Читать книгу Spirit - Brigid Kemmerer - Страница 12

CHAPTER 5

A million and one worries should have been clouding Hunter’s brain.

Instead, he spent all of fourth period texting with Kate.

And most of fifth period, too.

After World History, he’d been ready to finish their conversation live—but she slipped out the door without even looking at him. He’d stood in the hallway and watched her cut through the crowds of students, somewhat dumbfounded. Had he misread all those text messages? Maybe she hadn’t been flirting at all. Had she just been killing time?

Then his phone had buzzed in his hand.

Again with the staring?

He’d never met a girl who could send his heart tripping with a few words on a screen.

Now he was headed for the cafeteria with a shadow of a smile on his lips—and a shadow of doubt coiled in his chest. He’d sent her a text:

Want to stare at each other over a table at lunch?

But she hadn’t responded.

Maybe it was better if she didn’t want to sit with him. He could confront Becca or the Merricks and get them to carry some of the weight of Calla’s threats.

He checked his phone while he waited to grab a tray for the line.

Blank.

Hunter sighed and slid it into his pocket, taking an apple, a plate of grilled chicken and greens, and a bowl of vegetable soup. He didn’t have to wait for any of it—there was never a line for this stuff. But over by the tater tots, you’d think they were giving food away.

When he turned away from the register, Calla was suddenly there, in front of him. She had a soda in one hand and a wicked look in her eye.

He scowled and moved to step past her.

But she ran her shoulder into his and shrieked, stumbling back and dropping her soda. “Don’t threaten me, Hunter!”

One of the assistant football coaches was on cafeteria duty and headed their way. “What’s going on?”

Hunter gritted his teeth and backed away from her. “Nothing.”

“He shoved me!”

“I didn’t touch her!”

The coach put a restraining hand on Hunter’s shoulder—even though he hadn’t moved an inch. “Just keep walking. Cool off.”

Calla dissolved into tears. People were staring. Another girl from the volleyball team came up and pulled Calla away, whispering reassurances while throwing a murderous glance at Hunter.

It had taken Calla less than three seconds to completely derail his day. Again.

Hunter sighed through clenched teeth and turned to head for the back of the cafeteria.

Only to meet Kate’s eyes from twenty feet away.

One look at her expression said she’d seen the whole thing.

Well, definitely not the whole thing. Just enough to leave her staring with judgment on her face.

There went that.

At least she’d found a cure for his staring. He couldn’t meet her eyes knowing she thought he was a guy like . . . like that. He faced forward and kept walking, his hands gripping his tray so hard the surface of the soup was trembling.

His insides felt like a coiled spring, one rotation away from snapping. He kept his movement measured and even, but in his brain, every step was a prelude to a lethal strike. He’d never been one of those guys to hit the gym in the middle of the day, but right now he’d kill for a pair of wraps and a heavy bag.

He forced himself to take a long breath, letting it out slowly, forcing his hands to relax while he walked.

“Hey, Jackass. Hungry?” A hand hit the edge of the tray and flipped it up.

Hunter jerked back. The chicken and salad missed him.

The soup didn’t. Hot liquid hit him square in the chest.

That spring snapped. Hunter whirled and threw a fist.

Gabriel Merrick hit him back.

Hunter stepped into the punch, using his opponent’s momentum to trap his arm and send a knee into his gut.

Then they were being dragged apart. Too soon. Hunter tasted blood on his lip—but he let himself be dragged.

That assistant football coach got between them, and he was talking, though Hunter wasn’t really listening. Something about fighting and the guidance office and . . . Hunter didn’t give a crap.

His eyes were on Kate, standing there among the gathered crowd, next to Nick Merrick, Gabriel’s twin.

Nick was talking, his tone full of an almost resigned exasperation. “So now you’ve met my other brother, Gabriel . . .”

Hunter wasn’t listening to him, either.

He was staring at Kate. Or more precisely, her hand.

And the way it was resting on Nick Merrick’s arm.

Hunter slouched in the chair in the guidance office and stared at the corner of Vickers’s desk. His shirt was wet and tacky from the soup, and somehow it had turned ice cold on the walk down here. He didn’t want to give Gabriel the satisfaction of hearing him complain about it.

Kate and Nick. How had that happened? Wasn’t Nick dating Becca’s friend, Quinn?

The air felt tight and scratchy against his skin, like a wool sweater that didn’t fit right.

Ms. Vickers was tapping her pen against her desk blotter. “Twice in one day, Hunter.”

He wanted to ask if she could just give him detention or whatever so he could get the hell out of this room.

But he bit back the words. Becca’s father’s parting comment kept ricocheting around his brain, adding to the headache. You made your bed, kid. Now you lie in it.

It sounded so much like something his father would have said.

Ms. Vickers shifted in her chair. The fluorescent light in the ceiling was buzzing with a tiny flicker. “And Gabriel Merrick. I’d hoped your recent brush with the law would keep you out of my office for a while.”

“I’m happy to leave.”

She didn’t crack a smile. “You know we don’t take physical altercations lightly here. Who wants to tell me what happened?”

Hunter didn’t lift his eyes from the corner of her desk, waiting for Gabriel to sell him out.

But Gabriel didn’t say anything, either.

Ms. Vickers sighed. “All right, Hunter, what happened with Calla Dean? Coach Taylor says you had a run-in in the lunch line.”

Hunter felt his hands form fists. “I didn’t do anything.”

“She says—”

“She’s lying. I didn’t touch her.”

Ms. Vickers pursed her lips. “I asked you to stay away from her entirely. If I don’t think you can do that, you’re going to force me to suspend you.”

This was ridiculous. “I’m trying!”

“You didn’t make it through lunch. I’m not sure that qualifies as trying very hard.”

Hunter almost came out of his chair. His hands were ready to snap the plastic armrests clean off. “I didn’t—”

“Hey.” Gabriel’s voice was sharp.

Hunter rounded on him, ready to finish what he’d started in the cafeteria. “What?”

Gabriel didn’t flinch from his look. “Dial it back a notch.” He glanced up.

And then Hunter realized that the overhead light was buzzing more frantically, making loud clicks within the tube. The air in the room had to have dropped ten degrees.

He’d always been able to sense the elements, and control was a newer talent, but he’d never affected anything to this extent.

Hunter closed his eyes and took a slow breath. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Then another. His hands unclenched, and he dropped back into the chair.

“Very zen,” said Gabriel. “Should I light a candle?”

Hunter’s eyes snapped open. “Fuck you.”

“Gentlemen,” said Vickers.

Damn. Everyone was managing to burrow under his skin today.

“I’m sorry,” Hunter bit out. “I’ll stay away from Calla.”

“Three strikes and you’re out, Hunter.” She shivered and pulled a cardigan off the back of her chair, then forced her arms into the sleeves. “If we have this conversation again, you’ll be looking at a three-day suspension. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes shifted to Gabriel. “The same goes for you, Mr. Merrick.”

“Roger.” He mock-saluted her.

“Can the two of you make it to next period without fighting? Or should someone stay with me?”

Hunter shot out of his chair. “I’m good.”

Gabriel followed him into the hall. Hunter ignored him, though he wanted to slam him into the bank of lockers. The bell hadn’t rung yet, and the halls were still empty.

“Nice shirt,” said Gabriel.

“Go away.”

“What, you’re not still tracking me so you can report back to your keeper?”

Hunter ignored him and kept walking.

Gabriel kept after him. “Don’t like being called a traitor?”

“I’m not a traitor.”

“Did you turn on your dad, too? Is that what you feel so guilty ab—”

Hunter spun. Gabriel caught his wrist before he could throw a punch.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped. “Do you want to get suspended?”

Hunter jerked free. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“Oh, it’s okay for you to follow me around—”

“I wasn’t following you around!” God, Hunter would pay good money for a handful of ibuprofen. “And you know what? Why don’t you cut the martyr act?”

Gabriel looked incredulous. “Me. The martyr act.”

“Yeah. You.” Hunter glared at him. “Like I screwed you over. You didn’t even give me a chance to explain—”

“All right.” Gabriel stopped walking. “Explain.”

Hunter took a breath—and had nothing to say.

“Yeah, whatever.” Gabriel moved away.

“Can you blame him?” called Hunter.

Gabriel hesitated, but didn’t turn. “Blame who?”

“Bill. Becca’s dad. Can you blame him for thinking you’d cause trouble? I didn’t drag you to that first fire.”

Gabriel laughed low, under his breath, but not like it was really funny. He turned and walked back to Hunter. “No, jackass. I blame you. Where’d you learn how to be a friend, anyway?”

Hunter stared at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means you need to pick a fucking side.”

Then the bell rang and people flooded the hallway, separating them until Hunter lost Gabriel in the sea of students.