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rsquo;s it. No phone number, nothing.
And she still hadn’t called. Lucky him, it was Friday, and he could wonder about it all weekend.
For about two seconds, he had a fleeting hope that she might be here. Taylor had mocked him at lunch, some crap about inviting Layne so they could all “study together,” but Gabriel had ignored her until she went away.
Layne hated Taylor. She hated Heather Castelline. And this wasn’t exactly her crowd.
“Your brother’s here,” said Hunter, handing him a soda from somewhere.
“I know.” He’d figured Nick would be here, had already spotted him across the pool with Quinn.
Nick had spotted him, too, staring at Gabriel for exactly one second before looking away to laugh at something Quinn said.
And then he never looked back.
Fine.
“Hey, aren’t you the new kid in my American lit class?”
Gabriel turned but the girl standing there was talking to Hunter. Calla Dean, tall and lithe and probably on as many sports teams as he himself was though they rarely ran in the same circles. She’d gotten the school volleyball team to the state championships last year as a sophomore. The only reason he knew her was because she’d caught his eye once: Blond hair streaked with blue was chopped off right at her shoulders, and tattooed flames encircled her wrists and crawled up the insides of her forearms.
He would have hit on her, but she was blunt and aggressive and rumor said she played for the other team in a way that decidedly did not mean sports.
Then again, she was looking at Hunter like he was something to eat.
“Yeah,” said Hunter. “Aren’t you the girl who told Mrs. Har-rison you were intimidated by the ‘length’ of Moby Dick?”
“Who isn’t?” said Calla, deadpan.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at a party,” said Gabriel.
Calla shrugged. “You never know when something interesting might happen.” She reached out a hand to touch Hunter’s arm, tracing the small tattoo by his elbow. “I like this. It’s not Arabic, is it?”
“Farsi.”
Her eyes lit with intrigue.
And that was enough for Gabriel. “I’m going to get some food,” he said, turning for the grill.
Usually he’d get stopped half a dozen times when crossing ground at a party. Game recaps, plans for the next weekend, practice strategies.
Tonight? Conversation died when he approached.
He grabbed some burgers and dropped onto an empty chaise lounge by the pool, straddling the cushion to set his plate in front of him. The tiki torches flickered in his direction.
Welcome.
‘Sup, he thought.
Some kid across the way was swinging a torch with abandon, and Gabriel could feel the flame’s excitement at the potential for danger. Cloth, paper, whatever. As soon as the fire found fuel, it would flare.
What an idiot.
Despite the music, the air was quiet here by the pool. Gabriel could feel people looking at him, talking about him, but it was easier to ignore them when he wasn’t standing directly in their midst.
And not everyone was talking about him. Some kids by the back door were playing cards. The people in the hot tub had a lively interaction going on the kind that didn’t exactly involve a lot of talking. Hunter was still talking to Calla, following her into the house now. Interesting. And another couple was going at it hot and heavy at the opposite end of the pool deck. Probably drunk, or they’d never be out here in the open.
He wondered what Layne would do if he walked to her house and started throwing stones at her window.
