Gabriel smiled.
Simon took the phone a third time.
I just want to play.
Gabriel lost the smile. He understood that.
“You’re good?” he said.
Simon clenched his teeth and nodded.
Gabriel slid the phone into his pocket and tossed the ball back at Simon. “Prove it.”
The kid was faster than Gabriel expected, light on his feet and agile. Fit, too—he was all over the court despite just finishing practice. His ball control sucked; Gabriel could tell he was used to getting by with speed. He missed half the shots he took.
At first Gabriel tried calling out pointers—but then he remembered again that Simon couldn’t hear him.
Yeah, he saw where the coach was coming from.
Finally, he caught the ball and held his hands in a T. He’d been playing in jeans and a hoodie, and his own hair felt damp.
“You need to slow it down, buddy.”
Simon was breathing hard. He nodded.
“He needs to remember the bus schedule,” said a voice from the bleachers. “We’ve already missed the late one.”
Gabriel turned. Simon didn’t. Layne sat there, a textbook open on the bench beside her, a notebook in her lap.
“How long have you been sitting there?” he said.
She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Like twenty minutes.”
God, he was baking in this sweatshirt. He swiped a hand across his forehead. “Why didn’t you say something?”
She glanced away, tucking a loose piece of hair back into her braid. “Because Simon never gets to play.”
“So you missed the—hey!”
Simon had smacked the ball out from under his arm and was tearing off across the court.
Layne laughed, but then she caught herself and sobered.
They stared at each other across twenty feet of gym floor. Gabriel pushed the hair back from his face. “You need to go?”
She clicked her pen. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”
Gabriel wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. He couldn’t figure out her tone. It certainly wasn’t friendly.
The ball hit him in the arm. Simon was back, dribbling beside him.
His expression said, We playing or what?
“Go,” said Layne. “Play.”
It sounded like a challenge.
Gabriel grabbed the edge of his sweatshirt and dragged it over his head. Half his T-shirt came with it, but he yanked it down.
When he flung the hoodie onto the bench, Layne was staring at her textbook, the edge of her lip between her teeth.
Her cheeks were bright pink.
Interesting.
Then Simon was throwing him a pass, and the ball was in play.
Gabriel had never been so aware of an audience before. He played harder, feeling her watching him. But when he looked up, her head was always bent over her notebook, her pen moving along the paper.
Oof. The ball hit him in the stomach, hard. Gabriel caught it automatically and glared at Simon. “Dude, what the hell?”
Simon grinned. He pointed at him, then Layne, then signed something.
Layne shot off the bench. “Simon!” She came across the court and smacked him in the arm.
“What did you say?” said Gabriel.
Simon was just laughing silently.
Gabriel glanced at Layne. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.” Her cheeks were red for sure. She grabbed Simon’s arm and tugged, then signed as she walked. “Come on. We’ll call Dad to pick us up on his way home.”
“I can give you a ride,” said Gabriel.
“Don’t be silly. He won’t be more than an hour or so.”
An hour? “That’s stupid. And your brother seriously needs a shower. Let me give you a ride home.”
Simon nodded emphatically, and then signed something.
Layne gave a huge sigh and turned for the bleachers. “Fine. Whatever.”
While she was packing her things, Gabriel grabbed Simon’s arm and turned to face him. “What did you say?”
Simon grinned and gestured for his phone.
I said you’d play a lot better if you weren’t staring at my sister.
Gabriel fiddled with the dials when they pulled onto the main road, trying to get some heat going. Layne was curled into the front seat, her backpack on the floor. Her eyes were locked forward, her hands in her lap. Lights from oncoming cars flickered off her glasses.
“You warm enough?” Gabriel said, just to break the silence.
“I’m fine.” Her voice seemed very small in the confines of the car.
“You’ll have to give directions.”
She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. “We live in Compass Pointe. You know where that is?”
“Yeah.” Compass Pointe was the rich neighborhood at the north end of town, the kind with eight-bedroom houses and servant quarters over the garage—though he didn’t know any that actually had servants. Michael did the landscaping for three houses out there, and they were three of his highest-paying customers.
“Shouldn’t you be in a private school or something?” he asked.
“My father says he got by on a public education, and that should be good enough for anybody.” She paused. “He’s a defense attorney. A good one.”
“I’m surprised you’re not driving a BMW to school.”
She bristled. “First of all, my parents have the money, not me, and second of all, I don’t have a license yet. I didn’t think you’d be the kind of guy to get all weird about where I live—”
“Whoa!” God, it was like he couldn’t avoid colliding with the chip on her shoulder. “I’m just saying. Heather Castelline lives out here and no one can get her to shut up about crap like how much her manicure costs.”
Layne made a face. Her arms were folded across her chest now. “I’m not Heather Castelline.”
Gabriel snorted. “Obviously.”
Layne didn’t say anything, just turned her head and looked out the window. Her sudden silence smacked him across the face as effectively as a hand would have.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t figure her out at all.
And it was making him crazy.
Then he noticed the little sniffing sounds, the way her fingers had a death grip on her biceps.
“Layne?” He glanced over. “Are you crying?” Simon was silent, oblivious in the backseat.
She didn’t turn her head. “Forget it.”
What had he said? He wished he could pull the car over, but they were in the middle of three lanes of traffic on Ritchie Highway. He didn’t even know how to play this. “I don’t . . . what’s—”
“I don’t know why you have to be so mean all the time,” she said, turning her head just far enough that he could see there were definitely tears on her cheeks. “Do you have any idea what it feels like, the way you treat people?”
“What the hell did I say?” he demanded.
She sniffed. “Obviously.”
Jesus, this was so infuriating. “Obviously what?”
“You said obviously. Obviously I’m not Heather Castelline. Well, you know what? Not everyone is a hot blond cheerleader, Gabriel Merrick. I’m sure in your world, every girl should have a perfect rack and great legs and flaunt them for your benefit, but we aren’t all such paragons of perfection.”
Wow.
Gabriel stared out the windshield at the traffic. The ridges in the steering wheel were biting into his palms. “I guess you told me.”
This was worse than fighting with Michael. At least he could haul off and hit his brother and tell him he was being an asshole.