And she tuned him out.

She was back to square one. Familiar ground.

Alone.

The basketball game should have been dramatic, what with Ryan Stacey confined to the bench and Simon starting center. Poetic justice would have dictated that the stands be packed, with Simon making the winning shot in the last seconds.

But it was only JV, and the first game of the season, so the bleachers weren’t crowded. The other team sucked and was barely organized enough to move the ball down the court.

But Simon was great. They were in the lead from the first shot.

And they won the game by twenty-two points.

“You said he can’t hear?” said Hunter as they filed off the stands. He’d stayed for the whole game. “You couldn’t prove it by me.”

Gabriel snorted and tossed his soda can into the recycling bin by the door. “Let’s hope the coach feels the same way.”

He’d been worried Hunter would judge him—for the fire at the barn, for telling Nick, for something else he couldn’t quite identify. But Hunter had been steady as ever, listening as Gabriel rehashed his morning from a nearly empty section of the bleachers.

And then he’d said what he always did. “You want to stop?”

Gabriel didn’t.

He couldn’t. Even now, even after this morning, he could feel need burning under his skin, like a junkie going through withdrawal.

He wished he had his lighter.

They waited outside the gym to congratulate Simon, kicking at loose gravel as kids streamed through the doors around them. Mostly students first, finishing up after-school projects and clubs. Then the JV cheerleaders, arm in arm and giggling as they half danced across the parking lot to the activity busses. Then basketball kids, half damp from the showers, but high-fiving over the win.

When the flow of students dropped to a bare trickle, Gabriel wondered if he’d somehow missed Layne’s little brother.

But he hadn’t seen Ryan Stacey either.

Gabriel swore and went for the doors—but on this side of the school, the doors were locked to the outside. He pounded, but no one answered—of course, since he’d stood here like an idiot watching everyone leave.

“Come on,” he said to Hunter, turning to sprint for the front entrance.

“What happened?”

“Ryan Stacey.”

They tore through the halls, shoes squeaking on tile as they skidded around corners. A teacher yelled at them to stop running, but Gabriel didn’t recognize her and they were well past before the words registered in his brain.

The gym: empty, aside from a few girls hanging a banner for a bake sale next week.

The locker room: empty. Boys’ bathroom: empty.

Gabriel swore again. The school was huge—they could be anywhere.

“Wait.” Hunter caught his arm. Gabriel froze and listened for a moment, but he didn’t hear anything.