Free Spark by Brigid Kemmerer Page A

‘obviously,’ it was because Heather Castelline is a total bitch who’ll only give you the time of day if she needs something from you. Nicky went out with her once, and he spent two days swearing he’d rather cut his balls off than date a girl like her again.”
    Layne didn’t say anything.
    “She’s the last person who’d criticize me for getting into it with some sophomore tool in the hallway, and she’d be more likely to copy my quiz than to fix the wrong answers. She sure as hell wouldn’t stay after school because her brother was having a good time.”
    Layne didn’t speak, but he could swear she was looking at him now.
    Gabriel kept his eyes on the road. “It had nothing to do with what you look like.”
    She swallowed. “Okay. Whatever.”
    “Besides, you could totally have a perfect rack and great legs.
    I just can’t tell. If you want to flaunt them so I can make final judgment ”
    She punched him in the arm.
    But now she was smiling.
    And blushing.
    He had to stop for the next light, and he looked over. Damp-ness still clung to her cheeks, but she didn’t look like she was plotting to kill him.
    When he made the turn into her development, she said, “I can still help you with math.” She paused, her tone nonchalant.
    “If you want.”
    “What, you mean now?”
    “Did you understand tonight’s assignment?”
    He hadn’t understood an assignment in about five years. His shoulders were already tense. “I’ll be all right.”
    “You planning to go home and have your brother do it for you?”
    He wasn’t even sure if Nick was home. Gabriel didn’t say anything. He didn’t like that Nick did the work for him, but Layne knowing . . . That, he hated.
    He pulled into her driveway and sat there, putting the car in park but not killing the engine. He stared at the pattern his headlights made on the garage, wide circles of light bouncing off the stone façade of her house.
    “What’s wrong?” she said. “Tough guy can’t be good at math?”
    “Hey.” He swung his head around, his jaw tight.
    She didn’t back away, her eyes gleaming in the darkness.
    “How can you sit there in class every day, pretending to follow along?”
    “That’s the easy part.”
    She stared back at him. “I don’t think it is.”
    He looked back at the garage and didn’t say anything. She was right. It was killing him, but she was right.
    Simon reached between the seats and tapped Layne on the shoulder. Gabriel didn’t need to understand sign language to figure out the message.
    What’s going on?
    Gabriel turned the key and yanked it out of the ignition, reaching over the center console to grab his backpack. “All right,”
    he said with a sigh. “Let’s give it a shot.”
     

CHAPTER 9
    Layne’s house looked like something that should have been featured in a decorating magazine. His own house wasn’t small they each had their own room, and no one had to fight for a bathroom or anything like that but this was crazy.
    The front hall featured rich hardwood flooring, but just beyond that, every inch of carpeting he could see was white and it was a lot of inches. Dark wooden furniture, mahogany or something he didn’t know, sat against the walls in a forbidding way. Framed paintings that looked original hung on the walls.
    The kinds of sofas adults kept for show, not for sitting, sat at angles to the walls. Everything was accented with white: throw pillows, coasters, even a vase of white roses on the hall table.
    The place was dead silent.
    Simon flashed a quick sign, flung his backpack on the floor, and bolted up the hardwood staircase.
    Gabriel wanted to pick up Simon’s backpack and shove it in the front closet. The décor was that intimidating.
    “He says he’ll be down in a while,” said Layne. “Come on, we can go in the kitchen.”
    Gabriel hesitated at the juncture of hardwood and carpeting before following her. Should he take off his shoes? But she hadn’t.
    “Does your mom work, too?” he