Читать книгу Spark - Brigid Kemmerer - Страница 13

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.

You’re. Not. Mom, he signed emphatically.

“How was school?” said her father, oblivious, his eyes on his paper.

“Fine,” she said. “We have a new math teacher. She’s better than the old guy.”

“And how’s Simon doing?”

Layne glanced at her brother. He wants to know how you’re doing.

I know. I can read his lips. Simon jabbed his fork into his chicken, making a loud clink when it connected with the plate. He can ask me himself.

Do you want me to tell him about what happened in the hallway?

NO.

Their father glanced up from the paper. “What’s going on?”

“Simon just made the JV basketball team,” she said smoothly, used to covering for her brother’s hostile signing. Their father knew enough ASL to get by, but he’d never put the time in that Layne and her mother had. Most of what Simon said went right over his head.

Something that irritated Simon to no end.

Her brother could talk, though. He just refused to do it, since the first day of high school when half the freshman class had decided his affected speech meant Simon was a retard. She’d just about fallen over when he’d spoken in front of Gabriel Merrick.

Especially since their father had tried no shortage of threats to get Simon to speak at home.

“Basketball?” said their father. “Is that possible?”

Simon flung his fork against the plate and shoved away from the table.

“Get back here,” their father snapped. The paper dropped to the table. They had his full attention now—but Simon’s back was turned, and he was already going through the doorway.

“He played all through middle school,” she whispered—unnecessarily, since Simon couldn’t hear her.

“That was different,” said her father.

She thought of those bullies in the hallway and agreed with him.

Though she’d never say that to Simon, of course.

“How’s the chicken?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” said her father, spearing another piece before picking up the newspaper again.

She’d burned two pieces before figuring out the timing, but she’d made sure to give her father one of the good ones.

She’d already failed one parent.

She couldn’t afford to let it happen again.