Until this afternoon, she thought. But then she picked up on what Nick had said, that Tyler and Seth used to beat the shit out of them. Like his twin brother, Nick was tall, and landscaping gave his body some solid definition. She couldn’t imagine anyone beating the shit out of him—but then again, if everything he’d told her was true, maybe he’d been afraid to fight back.

“I just don’t understand why,” said Quinn. “What do they care?”

Nick glanced over. “We scare them.”

“They’re scared of a little breeze?”

“Remember Homecoming? Remember the tornado that formed over the soccer field? Ripped out a few trees?”

“Yeah?”

Nick gave her a significant look.

“No way,” she said.

“Way.” He grimaced. “I lost control of it. Ended up breaking my leg in three places.”

More events were clicking into place. “You said you threw out your knee playing soccer.”

“It made for a good cover story.” He looked away from her eyes. “Air is everywhere. I heal fast.”

“Can you fly?”

She couldn’t keep the hushed wonder from her voice, and Nick smiled. “No. Too much weight. I can’t focus the air pressure enough for that.”

“What does air pressure have to do with anything?”

“Are you kidding? Air pressure is awesome.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are such a nerd sometimes. You’re lucky you’re hot or you couldn’t get away with saying things like air pressure is awesome.”

“Seriously. Air pressure affects everything. Haven’t you ever heard the expression nature abhors a vacuum?” He grinned.

“Actually, we were doing this experiment in class once where Dr. Cutter was trying to prove a point with a balloon, but I kept making it pop—”

“You are the only person alive who would use superpowers to be more dorky.”

“They’re not superpowers.”

That sounded a lot like the difference between to-MAY-to and to-MAH-to to Quinn. “Would it be okay if I told Becca?”

Nick hesitated. He lost the smile.

She rushed on. “I know it’s your secret. I don’t have to tell her.

I—well, she’s dating Chris, too, so maybe he could tell her . . .”

She stopped. “What? What’s that expression?”

“Becca knows,” Nick said gently.

“Becca knows, ” said Quinn. “Like . . . how long?”

“Since that party at Drew McKay’s house. Tyler and Seth came after Chris, and chased him and Becca into the water.” He hesitated. “According to Chris, he lost control of the current.

She almost drowned. He dragged her out.”

Quinn sat up straight, rotating to face him from the bench seat. “Becca almost drowned and she didn’t tell me?”

“Quinn—she couldn’t tell you. Knowing our secret—it’s not a good thing. It makes you a target. It puts you in danger.”

That sounded like a whole lot of bullshit. Quinn used to tell Becca everything. Everything. “Then why did you tell me?”

“Because you’re my friend. I wanted you to know.” He paused. “And you kept my other secret.”

Quinn felt herself softening.

The floor creaked in the hallway.

Quinn shoved Nick in the shoulder. He was off balance and rocked back, sitting down hard on the carpet.

Quinn was in his lap before he could move, her hand pulling at the hem of his shirt and her mouth latched on to his neck.

Nick sucked in a breath and grabbed her waist, but then Gabriel spoke from the doorway.

“I’d tell you two to get a room, but at least close the door.”

Nick froze. Quinn lifted a hand to give his twin the finger.

She didn’t take her mouth off Nick’s neck.

God, he smelled good.

“Classy,” said Gabriel. He was already moving down the hallway.

Quinn straightened and let go of Nick’s shirt. “You’re welcome.”

He gave her a look. “If there’s a hickey on my neck, I’m going to kill you.”

She patted him on the cheek. “Come on, Romeo. Maybe you’ll get a chance to get one from Adam.”

CHAPTER 3

Nick studied the sign over the door to the dance studio. The last time he’d seen Adam and Quinn dance, they’d been using the back room of the relatively deserted local YMCA.

Now it was a real dance studio, with real dancers, and a parking lot full of real cars.

Meaning real people. Real people who might know him.

His head had been full of all the family secrets he’d revealed to Quinn, but in an instant, he forgot about Tyler and anything remotely Elemental.

“I don’t think I can do this,” said Nick.

“Whatever.” Quinn didn’t indulge him for one second. She was out of the truck and through the door to the studio before he got the key out of the ignition.

He sat in the silent vehicle, listening to the engine ticking.

Deliberating.

If a girl was waiting in there, he wouldn’t hesitate. He could flirt with girls without thinking about it, and they’d be lining up to follow him home. He’d learned the opposite sex with the same efficiency he learned physics or trigonometry: a system of functions and formulas leading to a calculated result.

He had no idea what the result of this evening would be.

Worse, he didn’t know what he wanted the result to be.

Quinn stuck her head back out the door. Her expression spoke volumes.

Well. Really, just one sentence.

WTF are you doing?

Nick slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and dropped out of the truck.

“I wish I could get this on video,” Quinn said when he stepped into the tiny lobby.

“What?” he asked.

“Nick Merrick, insecure. No wonder you’re such a player.”

“What does that mean?” he demanded.

“With girls, there are no stakes.” She grabbed his hand.

“Come on. Adam’s still teaching. You can catch the end of his lesson.”

“Wait—teaching?”

“He works here. How do you think we get to use this swank studio?”

“But—”

She shushed him with a glare, dragging him down a narrow hallway that opened into a huge studio. Parents were crowded onto a few wooden risers along the back wall. Nick’s gaze fell on everything except the people in the center of the room.

Mirrors lined the longest wall, stretching from floor to ceiling to make the room look twice as large as it was already. The opposite wall was all windows blocked by sheer screens, letting the last of the daylight in. A grand piano sat in the corner, next to a massive stereo.

A dozen kids stood spaced across the hardwood floor, mostly dressed in loose pants or stretchy shorts. Nine girls, three boys.

None was older than twelve or thirteen.

Adam stood in front of the mirror, facing the group.

Now that Nick’s eyes had found him, they didn’t want to look away.

He’d worried that his imagination had built Adam into someone who didn’t exist, a memory of perfection that the real deal couldn’t match. But Adam’s flawless skin still carried that warm caramel hue. His hair was still pitch dark. His eyes were still brown and sparkling, his cheekbones still high. The same sinewy muscles traced the lengths of his arms. He moved with the same rhythm, as if a song played in his head.

He didn’t notice Nick.

Well, he was occupied. Teaching. Even now, he was talking about lines and balance and something about a firebird leap combination.

But the room wasn’t that big. His eyes had flicked in their direction when Quinn climbed onto the back row of the risers—

but his gaze passed over Nick without recognition.

And now Nick was sitting here staring at him.

God, this was awkward.

In a flash, he understood the smiley in that text message.

Maybe Adam was okay with Nick coming along because he didn’t care anymore. And honestly, Nick couldn’t blame him. Adam was out. He was comfortable in his skin. He had an apartment and a job and a life.

He wasn’t hiding from his family and ignoring a stack of college correspondence because he didn’t want to deal with reality.

At least this was easier. Bringing the physics textbook had been a good call. Nick slid his notebook out of the bag.

He wasn’t fooling himself.

His chest felt tight. Breath fought its way into his lungs.

Adam might not have been watching him, but Nick felt like the center of attention anyway, like everyone in this room could feel his agitation, his insecurity, his disappointment.

He kept his head down over his notebook, but the rich timbre of Adam’s voice kept poking at the edges of his awareness.

Adam was a good teacher. Friendly. Engaging, making the kids laugh as he counted off a routine and pointed out their errors.

His bare feet crossed the studio to stop in front of the stereo, drawing Nick’s eyes. He hit a button, and music swelled through the room. Country, to Nick’s surprise, lively guitar chords backed by a strong bass line and a driving beat.

Then Adam returned to his spot in front of the mirror and counted off the same beat, leading his students into a routine.

Nick’s breath caught. Music always rode the air until he felt each beat through his whole body. But the air here was full of energy that sparked and rejoiced with the melody. Nick could practically thread his fingers through the notes. He fed a bit of power to the air, getting it back in spades. The students leapt higher, their movements matching the beat perfectly, invisible streamers of sound-fed power weaving among them.

And Adam—he was magnificent. He moved like the music lived inside him, as if Nick’s power choreographed each motion.

When the last chord hit and they went still, the air in the room waited, too, charged with potential.

Then the parents clapped.

Nick felt Quinn breathing beside him. “You did something,”

she whispered. “Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to.” And that was true. But facing Tyler in the driveway, telling Quinn his secret, the wonder and fear and uncertainty of coming here—all his emotions had rallied.

Adam was looking now. His chest rose and fell quickly.

All this power, and Nick had no idea what Adam was thinking.

Then Adam broke the eye contact and called his class to order, dismissing them for the night.

Nick let go of a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He’d left a sweaty handprint along the spine of his physics book.

“Try not to do that while I’m dancing, okay?” said Quinn.

Before he could answer, she was climbing down from the risers, stripping out of her sweatshirt, pushing through the crowd of parents fighting for the exit.

Adam had disappeared into the hallway, too.

Damn.

Nick flung the textbook open on the bench and told himself to get excited about mass and acceleration and inclined planes.

The room emptied, and when Quinn flicked on the stereo to start warming up, Nick tried to convince himself he would’ve been better off staying in the car.

His brain wasn’t convinced. He didn’t move.

The air told him when Adam walked into the room. Nick ig-34

nored the swirl in the currents, the minute temperature change as his element reacted to his tension.

Study.

He tried. He read the same equation sixteen times. It could have been written in crayon by a dyslexic toddler for all the sense it made.

Adam walked over to the risers.

Nick’s eyes froze on his textbook. Now he couldn’t remember what subject he was studying.

Adam put his hand on one of the wooden benches and leapt to the upper level.

Nick had forgotten how he moved, like a jungle cat crossed with an acrobat. Powerful yet agile. Instead of sitting beside him, Adam sat cross-legged on the riser in front of him.