Spirit (27 page)

N
ick Merrick sat on his bed and ran his thumb along the edge of the sealed envelope.

He didn’t want to open it.

He probably didn’t need to. It was thin, and thin letters from universities typically meant one thing: rejection.

It wasn’t his first-choice school anyway. He’d applied at University of Maryland because they had a solid physics program and it was an in-state school. If they rejected him, he didn’t really care.

Much.

He’d thought applying early at a few local schools would be a safe bet, just to get himself into the rhythm of it, seeing what kind of feedback he’d get.

Apparently it meant he’d get used to rejection right off the bat.

The worst part was the twinge of guilt in his stomach.

Not because he might
have to
go out of state.

The guilt was because he
wanted
to. Sort of.

A new town would mean anonymity. No one would know about his powers.

No one would know him as Gabriel Merrick’s twin brother, half of a unit.

A new town meant he could just be Nick.

Whatever that meant. Sometimes he worried that he’d get his wish, that he’d end up in some strange town, surrounded by new people, and he’d realize that there was nothing there, that his entire being was based on his brothers’ expectations of him.

Well, it wasn’t like he didn’t have options. A local school would have meant he could still stay home and help Michael with the business. If he couldn’t go to Maryland, he could go to the community college down the road. Nothing wrong with that.

Except . . . he didn’t
want
to go to the community college.

The colored balls in the Galileo thermometer on his desk started to shift, and Nick glanced up. He was changing the temperature. His blinds rattled against the window frame, too, as a gusty breeze tore through his room.

This was stupid. He should just open the envelope.

If only his powers gave him X-ray vision.

Not like he really needed it. He could imagine how the letter would begin.

Yeah, right. Nick swore and shoved the letter between two textbooks on the desk. He could read it later.

Michael had asked him to reconcile a stack of invoices anyway. Better to let numbers steal his attention, especially since his oldest brother would be pissed if he got home and found a stack of paperwork still waiting for him.

The kitchen was empty, but he’d passed his youngest brother in the living room, along with his girlfriend. Chris and Becca were watching a movie, but from the glimpse Nick had gotten, there wasn’t a whole lot of
watching
going on. Not like Nick needed a glimpse: the air was more than happy to whisper about their activities.

Gabriel was out, doing something with Layne, and Michael would be on a job for another hour, at least.

Quiet.

Nick tore into a foil package of Pop-Tarts and fired up the laptop. With a toaster pastry between his teeth, he began to sort through the pile of carbon credit card slips, invoices, and canceled checks.

Michael was great about documenting what he was doing and how much it cost.

He wasn’t so great about making sure he was actually
paid
for it.

Nick had been doing most of the bookkeeping since he was thirteen. Now he could do it in his sleep.

His brain kept drifting to that letter, sandwiched between those textbooks on his desk.

At least he’d been the one to get the mail today, so no one else knew. God, that would have been a disaster. Hell, Gabriel probably would have put him in a headlock until he tore the envelope open.

Aw. Poor Nicky. They don’t want you
.

Gabriel wouldn’t be upset. He didn’t want his twin to go.

That was another big part of the guilt.

He caught himself entering line items twice, and he pulled his hands off the keys to rub at his eyes. School was closed this week, thanks to the recent fire in the library, but he should probably be using the extra time to study. There was no money for college, so grades were everything right now.

His cell phone buzzed against the table, making him jump. The air had turned sharp and cold while he’d been going through these invoices, and he tried to make himself relax, knowing the air would do the same if he could mentally get himself to a better place.

He ran a thumb along the screen to wake it. A text message.

Quinn. His girlfriend.

Sort of.

Really, his relationship with Quinn was just one more thing that belonged on a list of all that made him feel insecure, uncertain, and guilty.

Any way you can pick me up at the Y?

Nick glanced at the clock. Gabriel had the car and Michael had the truck. Michael would be home first, but not for another twenty minutes. He typed back quickly.

Not for a while. You OK?

Fought with Mom again.

Nick winced. He texted back.

I can get you. 30 mins OK?

Sure. I’ll be in studio.

The
studio
was really just a room at the back of the Y, with half a mirrored wall and a barre bolted awkwardly into the patches of drywall. But Quinn’s parents wouldn’t pay for dance lessons, and Quinn had been kicked off the school dance team.

Unlike Nick, she knew exactly who, what, and where she wanted to be.

She just couldn’t get there.

He hadn’t met her parents yet, but apparently her mother had been put on this earth with the sole purpose of torturing Quinn, and her dad had nothing better to do than stare at the television—when he wasn’t running his mouth about how amazing Quinn’s older brother was. Quinn had a younger brother, too. He stayed out of the line of fire by hiding behind headphones and video game controllers.

Tensions had been running high in Quinn’s house before a fire had burned the place down—part of a string of arson attacks started by another Elemental in town. But now her family was living in temporary housing, a cramped three-bedroom condo closer to Annapolis.

And Nick thought he had problems.

He didn’t hear the front door open, but the air told him when Michael was home.

It also told him that Chris and Becca were struggling to right themselves in the living room.

Nick smiled and entered the last invoice into the computer, then set aside the three where payments were missing.

Michael looked beat when he walked into the kitchen, and Nick was glad he’d gotten the paperwork done.

His brother grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and dropped into a chair. “Thanks for taking care of that.”

Nick always did, but he shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“You think you could help me with a job tomorrow, since school is out?”

Nick had been planning to spend the day doing more college applications, tweaking entrance essays, and taking a few more SAT practice tests.

But Michael looked exhausted, and Nick could put that stuff off for a few hours. “Sure,” he said. Then he paused, thinking of Quinn. “You think you could let me borrow the truck for an hour?”

Michael had to be tired, because he took another drink of water, then tossed the keys on the table.

Nick’s eyebrows went up.

Michael shrugged, then shoved out of the chair, heading for the doorway. “I know you won’t do anything irresponsible.”

Nick never did.

And sometimes he wondered if that was part of the problem.

Quinn Briscoe stretched her left leg against the barre in the empty room, then folded her upper body as low as she could. She didn’t do ballet, not really, but she’d taken enough classes as a kid that she always started and finished with a classical warm-up—just because that was the most thorough routine she knew, and it hadn’t let her down yet.

Her thighs were screaming, and she told them to go to hell.

Really, she wished she’d worn sweatpants instead of these stretchy booty shorts. Then she wouldn’t have to look at how massive her legs were.

Besides, it was probably cold outside.

The shorts hadn’t been her choice. They were part of the cheerleading uniform at Old Mill, and she’d had her first practice this afternoon. Apparently athletes didn’t get the week off from school, just a modified schedule.

For five minutes, Quinn had allowed herself to be excited about the cheer squad. It wasn’t her type of thing, not really, but she’d been kicked off the dance team for being mouthy—and too fat, she was sure, given the teacher’s comments about
body type
—and cheerleading seemed like the next best thing.

Then Taylor Morrisey, squad captain, started calling her “Crisco,” a mockery of her last name.

The other girls had started doing the same.

Quinn had flipped off Taylor and stormed out of there—only to go home to find out that Jake, her older brother, was home from college for a few days.

That wasn’t the problem. Quinn accepted his existence, just like she did the rest of her family.

But her mother had told Jake he could sleep in Quinn’s bed, and Quinn could make do on the floor.

And instead of refusing out of chivalry or kindness or whatever boys were
supposed
to do, Jake had smirked at her and said, “Yeah, isn’t that where dogs usually sleep?”

Quinn had lost it. Moreover, her mom had taken Jake’s side. Of course perfect, scholarship-winning, Duke-basketball-playing Jake couldn’t sleep on the couch.

Of course their argument had devolved into a screaming match.

Of course Quinn had walked out. Again.

And she was getting sick of crashing at Becca’s, watching her best friend’s perfect relationship with her mom and her perfect relationship with Chris Merrick.

Quinn switched legs and stretched farther. R&B music pulsed into her head through the earbuds connected to her iPod, completely at odds with the classical routine, but she thrived on the rage in the lyrics.

The music caught her, and she spun off the barre, flying across the floor in a complicated routine of leaps and turns. Each step let her spring higher, until it felt like the air became a part of the dance and carried her along.

Then the song ended, and she was staring at herself in the smudgy mirror, her chest rising and falling from the exertion.

God, her thighs looked massive.

She scowled and turned away so she wouldn’t have to look at herself.

Only to find Nick Merrick standing in the doorway.

Quinn stopped short and yanked the earbuds free, feeling heat crawl up her neck. She wasn’t shy about boys, but her rage-inspired dancing felt like it should be private.

No, indulging her own insecurities felt like it should be private.

“How long have you been there?” she demanded.

“A minute or so,” he said equably. “I wasn’t exactly timing myself.”

Nick was quite possibly the only guy she’d ever met who seemed completely unaffected by her attitude.

Years of putting up with his twin probably had something to do with it.

But it was enough to make her want to be nicer. She coiled up the headphones in her palm and turned for her bag. “Sorry. You took me by surprise.”

“You seemed into it. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He paused, then came closer. “I was wishing I could hear the music.”

Quinn straightened and found him right in front of her. She sucked in her stomach and shook her ponytail back over her shoulder.

Nick and his twin brother were two of the hottest guys in school, and at first she’d been sure Nick was only interested because she had a bit of a reputation for being easy—not that she did anything to erase that viewpoint. She liked boys, and she knew how to get their attention, heavy thighs and all.

But Nick had surprised her by being a gentleman. They’d kissed, a few times—and he had one hell of a mouth—but they hadn’t done much more than that. And even at his house, in his room, where there wasn’t anyone to stop him from doing
anything,
Nick proved to be a pretty good sounding board for her problems instead of trying to shut her up and get in her pants.

Then again, Nick’s twin brother made no secrets of how he felt about her. She hated Gabriel Merrick almost as much as she hated Jake. Maybe Nick wasn’t doing anything with her because he figured he could do better.

Even Gabriel had mocked her choice to be a cheerleader.

He’d said she belonged on the bottom of the pyramid with the
sturdy girls.

“Hey.
Hey
.” Nick’s hands closed over hers, and she realized she was kneeling, fighting with the zipper on her bag, and she’d already started a tear in the nylon stitching.

His blue eyes were close, intent on her face. She had to be flushed; it felt like it was a thousand degrees in here.

“What happened?” he said carefully.

She squished her eyes shut and thought about her day. Jake. Her mom. Cheerleading.

She opened her eyes and caught her body in the edge of the mirror, the way the shorts were cutting into her stomach, creating a little roll there.

Crisco
.

She wanted to punch the glass, to watch cracks form a disjointed spiderweb across her reflection. Her hand formed a fist.

But she didn’t swing it. Something worse happened.

She started crying.

N
ick knew what was expected when girls started crying: a hug, a minute or two of listening, a minute or two to offer some soothing words, and a wry smile followed by the suggestion that they find some chocolate. Or ice cream. Or both.

Much like the accounting, he could do it in his sleep.

But Quinn didn’t even let him get to the hug. She jerked her hands away from him and swiped the dampness from her eyes, then stood. “God. Next time I start to do that, smack me or something.”

“Sure. Sounds perfectly socially acceptable.” He paused. “You okay?”

She pulled her ponytail free and started to retie it. “I hate when they make me do that.”

“Who?”

“Everyone.”

“I was shooting for a more specific list of people.”

She turned away from him. “I don’t think the cheerleading thing is going to work out.”

“Did something happen?”

“Your brother was right.”

Sometimes she jumped between topics until Nick couldn’t keep track of what she was talking about. It probably made most people nuts, but it was one of the things he liked best about her—nothing was expected. “Which brother?”

She gave him a look. “Gabriel. I am too fat to be a cheerleader.”

Sometimes his twin could be a real ass. “Quinn—you’re not fat.”

“You’re right. I’m sure they were calling me Crisco because I make great cookies.”

Damn. He let out a breath. “But you’re
not
—”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“You want to talk about what happened with your mom?”

“Hell, no.” She jammed the iPod into the side pocket of her bag.

When she straightened, he caught her waist and tossed her into the air. She gasped, but he caught her and held her up, his hands braced on her rib cage. “I couldn’t do this with a fat girl.”

And okay, he probably could. Landscaping wasn’t light work, and he was used to slinging bags of pea gravel and limestone. Quinn was no feather, but his biceps weren’t screaming at him, either.

Quinn glared down at him. “Put me down before you lose your hands in the rolls.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re not fat. You’re solid.” She was, too. Her calves sported clear definition, and he could feel the strength in her abdominal muscles.

“That’s what every girl wants to hear, Nick. That she’s
solid
.” She wiggled. “Put me down.”

He lifted her higher, until his arms were straight. “I will when you quit with the pity party.”

“Or when I knee you in the face.”

A knock sounded at the door frame. “You guys mind if I work in here?”

Nick glanced over. A young man stood there, in knee-length cutoff sweatpants and a red T-shirt. He looked vaguely familiar, like maybe Nick had seen him around school or something. Brown eyes, dark, unkempt hair that was just this side of too long on top, caramel skin. An easy smile with a shadow of
unease
behind it. Then again, maybe that was just the scar on his upper lip, the drawn skin making the smile a little crooked and dark at the same time.

“Come on in,” said Quinn. “We were just goofing off.”

Oh. Right. Quinn.

Nick set her down.

Quinn obviously knew the guy, because she gave him a one-armed hug. “I haven’t seen you around here lately.”

He shrugged. “Work, school, dance. The holy trinity. You know.” Then his eyes flicked to Nick. “New partner?”

“Not the way you mean,” Quinn said. “He’s not a dancer. Adam, this is Nick.”

Adam
. The name fit him like a chord strummed on a guitar.

Nick couldn’t stop staring at him.

But Adam didn’t seem to notice. He just ducked his head through the shoulder strap and dropped his bag by the mirror. It should have been a throwaway motion, but instead there was a lyrical quality to his movement, like music flowed in his head. “I thought you might have been working on lifts,” he said.

“Nah,” said Nick. “Just a reality check.”

Quinn elbowed him in the ribs. “What are you working on?”

Adam pulled an iPod and a little player with speakers out of his bag. “An audition piece. There’s an opening at the dance school downtown.”

Quinn clapped. “Can we watch?”

Adam glanced at Nick. “I don’t want to bore your friend.”

“I wouldn’t be bored,” Nick said quickly. Then he checked himself. What was with the sudden enthusiasm? He shrugged. “I watch Quinn all the time.”

A slow smile found Adam’s mouth. “Sure, then. Find a place to sit.”

Nick sat against the wall at the back of the studio, and Quinn sat beside him, a good six inches of space between them. She pulled her sweatshirt into her lap and ripped the cap off a bottle of water. Nick had initially expected her to be one of those clingy girls who wanted to drape on his shoulder—but she never did.

Another reason he liked her.

Adam hit a button on the iPod, and music swelled through the small studio. Nick knew the song, one of those new lyrical R&B collaborations. The rhythm pulsed through his body and caught his heartbeat, the way music always did. It probably had something to do with the way sound waves traveled through the air—it always felt like he could hear with his whole body.

But the air liked Adam, too, liked the way he leaped across the floor and defied gravity, each movement timed perfectly with the beat.

Nick had never wanted to be a dancer, but right now, he felt a flash of envy. And admiration. And—and something—

“What do you think?” Quinn whispered.

“He’s good. Great. The dance. It’s great.” God, what was
wrong
with him? He rubbed at the back of his neck and pretended to stare at the floor. “It’s fine.”

“He’s super talented. He’s been trying to get in that school for two years, but he needs a scholarship.”

Nick heard longing in her voice and turned to look at her. “Do you wish you could go there?”

She kept her eyes on Adam and shrugged one shoulder. “I could never get in.”

“Have you tried?”

Quinn cut angry eyes his way. “I’d need a scholarship, too, Nick, and they’re not exactly writing checks to everyone who walks through the door.”

He’d grown up countering his brothers’ anger—and Quinn had nothing on that. He didn’t look away.
“Have you tried?”

She sat there glaring at him, and Nick just looked back.

The music cut off suddenly, and they both jerked to attention.

Adam was fiddling with the music player. “It’s driving me crazy,” he said, almost to himself. “It’s missing something, but I can’t figure out what.”

“A partner,” said Nick without thinking.

Adam’s hands went still on the iPod, and he looked over.

Nick shrugged a little, wondering at what point his brain had decided to disengage from his mouth. “Sorry. Just thinking out loud.”

Adam smiled again, that slow smile that pulled a little crooked because of the scar. His dark eyes shined in the overhead lights, and his voice was just a touch suggestive. “You volunteering?”

The breath rushed out of Nick’s chest.

Shit. Now he was blushing.

If Gabriel were here, there would be
no end
to the mockery.

Well, that shut it down, whatever it was. Flustered, Nick shoved Quinn in the shoulder. “No,” he growled. “Quinn is.”

“What?” said Quinn, sounding like she wondered when Nick had lost his mind. “I’m not good enough to dance with him.”

“Sure you are,” said Adam. He walked across the studio and stuck out a hand to Quinn.

But his eyes were on Nick. Nick wasn’t even looking at him, but he could
feel
it.

He just wasn’t entirely sure how he felt
about
it.

Nick nodded at the floor, then looked at Quinn. “Stop doubting yourself. Give it a try.”

She let Adam pull her to her feet, and Nick was glad they were moving away. Adam’s presence left him doubly off balance somehow, like trying to walk a narrow beam during an earthquake.

Adam and Quinn were talking now, going through the choreography or the music or whatever. Nick had no idea. His brain could barely process the conversation.

No, his thoughts kept replaying the moment two minutes ago.

He wasn’t offended. He wasn’t shocked. He was—

Nick shut that thought down before it could finish. His life was already complicated enough. He and his brothers were marked for death. They were ostracized by the Elemental community. Nick knew exactly what was expected of him: good grades, hard work, and the occasional girlfriend. He knew how to handle all three, could do it blindfolded.

But that stray thought had weaseled its way into the back of his head, lodging there so firmly that he couldn’t ignore it.

For the tiniest fraction of a second, when Adam had looked down at him, asking about volunteering, Nick had wondered what would have happened if he’d said
yes
.

Quinn threw her body into the music, trying to match Adam’s complicated choreography. He was a couple years older, but she’d known him since she was a kid, when their parents dumped them in the same ballet and tap combo class. She’d recognized his talent even then, the boy in scuffed dance shoes and frayed sweatpants who moved like a slave to the rhythm. They lived at opposite ends of the same neighborhood, so they’d gone to different elementary and middle schools—but when she was a freshman in high school, they’d caught up to each other. He’d been a junior, lean and agile and always smiling. With his dark eyes and dark hair—not to mention his talent—she’d crushed on him for
weeks,
following him around like a puppy dog.

He’d been totally sweet about it—until the day she cranked up her nerve and declared her feelings for him.

He’d kissed her on the forehead and told her he wasn’t into girls. Then, presumably to soften the blow, he’d confessed that he was personally crushing on the football team’s starting center.

Unfortunately, the wrong guys had overheard him. Quinn never knew who did it, but someone had punched Adam in the back of his head when he was standing at his locker. Perfectly timed, Adam’s head had snapped forward, right into the metal plate that stuck out to hold a combination lock.

She’d heard that it had taken fourteen stitches to close the gash on his lip.

She hadn’t heard it from Adam—he never came back to school. She’d tried to reach out on Facebook, but his Wall was full of epithets.

And the next day, his account was deleted altogether.

Quinn kind of lost track of him until last year, when he’d shown up at the Y, saying his basement apartment was just too confining. He’d gotten his GED instead of returning to high school, and now, at nineteen, he was working two jobs while taking here-and-there classes at the local community college.

But he could still dance like no one she’d ever seen.

Quinn missed a cue and almost ended up with her face planted in the wood floor. Adam caught her, and she struggled to right herself.

“See?” she snapped. “I can’t keep up with you.”

“No,” he said, putting a hand on her waist to set her straight. “I actually think your friend was right. It was missing a partner.”

“Do you know anyone who can do it with you?”

Adam gave her half a smile. “I thought
you
were.”

Her eyes flared. “No! This is your audition piece. I’m sure you know someone—”

“I do know someone. I’m looking at her.”

“Oh, I get it, you think having someone do a face plant on stage will make you look better?”

Now he grinned. He was insanely adorable and she was instantly reminded of why she’d had a crush on him in the first place. “Afraid?”

“I—j ust—you—”

“Yes,” Nick called from behind her. “She is.”

Quinn scowled. “I’d mess it up for you.”

“I’ve auditioned three times and gotten nowhere. I don’t think you could
mess it up
for me.” He paused, and his eyes went serious. “There’s a different energy to it now. Can’t you feel it?”

Actually, she could. Despite nearly smashing her face in, up to that point, the music had seemed to carry her, like her movement and the song had combined to form something more potent than just a hastily thrown-together dance in a dusty backroom studio at the Y.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to imagine how massive and ungainly she looked next to Adam. “When is your audition?”

“Next month. Four weeks.”

“Four weeks?” she exclaimed. “Are you
kidding
me?”

“Come on, that’s nothing.”

“Yes, but—but—”

“Don’t let her out of it,” Nick said.

Quinn swung her head around. “Maybe we can cut the commentary?”

Nick met her eyes from across the room, and held them. “Sure, if you say yes.”

“But I don’t—”

“Jesus, Quinn,” Nick snapped. “What else do you have to do?”

And that was one of the things she liked about Nick. He put up with her whining until she was almost sick of herself, and then he called her on her bullshit.

At least it would get her out of the house and away from her mother. And Jake.

And away from those idiot cheerleaders.

And maybe, somewhere deep down inside, she really wanted to see if she could do this.

She looked back at Adam. “All right. Let’s work it out.”

They sketched out a routine, modifying his original piece to incorporate a partner, putting together some moves that she could work on alone.

The whole time, Nick sat without complaint, even when she asked if he needed to go. He’d shrugged and said he was enjoying the music. She’d had other guys come to the studio before, but they usually sighed and started shuffling around after a half hour.