Stacey recovered and stepped up beside his friend. His hands were balled at his sides. “This isn’t your business.”
Gabriel shoved him again. “I’m making it my business.”
Stacey shoved back—and he wasn’t like those freshmen from the other day. He carried some solid mass, and he drove Gabriel back a step.
Another one shifted forward, a dark-haired thug who looked like he needed to spend more time in the gym and less at Taco Bell. He shoved Gabriel in the chest, too. “Get the hell out of here.”
“Open it,” said Gabriel. Electricity sizzled in the lights overhead, ready to ignite with his temper.
Stacey snorted. “What if we don’t want to?”
“I’ll make you want to.”
Another one stepped up beside them. “You and what army?”
“This one.”
A new voice. Gabriel turned his head. So did the jerks surrounding him.
Chris stood there at the edge of the line of lockers, a backpack slung over one shoulder, his arms folded across his chest.
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.