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A new voice. Gabriel turned his head. So did the jerks surrounding him.
Chris stood there at the edge of the line of lockers, a backpack slung over one shoulder, his arms folded across his chest.
The other kids exchanged glances again. Chris had a bit of a rep after beating the crap out of some seniors after homecoming guys who’d been trying to assault Becca.
“Or,” Chris said with a shrug, “maybe I should just let you all settle it. I’ll get the coach to come unlock the locker.”
“Go ahead, Chris.” Gabriel gave Stacey a quick shove in the chest. “I don’t like fighting girls, but I think I can hold my own until you get back ”
“Shut up,” Stacey snapped. He glanced at Chris again.
“Whatever. Come on, guys. Forget it.”
They all started to move away.
Gabriel grabbed Stacey by the arm and slammed him back into the locker doors. “Let him out, first.”
Stacey swore, but he worked the combination until the lock popped open. Then he jerked his arm out of Gabriel’s grip and started to follow his friends.
Any other day, Gabriel would have followed him and made his morning miserable. But now he just wanted to make sure Simon was okay.
Layne had said her little brother was having a hard time.
Gabriel wondered if she knew just how hard.
He eased the locker door open. Simon was wearing jeans and a decent pair of running shoes, but no shirt. His arms were shoved up tight against his chest. His face was furious, guarded, wary and humiliated at finding Gabriel standing outside the locker.
“It’s okay,” said Gabriel. “They’re gone.”
Simon’s eyes flicked left, to Chris. He made no move to climb out of the locker.
“He’s all right,” said Gabriel. “He’s my brother. Chris.”
Chris lifted a hand. “‘Sup.”
Simon still didn’t move.
“This is Simon,” said Gabriel. “I know his sister.” He paused.
“He’s deaf.”
“Got it.”
Gabriel lifted a hand to gesture. “Come on. You can’t stay in there all day.”
Simon looked away, at the gray sidewall of the locker. His jaw was set, his shoulders tight. He didn’t move for a long moment.
Just when Gabriel was about to ask if they’d superglued him in there or something, Simon extricated himself from the narrow box, then dropped his arms from his chest.
Chris blew out a breath. “Jesus Christ.”
Words were scrawled across Simon’s chest in what looked like permanent marker.
Most were some variation of Retard or Loser.
Simon’s breath was shaking. His fists were still tight at his sides. Gabriel knew that feeling, that if you let go, just a little, everything would unravel.
“Look,” he said, pointing. “Idiots can’t even frigging spell.”
