No, but he found Layne. And three boys. Half her hair had come loose from the braid, and her face was red and tear streaked. The shortest of the boys stood by her side, also red-faced, but with fury, not tears.

The other two kids had their backpacks and they were dumping the contents in the middle of the aisle. Binders split open and papers went everywhere.

One laughed. Red hair, freckles, face and hands still soft. “Oops,” he said. “Hate when that happens.”

The boy beside Layne rushed forward to shove him, saying something unintelligible.

The other kid grabbed him by the shoulder and flung him away, sending him to the ground to skid on the papers. Some tore.

They hadn’t even noticed Gabriel yet.

“Knock it off!” cried Layne. “I’m going to get—”

“You’re going to shut up,” said the other kid. “We’re sick of you and that retard.”

Then he shoved her to the ground.

Gabriel didn’t even remember moving. He just had the kid by the front of the shirt and he’d slammed him up against the lockers. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The boy wilted. His mouth worked for a moment, no sound coming out.

Gabriel slammed him again, a little harder, a little rougher. “Talk.”

He didn’t, just hung there shaking.

The other bully bolted down the hallway. Didn’t matter—Gabriel would find him later.

He looked back at the one he had pinned and clapped him on the side of the head. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make the kid flinch. “Want me to knock some sense into you?”

The boy shook his head quickly. “No—we were just—we were—it’s—they’re—”

“Shut it,” said Gabriel. “I catch you screwing with them again and you won’t be around to talk about it. Get it?”

The kid nodded, his head bobbing hard.

Gabriel let him go. He slipped and skidded and almost fell in the stream of papers, but he found his footing and bolted after his friend.

Layne and the younger boy were staring after them. The boy had a grin on his face now. He poked Layne in the arm and made a bunch of complicated hand gestures, then pointed to Gabriel.

Sign language.

Now Gabriel understood the unintelligible scream of rage when things were being strewn about the hallway. He remembered the bully’s comment about someone being a retard.

Layne sighed. “Thanks.” She bent to start sorting the papers.

The boy poked her arm again, more aggressively this time. He had to be a younger brother—Gabriel could read that dynamic like a book. But the boy signed again, and then pointed at Gabriel.

Layne rolled her eyes and didn’t look at him.

“What’s he saying?” said Gabriel.

“He said thanks,” said Layne.

The boy punched her in the shoulder and said something emphatically. It took Gabriel a moment to work out the words.

“Tell him, Layne.”

Layne sighed again and looked up. Her voice was flat. “He said that was fucking awesome.”