Ripple

note cards out of my pocket and pile them in front of me. Cole’s are already sitting on the countertop, perfectly flat.

Sienna scowls. “You better not lose any of those. I worked really hard on them.”

“Whatever,” I say.

She pauses a second, like she wants to fire back, but then she just rolls her eyes. “Okay, so, thanks to that stupid fire drill, we’re out of time. If we don’t figure this out tonight, we’re screwed.” She gives me a long, lingering look, like I’m responsible for a stupid fire drill. Like I wanted to spend twenty-five minutes standing in the parking lot this afternoon while the fire crew figured out that some genius pulled the fire alarm as a prank and there was no fire at all.

“As moderator, I figure I’ll introduce the book,” Sienna says, holding a pink pen in her hand. There’s a page of loopy, girlie handwriting in front of her. “I’ll talk about the history of it, the popularity, the television show, et cetera, leading into the diverging commentary from both sides: those who see it as trash, diluting the quality of our literature, and those who see it as a satirical portrayal of the upper class.” She flips a page in her notebook. God save us, there’s another whole page filled with her writing. “The introduction should take three or four minutes, and then we’ll start the actual debate.”

I nod, my stomach growing heavy. I know without turning around that the sun is little more than a sliver on the horizon. The light in the room has a buttery, warm quality to it.

“You guys have reviewed your note cards, right?”

“Yes, Sienna.” I want to remind her that up until Steven died, I was her only competition for valedictorian. After that night, I spent two weeks away from school, and I made no attempt to make up the homework. I got B’s that quarter. The only time I’ve ever had less than a 4.0. That one blemish is enough to keep me a step behind Sienna’s flawless record.

It should have been her, falling apart when he died. And yet instead, it turned into fuel. Instead of melting down, she became empty and mechanical. “Excellent. So, you’re going first since your standpoint is positive, and then Cole will obliterate your argument. . . .”

Sienna keeps talking, but her voice becomes little more than a hum in my ears. The sun has set, and it feels as if invisible lines have been lashed around me, as if the ocean is reeling me in. This is the closest I’ve been to the ocean at dusk in two years. I clench my hands in my lap and impatiently tap my feet against the hardwood floors, eager to give into the urge to leave this place and walk across the dunes.

My irritation grows as Sienna drones on. This is a debate, not rocket science. I grit my teeth and force myself to listen to her. But try as I might to ignore the sea, it’s nearly impossible. It’s like the tide is actually lapping at my back, begging me to turn around.

It takes us another ten excruciating minutes to run through how the debate will work. With each passing moment, everything inside me coils tighter. And then, finally, we’re done.

I stifle the urge to run full-speed out of the house and into my car.

Cole walks Sienna and me to the door, and I taste the freedom, can almost feel the water of my lake washing over my skin. We step across the threshold and part ways, not bothering to say good-bye to each other. I’m just sitting down in my seat when Sienna’s tires squeal and she rips out of the driveway, disappearing through the iron gates. I guess I wasn’t the only one ready to go.

I shiver against the cold as I turn the key. But then . . . nothing. Instead of the car sputtering to life, all I hear is a series of clicks. A lump forms in my throat in an instant.

No, please, this can’t happen. . . .

I close my eyes and turn the key again, holding my breath, but still, the car refuses to start.

Seriously, this can’t be happening. I have to get up into the mountains. I have to get to my lake. I have to swim.

Tears spring forward and I can’t stop them. If I can’t get to the lake . . . if I can’t swim, and it gets worse and worse . . . would I buckle? Would I swim in the ocean?

No, no, that won’t happen. I won’t let it. I’ll get the car fixed if I have to sell a kidney to do it.

But no matter what I tell myself, panic swells in my chest. The tears come faster and faster. They spill over my eyes and trail down my cheeks, dropping off at my chin. I put both hands on the wheel and bury my face in my arms. My body racks with the sobs, shakes with them,

I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

A tapping on the window makes me jump, and I look up to see Cole standing there. I can’t make out his expression through the tears.

“Go away,” I say, my voice bloated and raspy.

He tries the door, but it’s locked. I close my eyes and try to wipe the tears away, hoping that by the time I open them, he’ll have just disappeared.

For a second, I think I got my wish, because he stops tapping on the window. But then I hear the passenger door squeak open, and I hear him slide into the seat beside me.

I close my eyes tighter. “Please, just go away,” I say. Why is he here? Why, after two years, does he give a damn?

I feel his hand on my arm and I jerk away. I don’t deserve comfort. Not after what I did. Or could do again.

Cole tries again, placing his hand on my shoulder. This time I don’t pull away. The heat of his fingertips burns through my jacket. It’s been so long since anyone has touched me. The weight of his hand feels like a thousand pounds; it’s so unnatural and unfamiliar. But it’s a good weight.

“Are you okay?”

I raise my head and glare at him, then try to wipe the tears that still brim in my eyes. “Do I look okay to you?”

“You haven’t looked okay since Steven died.”

I turn away again and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. I can’t believe he just said that, so simply. No one ever cares if I’m okay. “Everyone thinks I killed him.”

“I don’t.”

For some reason his admission just makes the tears come anew. I purse my eyes tightly, willing them to stop, to disappear. “Why?”

“Because I saw the way you looked at him. You would have done anything to save him.”

For a second, I let the tears fall without wiping them away. I take in deep, unsteady breaths, my eyes shut, concentrating on the feeling of his hand on my shoulder.

It seems as if eternity passes in silence, with Cole’s steady, unwavering presence beside me. None of them know how much they hurt me, but now he does. I turn away from him, finally getting myself under control. Thanks to the fogged-over windows, it now feels like we’re the only two souls left on earth.

“So . . . has it just been one of those days, or what? You’re not the type to break down like this.”

I swallow and turn back to him. I don’t have the energy required to guard my emotions right now; I just look right into his hazel eyes—more green than brown—and try to keep my lips from quivering all over again.

I . . . I just . . .” I choke back the words I want to say, the words that would surely pour out if only I uncorked them. “I can’t afford to fix it, and my grandmother doesn’t have a car so I drive us everywhere and . . .” I let my voice trail off, because I sound pathetic to be so worked up about a car.

He stares at me for a long, pointed moment. He doesn’t believe me, and I know he wants to say so. “Maybe I can fix it,” he says, his voice soft. “I’m not the mechanic Steven was, but I helped him enough to pick up a thing or two.”

I blink rapidly, keeping the tears from swallowing me whole all over again. “Thank you.”

Cole sighs. The sound stretches out and lingers there. “All right. I’ll open the garage door and we can push it inside.”

I nod and look at him again, grateful he isn’t pushing for something I can’t give. “Thank you.”

He nods, his eyes still on mine. Then he pulls away and climbs out of the car, taking all of the air with him as he shuts the door.

I stop myself from calling out after him. Two years of not talking to anyone, and now everything wants to burst out at the first possible chance. But I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t be that person. I can’t invite him in.