Spark

by Brigid Kemmerer

  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 ste
pped 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.

  CHAPTER 21

  Layne flipped through an old yearbook in the library, trying to tune out Kara’s whining.

  “I just don’t understand why you’re wasting so much time on one stupid project. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I brought my lunch.” A lie. But her stomach was in knots from the drama with Gabriel, and food seemed like a bad idea. “If you’re so hungry, go hang out in the cafeteria.”

  “And leave you by yourself? God, Layne, do you know how that would look?”

  Layne rolled her eyes, hoping yet not hoping that Kara wouldn’t see it. “Thanks for your concern.”

  “Layne! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  The bright voice had Layne jerking her head up.

  There stood Taylor Morrissey and Heather Castelline. Glossy hair, glossy lips, formfitting clothes. Paragons of perfection.

  Layne wondered if she should be running—but they were on the cheer squad and could probably catch her. Would they beat the crap out of her right here in the library?

  Kara’s mouth was hanging open.

  “Hi?” Layne offered.

  Taylor was smiling at her. “We were wondering if you were coming tonight. See, everyone is bringing something, and we’re trying to plan.”

  “Coming where?” said Layne.

  Heather giggled. “The party, silly.”

  Kara punched her leg under the table.

  Layne folded her arms across her chest. “The party. You want me to come to your party.”

  “Well, Gabriel said you guys are friends, and it’s so obvious he’s got a thing for you, so—”

  Kara punched her leg again. Layne was ready to hit her back.

  She narrowed her eyes at Taylor. “Funny. In class you said I was a . . . wait, let me get this straight . . . a butchy dykey—”

  “Please,” said Heather, rolling her eyes. “We call each other that all the time. Taylor’s a total whore.”

  Taylor flipped her hair. “Totally. So are you coming or what?”

  Layne stared at her.

  “Yes,” said Kara. “Yes, we’re coming.”

  Layne studied them. “I don’t buy it.”

  She blocked her leg before Kara could punch her again.

  “Look.” Taylor pulled out the chair and dropped into it. “I know we’re not always nice. But that’s how we have to be, or we’d be surrounded by
losers.” She shrugged. “If Gabriel Merrick says you’re in, you’re in.”

  “Come a little early,” said Heather. She stepped around the table and picked up the end of Layne’s braid. “We’ll do your hair. I bet you have awesome hair.”

  Layne couldn’t move.

  “She does,” said Kara. “It’s, like, all the way to her waist.”

  “If you don’t want to come,” Taylor said, “I totally get it. I mean, Gabriel wasn’t going to come until I told him we’d be inviting you . . .”

  Layne tried to imagine it, Taylor confronting him in the hallway, Gabriel brushing her off until hearing Layne would be there.

  No way.

  Then she thought of those two notes on her desk.

  Maybe?

  “Here’s my address.” Heather slid a piece of paper across the table. “Come at seven. Everyone else will show up around eight.”

  Layne glanced down at the paper—not like she needed to. It figured that Heather wouldn’t even remember that Layne lived right down the street. But it meant she wouldn’t be trapped at the party. If the girls started acting bitchy, she could walk home.

  “Okay,” she said, hating that part of her was a little eager. She hated these girls. Hated them.

  But sometimes she desperately wished she were more like them.

  Especially lately.

  “I’ll come,” she said. “Seven?”

  “We’ll come,” said Kara.

  “Great,” said Taylor. “Bring something sweet, ’kay?”

  Layne ticked down the minutes until her father would walk in the door. Another late night, as usual. She’d called to tell him that she and Kara were going to a friend’s house down the street, and he’d promised to be home before they left.

  She and Kara had baked chocolate chip cookies, and they sat on a plate, covered in saran wrap. Kara was actually being nice for a change, and for the first time, Layne wondered if this was what a friendship was supposed to feel like: laughter and teasing and baking cookies.