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 light-bulbs 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 doubledated 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 un-necessarily, 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.

CHAPTER 7

Fire surrounded him.

Gabriel dropped to his knees and ran a hand through the flames. It reached for him, licking along his palm.

A blanket of flame no, bigger than that. A carpet of flame, the size of his bedroom. The fire singed the edge of his jeans, and he told it to find something else to burn. It wouldn’t hurt him, but it could definitely burn his clothes off.

The flames flicked higher than his head, now that he was sitting. One of the trees at the edge of the circle caught and started to burn.

Then another.