The Lost Saint(36)

April sighed as we walked through the classroom door. “Yep, he’s cute all right. Actually, I think handsome is more the word for him, don’t you think? Cute implies a certain boyishness, but …”

I leaned in close to her ear. “You know he’s, like, an eight-hundred-and-something-year-old werewolf, right?”

“What?” April asked about ten more questions in a single breath, but I have to admit I tuned her out.

Gabriel stood next to Daniel’s desk. They both looked over a piece of paper in Daniel’s hand. I knew I could switch on my superhearing—it really was getting quite easy to control that power—to overhear what they were saying, but I didn’t like the idea of using my abilities to spy on Daniel. I also knew I could probably just walk right over there and ask what they were up to. I usually sat next to Daniel anyway. But I honestly wasn’t ready to talk to either of them yet. And since Daniel hadn’t made any effort to try to talk to me since last night, let alone apologize for lying about his whereabouts and then turning his back on me, I pulled a babbling April to the opposite side of the room.

“Hey, Grace,” Miya Nagamatsu said after I sat down in front of her.

“Hi.” I smiled at her. Mostly because her presence meant April stopped asking me questions about Gabriel’s were-status.

“We never see you around anymore.”

I shrugged. That was the thing about when April and I stopped being friends. It was as if we’d had an unspoken agreement that she’d get to keep all our other friends, like Miya, Claire, and Lane. They usually ate lunch together at the Rose Crest Café while I stayed back in the art room to work with Daniel and sometimes Katie Summers. Only today, Daniel had taken off as soon as the lunch bell rang, so it was just Katie and me working on our paintings—and she’d definitely been less talkative without Daniel around.

“Yeah,” said Claire. “We miss you.”

“Thanks, guys.”

“Did you and Daniel break up or something?” Miya pointed at Daniel across the room. “You guys are usually glued at the hip.”

As if on cue, Daniel looked up at me. Our eyes met for a moment, and he gave me half a smile. More sadness laced his expression than I’d expected to see. It made my heart feel hollow.

What is going on with him?

“No,” I said to Miya, “I just felt like a change today.” But I suddenly felt the urge to close the distance between Daniel and me. Yes, Daniel had lied, and he hadn’t backed me up when I needed him, but he was obviously going through something. I hated myself for being stupid and petty and not being there for him now.

But just then Katie Summers slipped into the empty desk next to Daniel, where I usually sat. She leaned over and asked Daniel a question. He took his eyes off me and answered her.

The bell rang. I begrudgingly turned my attention to Gabriel as he introduced himself to the class. He wrote the words Pastor Saint Moon on the dry-erase board at the front of the room. I wondered why he used that name. It was his sister’s married name—not his.

“I’m new to Rose Crest, but I imagine some of you knew my uncle, Donald Saint Moon. Though most of you probably knew him as Don Mooney.”

I almost let out a short laugh. The idea that Don had been Gabriel’s uncle was somewhat amusing—it was more like he was his great-great-great-multiplied-by-ten grandnephew.

“I want to jump right in where Mr. Shumway left off. Who remembers what you discussed last week?”

Katie’s hand shot straight up. “We had just started a discussion on the parable of the Good Samaritan. We read the scriptural account the last time Mr. Shumway was here.”

“Grace”—Gabriel turned toward me—“can you tell us what you know about the Good Samaritan?”

“What?” The only thing I could think of at the moment was how the guy in the leather jacket had called Talbot the Good Samaritan when he’d stopped the fight in the club. The image of Talbot leaning over me as I lay on the ground—offering his hand to help, fog swirling behind him—flashed in my mind. I pushed the mental picture out of my head. It was a stupid thing to think about, and surely not what Gabriel had meant.

“Can you summarize the story for us?” Gabriel asked.

“Oh yeah, sure.”

“Stand up so everyone can see you.”

I stood. “A Jewish man had been robbed, beaten, and left for dead on the side of the road. Two wealthy men of his own people saw him and did nothing because they were scared. But when a Samaritan—who the Jews hated—saw him, he took pity on the man and brought him to an inn and paid to make sure he was nursed back to health.”

“And what does that mean to you?”

I thought about it for a moment. “It means that if you have the ability and the opportunity to help someone, but you don’t do anything just because you’re scared or it’s inconvenient or something, then maybe you’re just as bad as the people who caused the problem in the first place.”

“Good analysis,” he said. “Thank you.”

I was about to sit back down, but something about that explanation bothered me. “So doesn’t that mean if you have the abilities needed to help someone, then you should do it? I mean, the Good Samaritan could have just kept on walking like everyone else. But he chose to do something instead. That’s what makes him a hero. He didn’t let fear hold him back.”