as he was.
“I’m avoiding Nick,” he offered.
Hunter caught the ball again and threw it back to Gabriel. “I get it.”
Gabriel caught it and dribbled, each smack of the ball echoing in the gym, then passed it back, hard. “You never told me why you followed me last night.”
Hunter caught it and returned with equal force. “Maybe you’re not the only one who wants to use his powers.”
“You know that was Alan Hulster’s house. He goes to school here.”
“So?”
“So we could have been caught.”
Hunter scoffed. “Please. You don’t give a crap about getting caught.”
“I give a crap about killing people.”
Hunter frowned. “You didn’t start that fire.”
Gabriel didn’t say anything, just tossed the ball at the basket again. It swished through.
Hunter caught it and passed it back. “They were going to leave that girl in there. If she had died, it still wouldn’t have been your fault.”
“Keep your goddamn voice down.” Gabriel cast a glance at the doors, but they were still alone.
“You saved her life! I can’t believe you—”
Gabriel got in his face and hit him in the chest with the ball. “Leave it.”
Hunter stared at him, and for half a second, Gabriel wondered if he was going to back down, the way Nick or Chris would.
Or if he was going to fight back, the way he had behind the mall.
But then Hunter smiled and took the ball. “You’re afraid.”
“Of you?” Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “Fat chance, you—”
“No.” Hunter backed off, dribbling the ball as he went. “Of yourself. You pick a fight every time someone might figure you out.” He threw the ball at the basket from some distance down the court—a solid three-pointer. It went right in. “You think I don’t wonder if I could have saved my dad and my uncle, if I’d been stronger?”
Gabriel didn’t look at him. That vise grip had his chest again, but it was an entirely different feeling from math class. “You didn’t kill them, Hunter.”
“We can talk blame all day. What difference does it make?”
It shouldn’t make a difference. But it did.
Hunter threw another basket. “My dad used to say, ‘If you can’t fix what you did wrong, at least try to make something else right.’ ”
He was talking about house fires.
But Gabriel thought of Layne.
He fished his cell phone out of his pocket to check the time. JV basketball practice would still be going on, so she was probably in the school somewhere.
“Got a date?” said Hunter.
“Maybe.” He shoved the phone into his pocket and grabbed his bag.
“That’s it? No comment?”
“No comment.” Gabriel swung around and hit him in the chest. “And I am not afraid.”
“Liar.”
Gabriel made a disgusted sound and turned for the door.
“So, later,” Hunter called. “If there’s a fire—you in or out?”
Out. Out, out, out.
Gabriel pressed his forehead against the cold steel of the door and sighed.
“In.”
CHAPTER 14
Layne pulled another yearbook off the stack and sighed. They’d been in the library for an hour, but there were still another thirty minutes left to Simon’s practice. “This is the dumbest research project ever.”
Kara rolled her eyes without looking up from her notebook. “You’d probably be happier writing about the history of physics, or Marie Antoinette’s biography, or—”
“You know who Marie Antoinette is?”
“Shut up.”
“Researching something from the school’s past? That’s just lame. There’s no challenge.”
“God, you are such a nerd.” Kara fished lip gloss out of her purse and dabbed it on. “I don’t know why I hang out with you sometimes.”
Me neither. But if Layne didn’t have Kara, she’d be sitting in the library by herself, waiting for her deaf brother to finish basketball practice—for a game the coach wouldn’t even let him play.
God, it just sounded pathetic.
“Layne,” Kara hissed. Her nails—bright fuchsia today—dug into Layne’s wrist.
Layne snapped her head up. “What?”
Kara was staring at the entrance to the library. One of the Merrick twins had just pushed through the doors and was strolling toward the stacks.
Layne sighed. She wanted it to be Nick.
But she’d sat next to Gabriel in class. She’d seen that faded blue henley clinging to his chest and shoulders four hours ago.
“Great,” she muttered.
“He is insanely hot,” whispered Kara. She dabbed more lip gloss on her mouth, to the point where it started to look a little comical. “How do I look?”
“Don’t even bother. He’s a jerk.”
“Maybe to you.” They watched him disappear between the stacks on the opposite side of the library. “Do you know which one it is?”
“Gabriel. I sit next to him in trig.”
“That’s a waste. You are so lucky. I wish I were better at math.”
“Don’t worry. You’re probably right at his level.” Layne hoped he didn’t notice them sitting here.
Mostly. Some butterflies were kicking up a fit in her stomach, and they were totally in favor of him heading this way.
That was stupid. He hadn’t even looked at her in class.
She had no idea how one boy could inspire such warring emotions, like she wanted to punch the crap out of him but then hide in the circle of his arms.
“You’re all red,” said Kara.
Ugh. Was she? “It’s hot in here.”
“Oh my god.” Kara snorted. “You’ve got a crush on him.”
Layne bent over her notebook again. “Please.”
Kara began to sing. “Layne and Gabriel sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I—”
“Layne?”
God, this could not be happening. Her face bright red, Kara singing that stupid song, and Gabriel Merrick appearing around the corner.
Kara dissolved into giggles. Yeah, this was so hilarious.
Layne couldn’t look at him. She felt like her entire body might burst into flame. She stacked the yearbooks on the table, then shoved her notebook into her backpack.
Gabriel cleared his throat. It sounded like he’d moved closer. “Can I talk to you?”
This made Kara giggle harder. “Oh. Maybe I should give you two a moment alone.”
“That’d be awesome,” he said absently. “Thanks.”
The giggles stopped like someone had flipped a switch. “Seriously?” said Kara.
Now Layne looked up. Kara was staring at Gabriel, dismayed, like she couldn’t believe he’d want to talk to Layne, when Kara was fully available, boobs perked out and everything.
“Don’t bother,” Layne said.
Gabriel put a hand on her bag, preventing her from slinging it over a shoulder. He was just suddenly there, in her space, close enough to touch.
“You won’t even give me a chance to apologize?”
“Like you’d mean it.” She jerked the bag out from under his hand and started walking. She didn’t even bother to zip it all the way.
“Apologize for what?” called Kara.
Gabriel was right behind her. “Of course I’d mean it. What the hell are you trying to say?”
“Shhh.” Mrs. Beard, the librarian, poked her head out from where she was shelving.
“Sorry,” Layne whispered, hustling for the exit.
Gabriel followed her straight out the doors. “You won’t even hear me out?”
“No.” If she stopped to turn around, he’d see how red her cheeks were. Had he heard Kara’s little chant?
“Why not?” He sounded honestly perplexed.
“Because you’re the kind of guy who apologizes because you’re supposed to, not because you truly give a crap.”
“All right, look.” He caught her arm and spun her around.
She gasped and stared up at him—and the dim school hallway seemed to collapse around her. She had to take a step back, and her shoulders ran into a row of lockers.
The hallway was empty. Kara hadn’t followed them.
Just her and Gabriel. She had to stop staring into his eyes or she was going to forgive him for everything, always.
“What?” she demanded.
“I’m not sorry for what I said to your father.”
“Well, you should be.” She bit the words out, and it helped. “Mentioning condoms? Are you insane?”
“He was a dick to start with.” Gabriel’s blue eyes were intense and almost frightening. “And I’m not real crazy about getting accused of rape in the first thirty seconds I meet someone.”
“Wow, you’re really good at this apology stuff.”
He took a long breath and didn’t look away—like he was gathering his temper, or his mettle, or . . . something.
“I am sorry,” he said, “for upsetting you.”
He meant it. She could feel it. It cost him something to say it, and the little tugs in her chest were begging her to nod, to forgive him, to acknowledge that there were many things unsaid, on both sides of this conversation.
She didn’t move.
Gabriel moved a bit closer. “I’m sorry, Layne. Really.”
His voice was low and rough, and this close, she could make out each individual eyelash, the line of his cheekbone, the bare start of shadow across his jaw. She felt ready to slide down the lockers and melt into a puddle at his feet.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about her father’s warnings last night, about an outlet. Her dad was right. Falling for a guy like Gabriel would end up with her hurt and her secrets all over school.
“So,” she said, feeling her throat close up, “is this when girls usually fall all over you and forgive you for everything?”
He jerked back like she’d hit him.
God, she regretted it immediately. His eyes went dark, walled off. Closed. A second ago, the distance between them had felt like an inch; now it felt like a mile.
But then he glanced down the hallway and back at her. He almost had a small smile on his face. “A friend just told me I pick a fight every time someone gets close to figuring me out.”
She swallowed.
Gabriel leaned in again, putting a hand on the locker beside her head. “What’re your secrets, Layne?”
She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe.
He held there for a moment.
Then he reached around her and jerked a yellow notebook out of her open backpack—the one she used to keep assignments in order. A pen was still attached to the spiral, and he pulled it loose.
That was so unexpected that she faltered. “My . . . what . . . why . . .”
He’d flipped to the middle and was already writing.
Before her heart could catch up, he shoved it back into her bag. He didn’t even smile, just stepped back. “Call me when you’re ready to cut through the bullshit.”
He’d turned the corner before she could get it together to pull the notebook out of her backpack, to see what he’d written.
There in the middle, scrawled across the page, was a phone number.
And right under it, in his handwriting, even and blocky:
I’m not perfect either.
CHAPTER 15
Gabriel poured Cheerios in a bowl and chased them with milk. Not much of a dinner, but food was food, and he was the only one home.
He had no idea where Nick was. Probably out somewhere with Chris, doing something with Quinn and Becca. Or maybe just out somewhere, doing Quinn. Like Gabriel gave a crap.
He dropped into the kitchen chair and set the bowl beside his textbook. The house was so silent that the sound echoed in the kitchen. Gabriel had his cell on the table, sitting next to the trig book, taunting him by remaining completely silent.
He’d never given a girl his number and walked off. At the time, it seemed like a great idea—put the ball in her court, leave her with a line and ten digits scrawled in her notebook.
Now it was like water torture, knowing she had it, knowing she was making the deliberate decision not to call.
Christ, was this how girls felt?
His pencil had dug trenches in his notebook. One page of questions had been assigned for homework, and he was stuck on the first one.
Find the focal diameter of a parabola with focus (2,4) and directrix y = –1.
It was almost enough to make him call Nick.
And he hated to admit it, but there was a small part of him that wished Nick would call. Or
text. Something. Almost twenty-four hours had passed since they’d last spoken. That hadn’t happened . . . ever.
The front door slammed, and his older brother’s work boots clomped down the hallway. When Michael stopped in the kitchen doorway, Gabriel looked up.
Michael was filthy, covered in sweat and dust. Stains streaked across his T-shirt. His expression was puzzled. “What are you doing?”
Gabriel half shrugged. “Homework.”
An eyebrow raised. “Homework? Should I call a doctor?”
Gabriel took a spoonful of Cheerios and gave him the finger.
“That’s better.” Michael walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. “You all right?”
I made my twin brother hate me.
I can’t try out for basketball.
I gave my number to some girl who thinks I’m a thug.
Gabriel looked back at his textbook. “Yeah. Fine.”
Michael turned and walked back down the hall. “Cheerios? Order a pizza or something. I’m starving.”
Since his phone wasn’t doing anything better, Gabriel dialed for pizza. A minute later, he heard the upstairs shower turn on.
He went back to staring at the math problem. Maybe he could Google it.
Victory! He was right in the middle of the fourth question when the doorbell rang. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes was record time for pizza.
He had cash in his hand, but there wasn’t a pizza guy on the porch. A young woman stood there, wearing jeans and a canvas jacket, blond hair spilling across her shoulders. Her eyes looked vaguely familiar, and Gabriel tried to place where he knew her from.
“Hi.” She gave him a gentle smile. “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you.”
His brain engaged. The chick firefighter! She looked smaller without all the gear.
Then he froze, feeling the doorknob go slick under his hand. This had to be about last night. She would have been there, right? She must have recognized him.
But wouldn’t she be here with cops or something?
A little frown creased her mouth. “I’m Hannah. Hannah Faulkner.”
“Yeah.” His breath rattled around in his chest.
“Are you all right?”
He peered past her. No cop cars in the driveway, nothing other than a late-model Jeep Cherokee that was beat to hell, like she’d driven through the outback to get here. “What are you doing here?”
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