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.”

Simon glanced down, where one of those thugs had scrawled Rettard.

Then he almost smiled.

“That’s actually kind of ironic,” said Chris.

Simon took a deep breath and his shoulders loosened. Then he held out a hand and mimed a phone.

Gabriel patted his pockets, but he must have left his phone in his bag. “Chris, give him your phone.”

Chris did. Simon tapped out a text.

Thanks.

Chris glanced up. “I hate guys like that.”

Simon tapped a few more letters on the screen and handed the phone back to Chris.

Me too.

Gabriel pointed toward the showers. “If you want to go scrub at it, I’ll loan you a shirt when you’re done.”

Simon nodded and turned to walk—then stopped short. He took the phone again and typed out another line.

Don’t tell Layne.

Gabriel stared at the words, then glanced up at Simon, who was watching him with pleading eyes.

“All right,” he said.