The cafeteria was loud as always, but I’d found a table off to the side where the noise was more of a dull hum than an assault. Salisbury steak again — not great, not terrible. I was halfway through it when Gabriel slid into the seat across from me, tray in hand, his eyes locked on me like he’d been waiting for this.
“You got a second?” he asked.
I chewed, swallowed, and gave a slow nod. “Sure. What’s up?”
“That pencil thing.” He leaned forward a little. “You’re not gonna tell me that was normal.”
“It was just reflexes,” I said evenly, stabbing a bite of mashed potatoes.
His eyes narrowed like he didn’t buy a word of it. “Uh-huh. Mind if I try something?”
“Depends,” I said, a faint edge of amusement creeping into my voice. “You gonna throw something at my head?”
“Not your head.”
Before I could respond, he palmed the unopened carton of milk from his tray, flicked it up into the air, and sent it spinning directly toward my face with a quick, sharp toss. He’d done it point-blank, no warning, no chance to see it coming — for anyone else, anyway.
My hand snapped up, catching it mid-spin without even looking at it. The whole move was so smooth I didn’t spill a drop. I set it down gently beside my tray.
A couple of kids at nearby tables had turned to look, but Gabriel didn’t even notice them. He was staring at me, his blue eyes lit with something between shock and fascination.
“No way,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen fast. That’s not fast. That’s…” He shook his head. “I don’t even know what that is.”
I kept my expression neutral. “Good hand-eye coordination.”
He smirked faintly. “Sure. And I’m the King of England.”
I took another bite of Salisbury steak like the whole thing had never happened. “If you say so.”
For the rest of lunch, he didn’t bring it up again — but every time our eyes met, I could see it there in his head, turning over like a puzzle he couldn’t leave alone.