Whatever. He yanked jeans out of the bag to pull on.

Then he heard a shout, a scuffle, and the crash of metal on metal as something hit a locker.

Okay, WTF?

He dragged a shirt over his head and walked down the aisle of lockers barefoot.

Six guys, sophomores and juniors, stood in the open area at the back corner of the locker room. Gabriel only recognized them vaguely. JV guys, he thought.

They froze when he came around the corner. Exchanged nervous glances, like they weren’t sure whether they should be relieved he wasn’t a teacher. He knew that look. He’d practically invented that look.

Gabriel gave half a smile. “Come on. What’s up?”

Then he heard the faint shifting sound inside the locker, and one of the guys hit the face of it with his fist. “Shut up, retard.”

One of the other ones laughed. “Stacey, you dumbass. Like he can hear you.”

Stacey. What an idiot name for a guy and Gabriel hoped to god it was a last name. No wonder this prick was slamming people in lockers. He couldn’t even be original.

Then he realized what the other kid had said.

Like he can hear you.

“Oh yeah.” Stacey struck the locker again, harder. He laughed and raised his voice, until he was practically shouting into the locker vents. “Shut up, you f**king ret ”

Gabriel slammed a fist into his shoulder. The kid staggered back into the other lockers.

One of the other guys got in Gabriel’s face. “What the f**k, man. It’s just a joke. ”

“Hilarious. Let him out.”

Stacey recovered and stepped up beside his friend. His hands were balled at his sides. “This isn’t your business.”

Gabriel shoved him again. “I’m making it my business.”

Stacey shoved back and he wasn’t like those freshmen from the other day. He carried some solid mass, and he drove Gabriel back a step.

Another one shifted forward, a dark-haired thug who looked like he needed to spend more time in the gym and less at Taco Bell. He shoved Gabriel in the chest, too. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Open it,” said Gabriel. Electricity sizzled in the lights overhead, ready to ignite with his temper.

Stacey snorted. “What if we don’t want to?”

“I’ll make you want to.”

Another one stepped up beside them. “You and what army?”

“This one.”

A new voice. Gabriel turned his head. So did the jerks surrounding him.

Chris stood there at the edge of the line of lockers, a backpack slung over one shoulder, his arms folded across his chest.

The other kids exchanged glances again. Chris had a bit of a rep after beating the crap out of some seniors after homecoming guys who’d been trying to assault Becca.

“Or,” Chris said with a shrug, “maybe I should just let you all settle it. I’ll get the coach to come unlock the locker.”

“Go ahead, Chris.” Gabriel gave Stacey a quick shove in the chest. “I don’t like fighting girls, but I think I can hold my own until you get back ”

“Shut up,” Stacey snapped. He glanced at Chris again.

“Whatever. Come on, guys. Forget it.”

They all started to move away.

Gabriel grabbed Stacey by the arm and slammed him back into the locker doors. “Let him out, first.”

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.