Spark
Page 97
“Yeah,” he said.
She picked up the homework he’d tossed into the basket and glanced at it, then back at his face. “I understand you had a challenging weekend.”
Challenging. Hilarious. He met her eyes, knowing his own were full of don’t-fuck-with-me. “I’ve had better.”
“Are you okay?”
The question caught him off guard, especially since her expression seemed genuinely concerned. She was the first person to ask how he was doing since the instant he’d been arrested.
His familiar defenses were clicking into place, ready to snap, to flip her off, to blame her for everything, because if she hadn’t caught him cheating, he’d be on the basketball team. He never would have needed Layne’s help, and he never would have gotten into that argument with her father. He never would have gone to that first fire.
And that little girl would be dead. Along with everyone else he’d pulled from a burning building.
He took a breath, feeling his shoulders drop. “Yeah.”
Then, before she could say anything else, he pushed past her desk to drop into his seat.
Taylor Morrissey wasn’t in front of him today, flashing her boobs and flipping her hair. Gabriel looked around she was across the room, sitting at one of the spare desks, glaring at him like he was a serial killer.
He wanted to mock her, but he just didn’t have the energy.
And then Layne walked into the classroom.
She was wearing jeans and those fuzzy boots girls seemed to like, along with a rich purple turtleneck. No makeup, same glasses.
Her hair was down, loose and straight and shining.
Perfectly average, probably, but Gabriel couldn’t look away from her.
Especially when her eyes met his across the classroom and something inside him uncoiled.
He could read the relief in her expression, the longing and sadness and desperation he knew were mirrored in his own. He wished he could hold her, could press his lips against her skin and whisper promises that he’d never hurt her, that he’d always protect her, that he didn’t care what anyone thought of him, that he’d do anything for her, always.
“Hey,” called out Taylor. “Look who decided not to look like a total loser.”
The girls around her snickered.
“That’s enough,” said Ms. Anderson.
Layne was blushing, pushing past the teacher’s desk, her eyes down now. She dropped in the chair beside Gabriel.
“Hey,” he whispered.
Her frenetic movement stilled. She peeked at him through the curtain of her hair. “Hey.”
“Check it out,” said Taylor, her voice loud again. “The burn victim and the pyro. Almost like Romeo and Juliet, right?”
Gabriel whipped his head around, but before he could get a word out, Layne’s hand latched on to his wrist.
“Don’t,” she hissed. “Anything you say, they’ll use it against you.”
He bit back the words and faced forward.
“Ignore them,” Layne murmured. Her hand softened, and she gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. “Just get out your notebook.”
Gabriel turned his head to look at her. His entire life was going to shit, but seeing her here was like finding a little glim-mer of light amid all the darkness. “Your hair is down.”
She blushed a little and moved to pull her hand back.
He caught her fingers, trapping them beneath his own. “It’s pretty.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
And she left her hand there until Ms. Anderson started talking.
Gabriel still couldn’t focus on class, but now his mind kept replaying the feel of Layne’s hand on his wrist, instead of all the turmoil of the weekend.
A note appeared in the middle of his desk.
I’m glad you’re okay.
He cast a glance right. Her cheeks were still pink, and he’d bet money that her heart was racing in her chest.
He wrote back.
I’m glad you’re okay. Thank you for
having your dad help me.
Her blush deepened. He watched her put her pencil to the paper.
He doesn’t want me to associate with you.
Like that was a surprise. But Ms. Anderson was looking at the class now instead of writing on the board, and he had to wait before he could write back.
What do you want?
Layne’s expression sobered when she unfolded his note. Then she wrote quickly.
I want to understand how you can do what you did.
He stared at those words for a long time and wondered how much she knew. How much she’d figured out. She was staring at him now; he could feel it.
Finally, he nodded, then put his pen against the paper.
Free period? Library?
She didn’t write back to that one, just unrolled it and nodded, then looked back at her work.
He’d caught up with the homework, but Gabriel couldn’t understand a word Ms. Anderson was saying. He kept sneaking glances at Layne, fighting to keep his hands still, wanting to reach out and stroke her hair, to touch her arm, to hold her hand and feel her steady presence balance him out.
Then the bell was ringing and Layne was gathering her things.
“See you,” she whispered. Her hand barely brushed his as she pushed past his desk.
“See you,” he said, gathering his things to walk out of the classroom.
But Ms. Anderson stepped in front of him. “I’m pleased to see your work has improved.”
“I have a tutor,” he said. When her eyebrows went up, he shrugged and said, “I wanted to get back on the team.”
She picked up the homework he’d tossed into the basket and glanced at it, then back at his face. “I understand you had a challenging weekend.”
Challenging. Hilarious. He met her eyes, knowing his own were full of don’t-fuck-with-me. “I’ve had better.”
“Are you okay?”
The question caught him off guard, especially since her expression seemed genuinely concerned. She was the first person to ask how he was doing since the instant he’d been arrested.
His familiar defenses were clicking into place, ready to snap, to flip her off, to blame her for everything, because if she hadn’t caught him cheating, he’d be on the basketball team. He never would have needed Layne’s help, and he never would have gotten into that argument with her father. He never would have gone to that first fire.
And that little girl would be dead. Along with everyone else he’d pulled from a burning building.
He took a breath, feeling his shoulders drop. “Yeah.”
Then, before she could say anything else, he pushed past her desk to drop into his seat.
Taylor Morrissey wasn’t in front of him today, flashing her boobs and flipping her hair. Gabriel looked around she was across the room, sitting at one of the spare desks, glaring at him like he was a serial killer.
He wanted to mock her, but he just didn’t have the energy.
And then Layne walked into the classroom.
She was wearing jeans and those fuzzy boots girls seemed to like, along with a rich purple turtleneck. No makeup, same glasses.
Her hair was down, loose and straight and shining.
Perfectly average, probably, but Gabriel couldn’t look away from her.
Especially when her eyes met his across the classroom and something inside him uncoiled.
He could read the relief in her expression, the longing and sadness and desperation he knew were mirrored in his own. He wished he could hold her, could press his lips against her skin and whisper promises that he’d never hurt her, that he’d always protect her, that he didn’t care what anyone thought of him, that he’d do anything for her, always.
“Hey,” called out Taylor. “Look who decided not to look like a total loser.”
The girls around her snickered.
“That’s enough,” said Ms. Anderson.
Layne was blushing, pushing past the teacher’s desk, her eyes down now. She dropped in the chair beside Gabriel.
“Hey,” he whispered.
Her frenetic movement stilled. She peeked at him through the curtain of her hair. “Hey.”
“Check it out,” said Taylor, her voice loud again. “The burn victim and the pyro. Almost like Romeo and Juliet, right?”
Gabriel whipped his head around, but before he could get a word out, Layne’s hand latched on to his wrist.
“Don’t,” she hissed. “Anything you say, they’ll use it against you.”
He bit back the words and faced forward.
“Ignore them,” Layne murmured. Her hand softened, and she gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. “Just get out your notebook.”
Gabriel turned his head to look at her. His entire life was going to shit, but seeing her here was like finding a little glim-mer of light amid all the darkness. “Your hair is down.”
She blushed a little and moved to pull her hand back.
He caught her fingers, trapping them beneath his own. “It’s pretty.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
And she left her hand there until Ms. Anderson started talking.
Gabriel still couldn’t focus on class, but now his mind kept replaying the feel of Layne’s hand on his wrist, instead of all the turmoil of the weekend.
A note appeared in the middle of his desk.
I’m glad you’re okay.
He cast a glance right. Her cheeks were still pink, and he’d bet money that her heart was racing in her chest.
He wrote back.
I’m glad you’re okay. Thank you for
having your dad help me.
Her blush deepened. He watched her put her pencil to the paper.
He doesn’t want me to associate with you.
Like that was a surprise. But Ms. Anderson was looking at the class now instead of writing on the board, and he had to wait before he could write back.
What do you want?
Layne’s expression sobered when she unfolded his note. Then she wrote quickly.
I want to understand how you can do what you did.
He stared at those words for a long time and wondered how much she knew. How much she’d figured out. She was staring at him now; he could feel it.
Finally, he nodded, then put his pen against the paper.
Free period? Library?
She didn’t write back to that one, just unrolled it and nodded, then looked back at her work.
He’d caught up with the homework, but Gabriel couldn’t understand a word Ms. Anderson was saying. He kept sneaking glances at Layne, fighting to keep his hands still, wanting to reach out and stroke her hair, to touch her arm, to hold her hand and feel her steady presence balance him out.
Then the bell was ringing and Layne was gathering her things.
“See you,” she whispered. Her hand barely brushed his as she pushed past his desk.
“See you,” he said, gathering his things to walk out of the classroom.
But Ms. Anderson stepped in front of him. “I’m pleased to see your work has improved.”
“I have a tutor,” he said. When her eyebrows went up, he shrugged and said, “I wanted to get back on the team.”
