Spark

by Brigid Kemmerer

  Gabriel put his pen against the whiteboard. Christ, his hand was shaking.

  The lights in the classroom flickered, the fluorescent bulbs buzzing with power.

  Get it together. He took a deep breath.

  “Maybe you should start with something easier,” called Hulster, fed by Gabriel’s obvious hesitation. “Maybe line up some cheerleaders and he can count them—”

  “Shut up.” Another flicker.

  Hulster laughed. “Look, man, I can’t help it if you’re too stupid to—”

  Half the lights in the classroom exploded.

  Mayhem. Girls screamed and students bolted for the doors. Ms. Anderson was trying to assume some kind of control.

  Gabriel felt the power in the air, the way the electricity wanted to arc onto paper, to clothing, to find something consumable and burn. He stood there in front of the board, the stupid marker clenched in his fist, trying to keep the electricity right where it was supposed to be.

  The end-of-class bell rang, flooding the hallways with people. Ms. Anderson raced after students who’d already made it out of the classroom.

  If anyone was hurt, it was his fault.

  “Are you all right?”

  His eyes flicked open. He didn’t even remember closing them.

  Layne stood there in front of him, her backpack hanging loose over one shoulder. They were the only people left in the darkened classroom.

  Gabriel swallowed. “No.”

  She frowned. “Do you need me to get the nurse—”

  He shook his head quickly. “No . . . yeah . . . I’m fine.” He paused. “Why do you keep trying to help me?”

  “Because you look like you need it.”

  He studied her, the dark-framed glasses, the length of braid that fell down along one shoulder. He’d dismissed her as being nondescript, but she really wasn’t. Her hair shined in the braid, and her eyes were bright and intelligent. No freckles, just soft, clear skin. Being smart wasn’t always easy, not in high school, anyway. Maybe she dressed this way on purpose, to avoid attention. It made him think of that note Taylor had tossed onto his desk, the comments from that dickhead Hulster. Everyone was so quick to pounce on weakness.

  “Hold still,” he said, reaching out. “You have glass in your hair.”

  He could swear she stopped breathing. He picked two pieces free and then had to use both hands to work loose a third that had gotten trapped.

  “I could help you,” she said.

  “Nah,” he said. “I think this is the last piece.” He picked at a shard caught by her ear.

  “No, I meant . . .” Her voice almost squeaked. “I meant with the trig stuff.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “Nick—my brother—he’s tried. It’s a waste of time.”

  “So you’re just going to keep switching?” She frowned up at him. “Ms. Anderson isn’t an idiot like Riley. I think she’ll catch on.”

  “No one has caught on for four years,” he said, brushing past her to get his backpack. His feet crunched on broken glass. “I’m a senior. People like to look the other way. “

  “I’d still like to try. Maybe at lunch—”

  “We don’t have lunch at the same time.”

  “Oh,” she said, thrown. Then she seemed to realize he was brushing her off. “Okay. Sorry. Forget it.” She turned away.

  Gabriel sighed. “Wait.”

  His free period was right after lunch. It was supposed to be for study hall, but they weren’t required to study. Most kids went to the library or the computer center; he usually went to the weight room.

  Why was he even considering this?

  Because he hated hearing Hulster heckle him.

  Even more, he hated that Hulster was right.

  “I do have a free period,” he said. “Fifth period. Your lunch hour, right?”

  Layne looked up at him. “Meet you in the library?”

  He hefted his backpack onto his shoulder. “Can’t wait.”

  Gabriel broke off half a protein bar inside his backpack. They weren’t allowed to eat in here, but he was bored and Layne hadn’t shown up yet.

  Some kids at the next table glared at him, and he glared back.

  He checked the time on his phone. Her lunch period had started ten minutes ago.

  Maybe she was grabbing a quick bite to eat.

  He fidgeted and ate the second half of his protein bar.

  Now she was fifteen minutes late. The period was only forty-five minutes long.

  Gabriel slammed his trig book back into his backpack. He was being stood up for a study date? To study something he hated?

  Maybe this had been a joke. Like Hulster’s heckling, only meaner.

  He imagined Taylor’s voice. OMG, you really thought I would help an idiot like you?

  But Layne wasn’t anything like Taylor. She wouldn’t do that.

  Would she?

  He should have gone to the gym.

  He still had time. He even had to walk down the freshman/ sophomore wing to get there, so if he passed Layne in the hall, he could brush her off and make it seem like he was the one ditching her.

  The halls in this half of the school were empty. He could hear some sort of squeaking or scuffling up around the next corner, and he hoped two kids weren’t trying to get it on right in the middle of the hallway.

  No, but he found Layne. And three boys. Half her hair had come loose from the braid, and her face was red and tear streaked. The shortest of the boys stood by her side, also red-faced, but with fury, not tears.

  The other two kids had their backpacks and they were dumping the contents in the middle of the aisle. Binders split open and papers went everywhere.

  One laughed. Red hair, freckles, face and hands still soft. “Oops,” he said. “Hate when that happens.”

  The boy beside Layne rushed forward to shove him, saying something unintelligible.

  The other kid grabbed him by the shoulder and flung him away, sending him to the ground to skid on the papers. Some tore.

  They hadn’t even noticed Gabriel yet.

  “Knock it off!” cried Layne. “I’m going to get—”

  “You’re going to shut up,” said the other kid. “We’re sick of you and that retard.”

  Then he shoved her to the ground.

  Gabriel didn’t even remember moving. He just had the kid by the front of the shirt and he’d slammed him up against the lockers. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The boy wilted. His mouth worked for a moment, no sound coming out.

  Gabriel slammed him again, a little harder, a little rougher. “Talk.”

  He didn’t, just hung there shaking.

  The other bully bolted down the hallway. Didn’t matter—Gabriel would find him later.

  He looked back at the one he had pinned and clapped him on the side of the head. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make the kid flinch. “Want me to knock some sense into you?”

  The boy shook his head quickly. “No—we were just—we were—it’s—they’re—”

  “Shut it,” said Gabriel. “I catch you screwing with them again and you won’t be around to talk about it. Get it?”

  The kid nodded, his head bobbing hard.

  Gabriel let him go. He slipped and skidded and almost fell in the stream of papers, but he found his footing and bolted after his friend.

  Layne and the younger boy were staring after them. The boy had a grin on his face now. He poked Layne in the arm and made a bunch of complicated hand gestures, then pointed to Gabriel.

  Sign language.

  Now Gabriel understood the unintelligible scream of rage when things were being strewn about the hallway. He remembered the bully’s comment about someone being a retard.

  Layne sighed. “Thanks.” She bent to start sorting the papers.

  The boy poked her arm again, more aggressively this time. He had to be a younger brother—Gabriel could read that dynamic like a book. But the boy signed again, and then poi
nted at Gabriel.

  Layne rolled her eyes and didn’t look at him.

  “What’s he saying?” said Gabriel.

  “He said thanks,” said Layne.

  The boy punched her in the shoulder and said something emphatically. It took Gabriel a moment to work out the words.

  “Tell him, Layne.”

  Layne sighed again and looked up. Her voice was flat. “He said that was fucking awesome.”

  Gabriel grinned. “You can take them next time, buddy.”

  He’d spoken without thinking, but before he could glance at Layne to translate, the boy grinned back and held out a fist. Gabriel bumped it with his own.

  “This is my little brother,” said Layne. Her hands signed while she talked. “His name is Simon.”

  Gabriel bent and began helping them catch the loose papers. “Freshman?”

  “Yeah.” She paused, and then signed while she spoke. “It’s Simon’s first year at a real school.” She stopped signing and covered her mouth. “In case you couldn’t tell, it’s not going well.”

  Simon punched her in the shoulder again.

  Layne dropped her hand. “And he hates it when I don’t let him see what I’m saying.”

  Simon was signing again, so fast that Gabriel had no idea how anyone would be able to make sense of it.

  But Layne did. “He wants to know if you’re going out for basketball again this year. He just made the JV team. He made me take him to every basketball game last year, so he saw you play.”

  Everyone made JV, but Gabriel didn’t say that. “Yeah,” he said, “varsity tryouts are Friday.” He probably didn’t have to show up.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the library.” Layne gestured to the mess around them. “I was busy.”

  “It’s cool,” he said, feeling a flash of guilt that he’d assumed she was standing him up. “Let me know if those dicks mess with you again.”

  “Why?” she said, her voice flat again. “You gonna rumble under the bleachers?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. Forget it.” She shoved the last of her papers into her backpack. She tapped her brother on the arm, and then signed while speaking, “Come on, Simon.”

  Gabriel studied her, nonplussed. “You’re mad at me?”

  “Maybe if you thought with something other than your fists, you’d be passing math on your own.”

  Gabriel stared, having no idea what to say.

  And in that moment of silence, she picked up her backpack and rounded the corner, without once looking back.

  CHAPTER 6

  Gabriel took a third processed chicken patty from the pan on the stove and another scoop of macaroni and cheese, then joined his brothers at the table. Nick had cooked, which usually worked out best all around. Not that mac and cheese was haute cuisine, but their older brother’s cooking skills topped out at pressing buttons on the microwave. After their parents died, Michael had been all they had left, so they’d spent the latter half of middle school living entirely on frozen dinners.

  The table was quiet for a change. Michael was absently eating, his laptop open on the table in front of him. He made an effort to sit at the table with them, but he might as well have been sitting in the garage. Chris was glowering at his plate. Gabriel wondered what was up with that, but he couldn’t stop rolling Layne’s words around in his head.

  Maybe if you thought with something other than your fists, you’d be passing math.

  Nick jabbed him in the arm with his fork. “What’s up with you? Usually you don’t shut up about my crap cooking.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  Chris snorted, finally looking up from his plate. “That’ll be the day.”

  Gabriel kicked him under the table. “What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing’s up with me.”

  “Becca’s with Hunter,” said Nick.

  Chris rolled his eyes and stabbed a piece of chicken.

  Gabriel smiled. “Want to come out with me and Nicky and blow stuff up on the beach?”

  Michael’s hands went still and he looked up over the laptop. “You’d better be kidding.”

  He wasn’t, but Michael didn’t need to know that. “Don’t worry. Go back to your ‘work.’ ” Gabriel made little air quotes with his hands.

  “You’re supposed to be lying low,” said Michael. “Do you have any understanding of what that means?”

  Gabriel ignored him.

  “I’m talking to you,” said Michael.

  Gabriel’s fork clinked against his plate and he leaned in against the table. “Don’t start this shit with me, Michael.”

  Nick put a hand on his arm. “Stop. It’s fine.”

  Gabriel didn’t say anything, just glared across the table at his older brother.

  But Chris was staring across the table at Nick, his eyes telegraphing something Gabriel couldn’t figure out.

  He drew back. “What? What’s with the look?”

  Nick pulled his hand back. “Chris is going out with Becca later.”

  “I’ll alert the media. So what?”

  “So . . .” Nick pushed the macaroni around on his plate. “Quinn was giving her a hard time about leaving her sitting at home, and I made some comment that we should make it a double date, and she said yes.”

  “You like her?”

  “Maybe.” Nick shrugged and looked at his plate, pushing the macaroni noodles with his fork. “It’s something to do.”

  The only time Nick hedged like this was when he really liked a girl. Gabriel smiled. “Don’t you mean someone?”

  Now Nick snapped his eyes up. “It’s not like that.”

  Oh, this was fantastic. “You know she had her tongue down Rafe Gutierrez’s throat, like, three days ago.”

  “I said it’s not like that.” The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

  Michael was looking over the top of the laptop again. “Easy.”

  Nick’s eyes were like ice. “Maybe we should talk about what happened in third period today. I didn’t even ask if you were okay.”

  What a bastard. “Shut up.”

  “What happened?” said Michael.

  “Nothing,” said Chris. He glared at Nick across the table.

  Good little brother. “Yeah,” said Gabriel. “Nothing.”

  “It was all over school,” said Nick. “Lights exploded for no reason at all. They’re getting experts in to check all the wiring.”

  Michael slapped the laptop shut. “What?”

  Gabriel wanted to knock his twin upside the head—his hand was already tight at his side. But he kept hearing Layne’s parting comment, and he kept his hands to himself.

  He sighed and looked back at his plate. “It was an accident.”

  “An accident.” Michael looked like he was going to have an aneurysm, right here at the table. “Are. You. Crazy.”

  “Yeah, Michael, I’m crazy.” Gabriel shoved away from the table. He couldn’t help it: He smacked Nick on the back of the head. “And you’re an asshole.”

  Gabriel flung his plate into the sink and stormed through the back door.

  Michael caught up to him before he made it off the porch. “Wait a minute. Tell me what happened.”

  “Forget it. Go back to work. I’m going for a walk.”

  “Please tell me you’re not really having a tantrum because Nick decided to do something without you.”

  Oh, for god’s sake.

  Wait. Was he?

  “Jesus, Michael, we’re almost eighteen years old. Nick does stuff without me all day.”

  Like asking out girls without even mentioning that he liked them.

  Michael didn’t say anything, so Gabriel stepped off the porch into the twilit darkness of the yard.

  He almost made it to the tree line before Michael called after him, “Let me grab my jacket. I’ll walk with you.”

  Gabriel hesitated, a bare pause at the edge of the woods. “Whatever. Don’t
play the brother card now.” Then he stepped into the crunching leaves.

  He half expected Michael to follow him anyway, but a moment later, Gabriel heard the back door close. He was alone, surrounded by chilled air and the cloak of night.

  And it was cold. He probably should have grabbed a jacket himself. But that would have ruined the effect of a perfectly good storming out.

  A tantrum. It made him think of Layne’s comment. Again.

  He wondered what she looked like with her hair out of that silly braid.

  The leaves were loud beneath his feet. Early stars flashed between the nearly bare trees overhead. Next week, his evenings would be crammed with practice and games, but for now, his time belonged to him alone.

  Michael would have loved this, walking in his element, nothing between him and the ground. He probably would have walked barefoot. Even Nick would like the crispness in the air. Chris would want to walk down to the water, but that was one element that carried no draw for Gabriel, so he stayed deep in the trees.

  No fire for him.

  He picked up a leaf and spun it by the stem. “Burn,” he said.

  It didn’t.

  God, he hated this. He was confined to blowing out lightbulbs and praying he didn’t accidentally kill anyone. Even with that, he was so powerless he couldn’t draw on his element without help.

  The leaf broke off at the stem and fell, so Gabriel scooped up another one. “Burn.”

  Nothing.

  Why hadn’t Nick said anything about Quinn? It’s not like Nick had never dated anyone before. Hell, they usually double-dated together. He could go out with Chris. Gabriel didn’t give a crap.

  Much.

  Another leaf. Nothing.

  Gabriel crushed it and picked up another. “Damn it!” he snapped. “Burn!”

  It didn’t.

  But the hundreds of leaves surrounding him did.

  Layne spooned mashed potatoes onto her father’s plate, careful to avoid the edge of the Wall Street Journal he was reading. While she had the spoon in her hand, she dumped some on Simon’s plate, too.

  I don’t want any more, he signed.

  Eat, she signed back.

  He glared at her, scooped up as much as he could on his fork, and flung it back into the bowl.