Читать книгу Spark - Brigid Kemmerer - Страница 12

CHAPTER 5

Math class.

Hell.

Ms. Anderson was ten times more annoying than old Riley. If Gabriel had to put up with her asking students to come up to the whiteboard and struggle through problems in front of the class, at least she should have legs to write home about.

He worried about getting called, but she seemed to be going in alphabetical order and the class was almost over. Merrick was safely stationed in the second half of the alphabet.

He glanced to his right. Layne looked equally bored. Then again, she could probably do these equations in her head.

And what was with her and the old turtlenecks?

Gabriel watched her a moment too long, hoping she’d feel the weight of his eyes and turn her head. But she didn’t, and he finally felt like a freak and turned back to the front of the class with a sigh.

Taylor Morrissey turned around in her seat and flicked a piece of paper his way.

He caught it and unfolded it under his notebook.

Pink gel pen, scripty letters.

Why are you staring at lesbo?

Because Layne had helped him. Because he was intrigued. Because he’d learned when his parents died that it wasn’t human nature to help, not really. It was human nature to seek out vulnerability and squash it.

That’s why he didn’t buy this bullshit with the Guide.

Taylor glanced over her shoulder, hair and lip gloss equally shiny.

Gabriel gave her a confused look and shrugged, like he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Gabriel Merrick.”

Oh, shit.

He snapped his eyes forward, surprised at how fast his palms went damp. “What?”

Ms. Anderson gestured to the board. “Do you care to tackle the next problem?”

He gave her half a smile. “Not really, no.”

Three girls near him giggled. Ms. Anderson didn’t even crack a smile. “Humor me.”

He stared at the board. There was a triangle there, numbers written along two of the three sides, another number tucked into one of the angles.

“Solve for the missing side,” said Ms. Anderson. “We’ve been doing this the whole period.”

That didn’t mean he’d been listening for the whole period.

“Just look at the previous one,” Layne hissed under her breath. “It’s the exact same formula.”

He glanced at the problem to the left. Jake Bryerly had found the answer. A completely different triangle, with lengthy equations laid out in rows beneath it.

He’d never be able to do this.

“Mr. Merrick?”

Gabriel slid from behind his desk and approached the board.

He wished he had his lighter.

Instead, he picked up a dry-erase marker and stared at the triangle. He’d never known a simple shape could be so intimidating.

Alan Hulster snorted from the middle of the classroom. “I think reading a scoreboard is about the most advanced math Merrick is capable of.”

Half the class laughed. Gabriel looked back at him. “Keep it up and you’ll find out what else I’m capable of.”

Now the class did that ooooh sound that predicated a fight or a trip to the principal’s office. Hulster laughed again, but it sounded a little strangled. He didn’t hold Gabriel’s eyes. “Whatever, man.”

“That’s enough.” Ms. Anderson gestured back to the board, her expression patient. “Go ahead.”

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 pointed 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.