Spark

by Brigid Kemmerer

  Third period: Trigonometry. Gabriel felt his shoulders tighten as he walked through the doorway. Mr. Riley, their wiry teacher, wasn’t at his desk yet, but Gabriel dropped his homework in the basket and made his way to the third seat in his row. He usually spent this hour riding a line of tension to make sure he didn’t get called on. This was a junior-level class, but luckily he sat next to that advanced sophomore chick who raised her hand for just about every question. Gabriel pulled his notebook out of his backpack, but he’d snapped his only pencil in English.

  Not like it mattered. What was he going to do, doodle?

  Taylor Morrissey, another senior stuck in here, sat on the desk in front of him, her feet on the chair. Blond hair swung over her shoulder and perfectly accented her chest. Her skirt was so short it flared around her on the desk and put Gabriel at eye level with just about everything.

  He knew she’d be giving the same show to any guy around, but it was tough to look up from that. “Hey, Taylor.”

  “You going out for basketball this week?”

  “Don’t I always?” Sports were his one saving grace, the only reason he bothered to keep his grades up. Being active took the edge off, let him run down energy that looked for things to burn in other ways.

  Taylor leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees and giving him a clear view down her shirt, too. “Me and the other girls are going to think up something special for the seniors this year.” She looked at him from under her lashes. “Any ideas?”

  Usually, he could do this banter stuff all day. But he was already exhausted from plotting to destroy Becca’s father, and he didn’t feel like playing. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  She frowned a little, then flipped her hair. “Heather’s parents are going away this weekend, and we’re thinking of having a little party after the tryouts. They’ve got that hot tub, and it’s just getting cold enough to use the fire pit. . . .”

  Fire. The thought was more alluring than anything she was showing off. “Count me in,” he said.

  Now she smiled, but it looked a little feral, the way a cat might smile at a trapped mouse. “Maybe you could—” She broke off and glanced sideways, her voice sharpening to a point. “Do you mind?”

  Gabriel glanced right. That sophomore jerked her eyes back to her paper, her cheeks flushed. “Sorry.”

  “Ohmigod,” Taylor whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. “She was totally staring at me. What a freaking lesbo.”

  Sharp heels clicked into the classroom, a tall woman in a business suit bustling through the door to drop a briefcase on the desk. Dark hair was pulled into an honest-to-god bun, and it wasn’t doing her face any favors.

  “Sorry, class,” she said. “I’m Ms. Anderson, and I’ll be filling in for Mr. Riley. This school is a maze—” Her eyes fell on Taylor, who was practically straddling the desk. “Maybe we could all take our seats?”

  Taylor heaved a sigh and climbed off the desk, making a show of sliding into her chair.

  Gabriel slouched in his own. At least they’d watch a movie or get a free period or something.

  “Since Mr. Riley’s mother is ill,” Ms. Anderson said, “this might be a long-term solution, so if you’re looking forward to a free period . . .”

  Now Gabriel heaved a sigh.

  “I think we’ll start with a pop quiz,” said Ms. Anderson. “So I can get a feel for where you all are—”

  Gabriel froze.

  “We just had a test last week,” whined Andy Cunningham, rocking back in his chair.

  They had. Gabriel hadn’t taken it. He’d traded places with Nick.

  “Ms. Anderson?” Taylor raised her hand, her voice dripping with sugar. “I know you’re new here and all, but Mr. Riley doesn’t give pop quizzes.”

  “That may be the case, but it’s a nice way for me to see where you all stand. These quizzes won’t go against you,” she said. “It’s just for my purposes, so I can see what your strengths are.”

  Gabriel wiped his palms on his jeans.

  He should go to the bathroom and not come back.

  Yeah, that would be subtle.

  Ms. Anderson stood at the front of each row and started passing out sheets of Xeroxed paper. Two pages, double sided.

  Gabriel took a deep breath. He could do this.

  He didn’t even have a pencil. He shoved his hand into his backpack. Gum. Car keys. A yellow highlighter. His spare lighter—he was tempted to take that to the quiz sitting on his desk.

  He glanced up at the sophomore. He’d been sitting next to her for six weeks and had no idea what her name was. She didn’t help things by remaining completely nondescript. Mouse brown hair in a loose braid down her back, simple gray turtleneck, and no-brand jeans. Her features were soft and young and makeup-free behind a pair of glasses.

  “Hey, Brainiac,” he said. “Can you hook me up with a pencil?”

  She didn’t look up.

  “Hey,” he said again.

  Were her cheeks turning pink? Whatever, she didn’t look up.

  His irritation flared. “Hey,” he said. “Got a pencil, Four-Eyes? What are you, deaf?”

  Her head snapped around. “No. And my name isn’t ‘Four-Eyes’ or ‘Brainiac.’ ” But she flipped her pencil at him, then bent to get another one from her backpack.

  He rolled his eyes and looked at the paper.

  Question 1. Change 5π/12 radians to degrees.

  He had to wipe his hands on his jeans again. He’d go back to that one.

  Question 2. Given that sin x = ¼ and x is in Quadrant II, find the exact values of sin2x and cos2x.

  WTF. He looked at this every day, and it was still like reading Chinese.

  He heard something snap.

  His pencil. He’d broken another one in half.

  Brainiac whipped her head around. What was her problem?

  He glared back at his paper. The sub had said it didn’t count. But he couldn’t exactly hand in a blank test.

  He had no idea what they’d do if he failed. What if they asked him to take another one? If they figured out Nick was taking his tests for him, they’d kick him off every team for sure.

  They’d tell Michael.

  Snap.

  Now he had a quarter of a pencil. Other students were looking at him.

  Gabriel took a deep breath. He could do this.

  He could do this.

  He could.

  He put the pencil nub against the paper and tried to work through each problem.

  It was the longest thirty minutes of his life. He didn’t even get to the last three.

  “Okay, I think that’s enough time,” said Ms. Anderson.

  Thank god. He didn’t feel this worn out after long runs around the soccer field.

  “Now exchange papers with the person beside you for grading.”

  He snapped his head up.

  The sophomore was already holding out her paper, not even looking at him. He took it but didn’t relinquish his own. The tests sat side by side, one neat and perfectly ordered, one a complete fucking mess.

  Brainiac sighed and reached out to grab his test, snatching it back to her desk.

  Gabriel chewed on the end of the pencil nub. It hurt his lip. He could pick a fight. Get sent to the office. Alan Hulster sat to his left, and that guy was a tool. Gabriel wouldn’t even mind laying into him.

  “Hey.”

  He glanced to his right. That sophomore was staring at him, her brow furrowed. She licked her lips. “These are all wrong,” she whispered.

  Like he needed her to tell him that. He looked back at her test. Ms. Anderson was reading off the answers, one by one, and of course Brainiac had gotten every one right.

  Her name was written in perfect script at the top. Layne Forrest.

  Why the hell couldn’t he remember a name like Layne Forrest?

  He should punch Hulster now, before papers were handed forward.

  “Hey,” Layne whispered again.

  He
glanced over. “What?”

  She flinched a little, then whispered, “You got a ninety-two on the test last week. I saw.”

  Of course he had. He would have gotten a perfect score, but Nick usually answered some wrong on purpose.

  He glared at her, hoping it would make her back down. “Yeah? And?”

  It worked. She recoiled and looked back at his paper.

  But then he saw her slowly turn her pencil around and start erasing.

  She did it subtly, artfully, so her pencil was barely moving, and her eyes were intent on the front of the room.

  And then she was writing.

  What was she doing?

  He couldn’t figure it out. Then Ms. Anderson was calling for the papers to be passed forward and telling them to use the rest of the time as a free period while she reviewed them.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  Layne didn’t turn her head, just pulled a slim paperback out of her book bag and started reading.

  He flicked a broken piece of pencil her way. It hit her on the arm.

  She sighed and looked over. “Seriously?”

  “What did you do?”

  Her cheeks turned pink again. She looked back at the book. Her voice was so small he almost didn’t hear her.

  “You got an eighty.”

  She’d fixed his test?

  Gabriel couldn’t decide whether he was furious or giddy with relief. “Why?” he snapped. “Why would you do that?”

  The substitute cleared her throat near the front of the room. “Is there a problem?”

  “No.” Damn, his voice was breaking. He coughed. “Sorry.”

  When the bell rang, Layne bolted.

  Gabriel wasn’t on four sports teams for nothing. He blocked her in the hall, cornering her against the lockers. She was a tiny thing, at least ten inches shorter than he was.

  “Why did you do that?” he said.

  She looked up at him, her binder clutched protectively against her chest. Her voice was still soft, quiet, somehow carrying over the students in the between-class rush. “Your brother took your test for you, didn’t he?”

  Gabriel felt hot, flushed, even though it was the truth. For some reason it was humiliating to have her figure it out.

  He put a hand against the locker beside her head and leaned in. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

  She swallowed. “You bully everyone who helps you?”

  He snatched his hand away. Was that what he looked like?

  “Hey, man.” A voice spoke at his shoulder. “You all right?”

  Gabriel jerked back. He’d been so close to her.

  Hunter stood there, a navy backpack slung over his shoulder. That white streak interrupted his sandy blond hair and hung across one eye, leaving the other wide and full of scrutiny.

  Hunter’s father had been a Guide, too, until he’d been killed by a rock slide. Hunter had come to town to kill the Merricks, in retaliation. He’d thought they were responsible for his father’s death—until Becca had convinced him otherwise. For the last few days, they’d shared a kind of awkward truce.

  “Yeah,” said Gabriel. “I’m all right.”

  Hunter glanced at Layne. “Are you all—”

  “Fine,” she said. Then she turned and dashed into the crowd of students.

  Hunter stared after her. “What just happened?”

  Gabriel didn’t hate this dude the way Chris did, but some sense of brotherly loyalty insisted he feel irritation at his presence. “None of your business, Mom.” He started walking.

  Hunter followed him. “All right, then what happened in second period?”

  “I slept through English. You?”

  “I don’t think that was sleeping.” Hunter gave a pointed look up, at the lights embedded in the ceiling.

  Gabriel sighed and kept walking. Could everyone see through him today?

  “You know I’m a Fifth,” Hunter pressed. “I can sense all the elements. The others might not have noticed, but I did.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Does this have something to do with why Becca wants to meet at lunch?”

  Gabriel stopped. “She talked to you?”

  “She dropped a note on my desk in History. What’s going on?”

  “We have a dinner date.”

  “We do?”

  “Yeah.” Gabriel started walking again. “And you might want to bring your gun.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Layne sat on her bedspread and watched her best friend paint her nails an unflattering shade of purple. Sunset had come and gone, and darkness cloaked her bedroom window.

  She couldn’t stop thinking of that quiz, the way she’d changed Gabriel Merrick’s answers.

  God, she could have been caught. What had she been thinking?

  As if her life weren’t already held together by a fraying thread.

  “Your hands look like they belong on a corpse,” she said.

  Kara frowned and waved her hand in the air. “I like it. Are you sure your mom won’t care that I’m using it?”

  Layne shrugged and looked out the window. Her dad would be home soon, so she should start dinner before too long. Otherwise, her little brother would be raiding the kitchen for Pop-Tarts and potato chips.

  “She won’t even know,” she said.

  “You know, this is like, the good stuff. They don’t even carry this at the salon where my mom goes. It’s probably twenty bucks a bottle.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Kara rolled her eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t. I can’t believe you’re related to that woman.”

  Layne picked at her own nails, which were short and unpolished. Sometim-es she couldn’t believe it, either. Her mom lived in labels, the kind splashed all over fashion magazines. More than once, Layne had seen her with the same bag some celebrity was carrying on the cover of Us Weekly.

  Layne couldn’t tell the difference between Gucci and Juicy Couture.

  Kara thought this was sacrilege. When they’d first become friends freshman year, Kara would beg to rifle through Layne’s mom’s closet. Layne would sit on the end of her parents’ bed and tolerate it, because a friend was a friend. But Layne finally got Kara to knock it off by saying her mom had found out and was pissed.

  A complete lie, of course, but there was only so much staring at fabric that she could tolerate.

  Kara wasn’t as smart as Layne, either—the only classes they shared were gym and lunch—but she was someone to talk to who didn’t call her a lesbian or get in her face about changing test scores.

  Spending half her classes with students two years ahead didn’t leave Layne with a whole lot of friendship options.

  Since the first day of school, she’d wondered what it would be like to have a guy like Gabriel Merrick talk to her. She’d noticed him right off—honestly, what girl wouldn’t?—and when Kara told her he had a twin, she’d wondered how fate could create two guys to look like that.

  She’d lucked out with that assignment to sit next to him in trig—or so she’d thought. He sat behind Taylor Morrissey, who seemed to make it her life’s goal to humiliate Layne every time she saw her. But it also gave Layne a chance to watch Gabriel check Taylor out.

  Every. Frigging. Day.

  Really, she couldn’t blame him. Some days, Taylor could have worn a bathing suit to school and covered more skin. Layne could barely keep from staring herself.

  And it wasn’t like Gabriel’s eyes ever drifted right. Even today, when he’d been looking for a pencil. She hadn’t realized he was actually talking to her until his tone had dissolved into spite.

  What are you, deaf?

  God, she’d wanted to hit him.

  She should have.

  Then she’d gotten a look at his test. How could someone get every question wrong?

  For an instant, she’d felt strangely validated. He’d been a jerk, and he was going to fail that quiz.

  Then she’d remembered the A on his test last week.
/>   And she’d put two and two together.

  She was tempted to pass him off as just some stupid jock. But his pencil had snapped, twice. He’d been angry. No, frustrated.

  No, embarrassed. You had to care to be embarrassed, right?

  After looking at Gabriel’s quiz, where he’d clearly tried to work through each problem, she’d felt a flash of pity.

  So she’d started fixing.

  “You should take an interest in your mom’s stuff more,” said Kara. “She’s going to disown you.”

  “Too late,” said Layne.

  Kara glanced up. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Layne rolled her eyes. “You want to stay for dinner?”

  “One day you’re going to wake up and realize you missed your prime years, you know.”

  “My prime years?”

  Kara waved a gothic nail her way. “This little ensemble isn’t making the boys drool, you know.”

  “I can’t exactly flit around in a camisole and low riders.” Layne gave a pointed look at Kara, who was wearing a hot-pink camisole and jeans that sat so low they were making Layne blush.

  “Oh, for god’s sake, why not? Jesus, Layne, save the turtlenecks for your eighties. Come on, I bet your mom has something in her closet you could wear tomorrow.”

  Then Kara was through the bedroom door, and Layne was scrambling after her.

  She beat her friend to her parents’ bedroom door and held it shut. “Forget it, Kara.”

  “Layne, I’m doing you a favor, really. Someone needs to.”

  Layne tightened her grip on the door, feeling her heart start to slam against the inside of her rib cage. “I said, forget it.”

  “What is your problem?” Kara tried to wrench her hand off the doorknob. “It’s not like you’ve got leprosy or something. Show that body off!” She grabbed the hem of Layne’s shirt and started to yank.

  “Stop!” Layne screeched. The word came out like an assault.

  Kara backed off. “Jesus, Layne . . .”

  Then they heard the key in the front door and her father was calling out, “Laynie? I’m beat. What’s the status on dinner? Layne?”

  “Up here!” Her voice sounded strangled. “You’d better go,” she said to Kara.

  Kara tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Look, I’m just trying to be a friend. I didn’t realize you’d go ballistic. I mean, with that brother of yours, you need all the help you can get—”