Only to be hauled back in the next morning.
Just like in a real prison, not everyone sucked. There were the people who didn’t know he existed. The people who knew but didn’t care. The latter made up the bulk of the student body.
But then there was the group that knew everything about him. The group that wanted him dead.
The Elementals.
Like he’d picked this. Like he’d woken up one morning and said, I’d love to be tied to an element. I’d love to have so much power it scares me.
I’d love to be marked for death because of something I can’t control.
Another ball.
Crack.
This wasn’t the only place with batting cages, but it was the cheapest. One sat closer to home, with fake turf in the cages and everything, but here his feet were in the dirt, pulling strength from the ground below.
If he took his shoes off and swung barefoot, he could draw enough power from the earth to blow the ball straight through the net.
Oh, who was he kidding? He could practically do that now, steel-toed work boots and all.
That was part of the problem. He was a pure Elemental. Power spoke to him straight from the earth. The others in town had power, sure, but nothing like his. He could theoretically level half the town if he lost his temper.
Which was why they wanted him dead.
Another ball.
Crack.
At least his parents had worked out a deal: He’d stay out of trouble, and the other families wouldn’t report his existence.
There’d been money involved, sure. He had no idea how much. But sometimes he couldn’t believe his entire being rested on a signed check and a frigging handshake.
It didn’t help that the other kids in town—the kids who knew—seemed determined to make him reveal himself.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and Michael punched the button to stop the pitches, whirling with bat in hand.
He wouldn’t put it past Emily to call her brother and his friends.
No one stood in the dust between the batting cages and the office. Dad’s work truck was still the only vehicle in the parking lot.
Michael swiped the sweat off his forehead and turned to slap the button again. Another ball came flying.
Crack.
He’d have to think twice before bringing Chris or the twins here again. It was one thing to walk into enemy territory alone, and entirely another to drag his little brothers.
And, damn it, this shouldn’t have been enemy territory!
Crack.
God, it felt good to hit something.
Well, he wasn’t giving it up. This was his thing. If Emily wanted to take a swing at his head with a putter twice a week, she could give it her best shot. What did she think he was going to do, instigate an earthquake from the batting cages? Make too much grass grow on the driving range?
That prickle crawled along his neck again. Michael spun.
Emily stood there, ten feet behind the chain link, her arms folded tight against her chest. Tendrils of white-blond hair had escaped her ponytail to cling to her neck in the humidity.
Michael could practically hear his father’s daily warning in his head: Don’t start something. Just leave them alone.
How was he supposed to leave them alone if they kept coming after him?
He automatically checked behind her. Still no cars in the parking lot.
“Back to take another swing?” he said.
She scowled, but didn’t look away. “No.” She hesitated. “I just . . . I wanted to—”
A ball rammed the fence beside his shoulder, rattling the entire structure. Michael swore, and Emily jumped. He turned to slap the button again.
When he turned back, she’d come closer, until only three feet of dirt and a chain-link cage separated them.
“I need this job,” she said, her voice full of false bravado. Like she’d had to dare herself to walk out here.
“Maybe you shouldn’t try to kill your customers, then.”
She licked her lips and fidgeted. “I didn’t . . . I thought you were going to—”
“Yeah, I know what you thought I was going to do.” He adjusted the grip on his bat and turned back to face the machine. No matter how careful he was, all they could see was his potential for damage.
Like he would have needed a bat. Didn’t she understand that? He hit the button. A ball came flying. He swung.
Crack.
“Well,” she said from behind him, “I saw what you did to Tyler last week.”
What he’d done. That was rich. “Yeah, poor Tyler.”
“He said you jumped him after school.”
Michael couldn’t even turn around. Fury kept him rooted until the next ball shot out of the machine. He swung hard. This one hit the nets and strained the ropes.
Of course Tyler would make him out to be the bad guy.
He tossed a glance over his shoulder. “I’m sure you got the whole story.”
She hesitated. “If you’re just coming here to hassle me, I’ll tell my parents.”
From any other girl, it would have been an empty threat. The kind of threat you stopped hearing in third grade.