Brigid Kemmerer: Spark

“Don’t cry to me about Daddy. I’m not in the mood.”

Hunter moved closer. “Becca’s father is stronger than you are. If you push him, he’ll retaliate.”

Gabriel craved that, a knock-down, drag-out rematch. It was almost enough to send him back into the mall, throw caution to the wind, and fight .

Almost.

He ducked his head and started walking. “Go away.”

“I don’t know why I was worried,” Hunter said from behind him. “Considering you only seem to know how to run and hide.”

Gabriel swung around and hit him.

Or he tried to. Hunter had some serious military training, and he deflected the blow easily.

But Gabriel was no stranger to fighting dirty. He caught Hunter with a solid punch to the stomach.

Hunter got him in the jaw.

And then they were fighting in earnest.

Christ, it felt fantastic to drive his fist into something. Especially when Hunter fought back with enough force to really make it worth it. Enough force that Gabriel started to wonder if this would turn into a test of endurance.

Enough force that Gabriel started to wonder if he could win .

His back slammed into the concrete wall of the mall. Breath rushed out of his lungs. He braced against the wall to throw Hunter off, getting enough leverage to shove the other boy to the ground. He followed him down to pin him there.

“Whoa, hold up,” Hunter said, breathless. He made his hands into a T. “If I tear my clothes, my grandmother will shit a brick.”

Gabriel stared down at him, unsure whether to let him go. Then he caught the glint of light on steel under Hunter’s jacket. “You are one crazy bastard. You really did come armed.”

“Sure.”

“You had a gun and you still fought me like that?”

Hunter grinned. “Wait—you were fighting for real? ”

Yeah, he had been—but suddenly it didn’t seem so important. Gabriel let him go.

Hunter rolled to his feet and dusted bits of grass from his hair. “You want a ride home?”

His brothers were still here. Gabriel could see their red SUV across the parking lot. But getting a ride home with his brothers meant going back into the mall and facing the Guide.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

The fight had loosened something in him. Not permanently—Gabriel was too smart for that. But something about it felt good. Reassuring. Steadying, in a way.

It had been so long that Gabriel almost didn’t recognize it for what it was, until after they’d driven home, not talking, just listening to the music pouring from Hunter’s radio. Until after he’d let himself into an empty house, a luxury he didn’t experience very often.

It felt like the beginning of friendship.

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.”