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.”