Pulse

expect, and her nerves went back into high gear.
    Dylan Gilmore was shooting baskets, and Wade was nowhere to be found. The gym was empty and full of echoes as Dylan bounced a ratty leather ball. He’d shed his shirt and wore only jeans, skate shoes, and a necklace.
    “Excuse me,” Faith stammered from across the open space where she stood at the door. “Isn’t there supposed to be some sort of jumping going on in here?”
    Dylan shot from the far end of the baseline and missed everything, then stared at the floor and shook his head.
    “I would have made that. You distracted me.”
    “Try again. I’ll be quiet this time.”
    Dylan faced her from across the gym and smiled, which was the first time she’d seen him looking even remotely happy. It was a nice smile. She wondered how tall he was up close.
    Faith didn’t have much time to stare, because Dylan seemed to be done playing basketball. He picked up his T-shirt and put it on, then took up his Tablet in one hand and put it in his back pocket. He ran his hand through his thick black hair and started walking toward the far door.
    “Nice talking to you,” Faith said under her breath. She wanted to believe Dylan was a good guy; but he seemed so aloof, and Hawk had said he was trouble. For some reason she yelled a question across the gym, but it came out more like an accusation. “You’re not making Wire Codes, are you?”
    Dylan stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around. He looked down at his shoes again, which were black and scuffed on the brushed leather.
    “Not my thing,” he said, turning to face her. “Tried it once, that was enough.”
    Faith was thinking that using wasn’t any better than manufacturing when it came to drugs just as the sounds of Wade and Clara Quinn’s voices echoed into the gym. They were entering from the far door, where a standoff between Wade and Dylan quickly ensued. Wade was taller, but Dylan was bigger, more solid.
    “Still trying jump shots?” Wade asked. “Why bother when there are easier ways to get the job done?”
    Wade was around Dylan in a flash, picking up the basketball and dribbling between his legs and around his back. Clara Quinn watched and smiled with her arms crossed at her chest as Wade darted for the basket and leaped, slam dunking the ball with ease.
    “Whoa,” said Faith.
    “He doesn’t jump as high as it seems,” Dylan said as he moved toward the door. “It’s all smoke and mirrors.”
    “He’s just showing off,” Clara Quinn said.
    “Same Wade, different day,” Dylan added. Even from across the gym Faith could see that Clara Quinn was into Dylan Gilmore. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, and it was pretty obvious that she was enjoying the fact that Dylan was willing to stand his ground against her brother.
    Dylan turned and put his hands out, calling for the ball. Wade laughed, then threw the basketball like a pitcher, firing it like a hundred-mile-an-hour fastball at Dylan’s head. Dylan caught it without difficulty and stared at the hoop Wade had just dunked on. It was way farther than a three-point shot; but Dylan sized it up, let fly a jumper, and hit nothing but net.
    “I’ll take a three over a dunk every time. Power only gets you so far.”
    Wade was surprised by the make but undeterred in his obvious dislike of Dylan.
    “Gym’s closed for practice, loser.”
    Dylan brushed past Clara, and she leaned toward him; but he didn’t stop as he made his way out of the gym through the far doors. Faith found the display of competition exhilarating and hoped it was for her benefit. She was about to walk onto the hardwood floor when Mr. Reichert, who apparently did triple duty as the principal, a teacher, and the Field Games coach, came into the gym behind Faith and scared her half to death.
    “Hi, kiddo, how’s Old Park Hill treating you?”
    Faith jumped nearly as high as Wade Quinn and made an unfortunate, high-pitched sound that sent Clara Quinn into a fit of annoying laughter.
    “Be nice, Clara. Faith’s still getting used to the place. Let’s let her believe we’re a friendly bunch for a little longer.”
    Mr. Reichert pulled on a janitor-style ring of keys attached to his belt and began unlocking a storage area. “How about you help me get this set up while they warm up, Faith? What do you say?”
    “Yeah, make yourself useful,” Clara yelled from across the gym where she was in the middle of a weird-looking yoga stretch. “We could use a team manager,