Ripple (2 page)

“Thanks a lot,” I mutter, tearing my eyes away from him. He’s wearing a button-down shirt with a sweater-vest. What does he think this is, prep school? I turn my face away from him and once more rest my cheek on the cool surface of my desk, hoping he’ll leave me alone.

“You need anything? A cup of water or an aspirin or something?”

I sit up and glare. Two years since I ran in his clique, and we’ve hardly spoken. No, that’s a lie. They all talk plenty, relentlessly hurling insults my way.

And now I’m supposed to be civil?

“I’ll pass.” Pain relievers don’t work anyway. There’s no getting around this. The only relief I’ll feel is when I’m in the water tonight. “Don’t you have a girl to hit on or something?”

He rolls his eyes. “So you’re sticking with the ice-queen thing again this year, huh?”

I blink several times, fighting the urge to defend myself. When Steven was alive, Cole and I never got along. He has this way of calling people out, thinking he knows everything. I guess in two years, he still hasn’t changed.

I force my eyes to stare at the whiteboard as the teacher shuffles in and starts writing her name in giant red marker on the top, in big loopy cursive: “Mrs. Jensen.”

“Did you have a good summer?”

“Are we really doing this?” I wince as my temple pounds harder. “Just give me the punch line. Have your laugh and move on.”

Someone behind us snorts, and I turn to see Sienna, Little Miss Picture-Perfect, sitting down behind me. Why is she sitting there? She’s even worse than Nikki. My eyes dart around the classroom. She’s taken the last available seat. Maybe someone will trade with me. Or maybe this teacher does assigned seating. “Oh come on, you know she doesn’t talk to people.” She stares right at me. “Not even ex–best friends.”

Cole lifts an eyebrow. “Funny—she talked to me a few minutes ago.”

Is he defending me? Why would he do that? I look over at him, and he gives me a slight smile, showing off his dimple. A stabbing pain to my stomach reminds me why I’m supposed to be mad at him.

“I guess miracles do happen.” Sienna shrugs her petite shoulders, her blonde-streaked hair tumbling down her back, and starts digging through one of her many Coach purses. Today it’s green, to match the cami she’s wearing underneath a white cardigan. Sienna is like that—very matchy-matchy, always pulled together. A picture of lipglossed perfection. I guess I used to be like that, too. “Do you have an ulcer or something? Your face is all screwed up. It’s really not cute,” Sienna says. She cocks her head to the side and her platinum hair shimmers, all bounce and body, like she could model for a box of a hair dye.

“I—” I start to say, then stop, snapping my mouth shut. Nothing good comes from talking to my “ex–best friend.” Besides, I’ve been replaced. By Nikki, and Kristi, and Sienna’s boyfriend Patrick.

Mrs. Jensen clears her throat, and I turn my attention to the front of the class, promptly ignoring Sienna.

“Now, I know you guys have already had five classes of rules and expectations and agendas, so this shouldn’t be anything new, but we’ll be going over it anyway.”

I grind my teeth. I could have stayed home.

Mrs. Jensen hands out the syllabuses, and I take the last copy and hold it over my shoulder for Sienna without looking at her. When she doesn’t immediately take it, I wave it around, as obnoxiously as possible. She yanks it out of my hand, grumbling something underneath her breath.

Mrs. Jensen starts at the top. “This year, we’ll cover at least three classics, and three books of your own choice. . . .”

I sigh inwardly. Behind me, Sienna leans in to get closer to Cole, but all it does is amplify her voice in my ear. “So, are you coming to my party?”

I glance around. There has got to be somewhere else to sit. Someone who will trade chairs with me or something. Do I really need to listen to this? To hear everything I’m missing? Two years ago, she would have been asking
me
if I was coming. I would have known she was in this class because we would have shared schedules at seven o’clock this morning, and then squealed when we discovered we had one together.

My eyes sweep the room, take in the same faces as always, but I pause on the desk in the back corner. A new guy, tall and blond and bulky with muscle. I wonder if he’s heard the rumors about me yet. I give him until noon before someone warns him to stay away.

He must feel my eyes on him because he turns and catches me staring. I look away, feeling a familiar warmth creep into my cheeks.

I dig a blue pen out of my binder and pretend to be taking notes on Mrs. Jensen’s big talk. She’s pacing around up there, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. I’ve never heard of her before. She must be new. Probably straight out of school. She looks like she just graduated from the seventh grade and is all sorts of freaked out about being in front of us all.

I draw little squiggly lines all over the orange paper. They look like waves. Like the ocean. With the orange background, it’s like the ocean at sunset—deep blue and orange russet, all mixing together.

At least, that’s how I remember the ocean at sunset. I haven’t seen it that way since the night Steven died.

“Yeah, can’t wait,” Cole says.

I slide my chair over just a little bit, trying to avoid listening to this. But two inches isn’t enough, and it’s all I can manage without drawing attention to myself. The last thing I want is for New Teacher to peg me as a troublemaker.

I feel the urge to look back at Sienna, so I concentrate harder on the paper, the waves growing and filling the empty space at the top, until there’s more ink than blank space.

“Everyone is going to be there,” Sienna says.

That same feeling stabs me in the chest. Because to her, I’m not
everyone.
I’m no one. She said that on purpose just to get to me.

I glance at the clock. Eight minutes. That’s all that’s passed since I sat down.

“Awesome. I should be there by eight at the latest.” He pauses for a second. “What about you?”

I furrow my brow as I fill in the last blank spot on the left margin of my syllabus. Why is he asking Sienna what time she’ll arrive at her own party? When I glance up, I realize that he’s asking
me.

My lips part, but I don’t know what to say, and then Sienna jumps in. “As if Lexi’s invited.”

“I’m busy anyways,” I say, but my voice comes out more hollow and sad than I’d anticipated.

Cole’s eyes soften and he starts to open his mouth, but I’m saved from his words of pity by the teacher. “You? In the middle? Did you have a question on the grading system?”

My breath catches. “Oh. Uh, no, I think I figured it out. Sorry.”

Then I turn back to coloring in the waves, trying to think about the lake tonight and not Sienna’s party. I wouldn’t go, anyway, so why do I care? I have to go swimming.

Cole better not be at my lake. I can’t take another day of agony like this. I need the water like I need air.

 

When I get home that night, I sink onto the couch, letting out a long slow sigh of relief. I thought today would never end. It’s still several hours until dusk, but it feels good to be home, where I don’t have to hang on to the facade. I’ve spent two years training myself to pretend I don’t care they all hate me, and it’s never gotten easier. These precious hours between school and dusk are the only time I can relax. Once the sun disappears and the moon rises, pulls on the tides—pulls on me—I have to go.

“How was your first day, sweetie?” My grandma walks out of the kitchen, holding a steaming mug with both hands. Tea. Her only addiction.

I sit up. “Good. Tough classes, but I’ll be fine.”

“You always are. I’m very proud of you, you know.” Gram sits down on her recliner and clicks the remote, turning off the television. “Are your friends in any of your classes?”

She takes a slow sip of her tea, staring at me over the lemonyellow mug with her eyebrows raised. These last two years, she’s picked up on the fact that something’s changed, but somehow, I’ve kept my biggest secret, even from her.

She is my father’s mother, and she’s totally normal, at least as far as I can tell. She doesn’t even know how to swim; she used to tell me stories about my father and his sailboat and how she refused to set foot on it until she had a life vest tied firmly around her.

And then one day he sailed away. I always imagined my dad would come back, eventually. That he’d realize it was stupid to leave us. But he never did. Never will.

So, since my Gram isn’t big on swimming, that means either I’m a total freak of nature or I got it from my mom. And I’m pretty sure I know which one it is. But my mom’s dead. I’ll never know for certain.

“Uh, yeah. Sienna is in my English class. Nikki and I have chemistry together.” I avoid looking at her and get to my feet. “Did you take your insulin today?” I ask. “What was your reading?”

Gram sets the mug down beside her. “I wish you wouldn’t worry so much. That’s my job.”

I stand in the entry to the kitchen. “I’m not
worried,
Gram. I just like to know that you’re not forgetting.”

“You set that blasted alarm. How could I forget? I nearly jump out of my chair every time it rings.”

I smile, then. “Okay. Good. I’m going to fix you up some more syringes. Want spaghetti for dinner?”

Gram nods, picking up the remote and clicking the television back on. “Sounds good.”

I open the fridge and pull out my grandmother’s bottle of insulin, then go to the cupboard and take out the box of syringes, a pair of scissors, and a roll of medical tape. I take them to the little dining room table, where my backpack is sitting. I reach into the small zippered pocket and pull out a laminated chart about the size of the average road map.

I lay the chart—the periodic table of elements—out on the table. I spent half the last month preparing for the start of my advanced chem class. We’re not required to memorize the periodic table of the elements, but I’m trying to anyway. I’m sure it will help me later.

Knowledge. Books. School. I fill up my head with these things, and it keeps me from going crazy. After staring at the table for a few minutes, I look away, repeating the elements over and over, whispering them under my breath.
Nitrogen, phosphorous, arsenic, antimony, bismuth, ununpentium.

The fifteenth row.

Carefully, I snip pieces of tape. Seven of them. I label them Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday . . . until the whole week is listed out. Then I take the syringes and load them with 40 cc of insulin. My grandmother’s daily dose. I label each syringe and then get up.
Nitrogen, phosphorous, arsenic . . .

I’ve already forgotten the rest. I walk to the old, almond-colored fridge, dropping the syringes into the empty box on the top shelf. I stare into the fridge, tapping my nails on the door. Then I reach in and grab some Parmesan cheese and green peppers, my mind turning to the simpler things in life, the things I can control.

I chop the peppers while I bring the water to a boil, listening as
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire
blares in the other room.

My feet are on fire, now, but it’s still too early to swim. I don’t understand why, but swimming while it’s still light out is pointless and unsatisfying. I glance up at the clock.

Three hours to go.

 

The drive to the lake is excruciatingly long. It’s a dozen miles outside town, which would take fifteen minutes to drive if the road were paved. Unfortunately, it’s gravel, a rutted, puddle-filled old logging road. My Toyota groans as I climb upward in the darkness, ancient cedar trees soaring out around me, the very trees our town was named for. A light sprinkle has picked up, and my wipers intermittently swipe across the dirty windshield.

The radio in my car doesn’t work, so I make the drive every night in silence, my only soundtrack the sounds of my tires crunching on the old gravel surface or the squeaking of the worn-out shocks. When I first started coming here, I used to think it was eerie, driving so far in the silent darkness. But I’ve grown used to it.

I park under a big fir tree, my car engulfed in shadows. Tonight, the moon is blotted out by the clouds, and a fine mist drizzles down as I step outside my car. I pull on an old fleece jacket and zip it up to my chin, then set out down the trail.

Even without a flashlight, I have no problem navigating the familiar path. Leaves and sticks crunch beneath my worn-out hiking boots. My knees ache as I climb over the trunk of a fallen pine tree. A few more minutes and the pain will go away.

Under the canopy of the evergreen forest, the rain disappears. I unzip my jacket a little and take in a few deep breaths. Looking up through the limbs of the trees, I spot the few stars that aren’t hidden by clouds. The slightly sweet, decaying scent of a fallen nurse tree greets me.

Finally, I emerge into the small clearing that surrounds my lake. The instant I see the water, my desire grows. After a night without swimming, it’s nearly impossible to keep myself from racing straight to the edge and diving in.

The rain drizzles down, moistening my skin when I step out from under the limbs. I pause at the edge of the shore and look around, straining to hear any snap of twigs or rustle of leaves, but I hear only the sound of the forest. I pull my clothes off and hang them on the same limb as always, and then I walk to the edge of the water. A frog picks up its chorus, and I sigh as I ease into the icy lake. The cool liquid laps at my ankles, and already the pain is melting away.

Maybe Cole didn’t like the lake. Maybe he’ll never come back.

I wade deeper, then dive into the freezing water when it reaches my waist. Immediately, the muscles in my limbs unwind, my back relaxes. The glacial water is like a warm bubble bath for my body. Everything that happened today is carried away with each kick, each paddle.