She raised an eyebrow. “You want the tour?”

He shrugged and tried to look expectant.

She shrugged and pushed out of the chair.

The entire house looked like they’d broken into a museum exhibit. Doors whispered open against the carpeting. He only spotted one television, a huge big screen that took up half the wall of one room but even there, it wasn’t the kind of place where you’d want to kick back and watch the game. It felt like someone had put a TV in there according to a mansion instruction manual. Living room: bay window, white carpeting, white sofa, silver big screen. Even Layne’s dad’s “office” didn’t have a piece of paper out of place.

No photographs on the first floor. Anywhere.

Layne narrated the room titles like a bored tour guide, her voice dispassionate.

“You don’t like your house?” he finally said.

“I’m trying to figure out why you care.” She glanced over her shoulder at him as they started up the stairs. “Or are you just stalling?”

“Yes.”

She stopped halfway up, turning to look at him. “At least you admitted it.”

Gabriel was one step behind her, and it put them on eye level.

“I’m trying to figure out how a girl like you could come out of a house like this.”

He watched the fire spark in her eyes, and he held a hand up.

“That’s not an insult.”

It cut her anger off at the knees; he could tell. She shut her mouth and looked past him. “Maybe I don’t like perfect.”

“Yeah?” They were almost close enough to share breath.

“What do you like, Layne?”

She sure didn’t like being kept off balance; that was clear enough from the way she faltered and fought for words. He wondered if her cheeks would feel warm, if he could gather the nerve to touch her. She’d been so assertive in school when she’d told him off for fighting. If he touched her now, she’d probably push him down the stairs.

Then again, maybe not. Her expression was just vulnerable enough, her breathing soft and rapid. Gabriel shifted his weight, ever so slightly.

And she spun, striding up the steps. “Come on. If I let you stall too long, I’m no better than your brother.”

He’d been moving to follow her, but that made him stop on the staircase. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’s not doing you any favors by doing your homework.”

“I told you ”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s tried to help you. Screw it, turn to cheating.

Did you ever ask a teacher to help you? You know, they have special classes ”

“Are you for real?” Special classes. As if.

“Was it all about sports? Did he start helping you just so you could play on a stupid team?”

“No. It wasn’t ” He gritted his teeth and looked at the wall.

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“I know it would be easier to do everything for Simon, but sometimes I have to let him figure out how to handle things on his own.”

Now he snapped his head around to look up at her. “Like getting beat up in the hallway?”

“Oh, so I should tell him to fight? Just what do you think would happen to a kid like Simon if he took a swing at someone?”

Gabriel took the last few steps until he was on equal ground, looking down at her. “Right now? He’d get his ass kicked.”

“Great.” She turned away, the sarcasm thick. “That’s totally the goal we should be shooting for.”

Gabriel caught her arm. “He’d figure out how to fight back.

They’d figure out he was willing to fight back. Then they’d leave him alone.”

“Is that what worked for you?”

“That’s what works for everyone, Layne.” He gave her a pretty clear up-and-down, hearing his voice turn cruel before he could stop it. “And I might be wrong, but I think you’ve learned that particular life lesson already.”

Her face went pale. She jerked her arm free and spun away from him.

Then she opened one of the hall doors, went through, and slammed it shut.

Shit.

God, he didn’t need this. He should grab his stuff from the kitchen and go.

But he stopped in front of the door. He put his hand against the white wood.

She saw him as a cheater. A jock thug who picked fights in the hallway.

Maybe that’s all there was to see.

He inhaled, to call her name, to apologize, to try to figure out how she’d managed to wedge herself into his thoughts until he couldn’t work her loose.

But she flung the door open, and he was left there with his hand in the air. Her eyes held the remnants of anger.

She glanced at his hand. “I’m sorry.”

She was sorry? He pulled his hand back.

She looked at the molding around the doorway, rubbing at an invisible spot with her finger. “I shouldn’t have come off like that. Sometimes you just you cut right to the quick, you know?”

“You too,” he said.

“I shouldn’t have slammed the door in your face.”

“I much prefer it to getting hit.” He looked up, past her, at the bedroom. Finally, a break to the white but this wasn’t much better. Pink carpeting, princess border along the ceiling, white walls, and a gold canopy bed.

“What,” he said, “no Barbie dream castle?”

Layne flushed. “Shut up.”