Ripple

between us.

We reach the building, and Cole pulls the door open for me. I brush by him as if the gesture is meaningless. But the truth is, it isn’t; most people slam the door in my face.

Something swells inside me. A mix of somethings: hope, guilt, despair. For the first time in a long time, I am dreading pushing someone away, and I haven’t even done it yet. “Thanks for your help,” I say, retreating into the crowd before Cole can say anything else. I rush away, glancing back once to see if he’s watching me.

Just as I turn forward again, I smash right into something hard, and my backpack crashes to the floor.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking—”

I glance up to realize it’s Erik, the new guy from my English class. He reaches down to pick up my backpack and then hands it to me, meeting my gaze as he stands.

And just like that, he steals my breath away. His eyes are a shade of blue I’ve only ever seen in the mirror —my mirror. They’re a shimmery, Caribbean-sea sort of blue.

“I—” I pause. “You . . . uh, thank you.” What is it with me these days? I’m a total train wreck.

He smiles and it’s breathtaking. “Sure. See you in English?”

I bite my lip and nod. His voice is deep, seductive. I take my backpack from his hand, blinking a few more times to see if his eyes change, but of course they don’t.

How can his eyes look so much like mine?

In English, it’s time for our debate. Sienna has typed up all of her notes from last night, and she’s leading us up to the front, where a table and three chairs await.

I’m just glad this ends today. We can do the debate and move on. I can go back to life as it was. Maybe I can even get Mrs. Jensen to move my desk. But something needs to change. I can’t spend a whole year next to Sienna and Cole. A few weeks, and Cole is already getting closer. I can’t let him do that.

Sienna takes the seat in the middle, and Cole and I sit at opposite ends, staring right at each other. He smiles at me, and I turn away. The gesture leaves me looking out at my classmates, and their hostile faces aren’t much better.

So instead, I look at Sienna, who is, at the moment, all business, down to the erect way she’s sitting. She holds her shoulders back and lifts her chin, as if she’s the First Lady or something. She’s even replaced her usual cardigan with a deep maroon blazer and a lace-embellished tank top. She could pass for a news anchor, with her platinum hair falling in perfect, blow-dried waves around her shoulders. Her pink-glossed lips part, and she begins her Manhattan Prep monologue, and the irony of her shiny hair and perfect manicured nails is almost enough to make me smile. I’m so distracted I miss my cue.

Sienna coughs and I realize what I’ve done. “Oh! Um, Manhattan Prep was created by a New Yorker about New Yorkers. . . .” I drone on and on for what seems like forever, flipping the pink note cards one after another. Finally, I reach the fifth card. “Which is why we must look beyond the surface and understand the motives of the author in order to truly understand the message.”

Sienna beams as I draw to a close. Like a good little puppet, I did everything I was supposed to do.

“Very good. Rebuttal?”

Cole nods. “Sometimes, whether in literature, television, or real life, what is seen on the outside should be taken literally.”

Wait, what?!? That’s not what Sienna wrote. I look over at her without moving, and I see her fighting the urge to squirm. Sienna does not like surprises.

“Sometimes, what you see really is what you get. If the characters are portrayed as elitist snobs, bent only on popularity, is it not possible that’s who they really are—and that trying to read between the lines is a waste of time?”

What the hell? I try to mirror Sienna’s perfect posture and frozen expression, to avoid letting on that Cole’s monologue isn’t rehearsed.

He pauses, purses his lips, and stares right at me, as if we were the only two people in the room. Is he talking about me? What is this? I give up on copying Sienna and shift in my chair, my eyes darting to her. She’s still a frozen picture of perfection.

“Sometimes, people simply want to believe things because it’s easier that way. But it doesn’t make it the truth.”

I chew on my lip, glancing down at my next card. Should I jump in here? I turn away and stare out at the audience, my eyes sweeping over the faces of my classmates. I relax a little when I realize no one seems confused. They have no idea he’s deviating from Sienna’s precious script.

I pause when I see Erik, watching me intensely. Our eyes meet for a long second, and I take in that same brilliant blue hue before I turn away.

Cole clears his throat and then finally gets back on track, looking down to read the note cards. I zone out as the familiar speech gets rolling.

Why did he do that?

Chapter Ten

By the time I enter Seaside Cemetery that Friday, I’m more confused than ever.

I thought I had everything under control this year. My entire plan rested solely on one thing: solitude. If no one is close to me, no one gets hurt, not even me. If I don’t get wrapped up in other people’s lives, no one is in danger.

And, yeah, maybe part of it is about punishing myself. I killed a boy who didn’t deserve it, and I will pay for it. Forever. I just have to make it through high school. Then I can move on to college, leave this town, and go somewhere where people don’t know me, don’t look at me with accusation in their eyes. I won’t make friends with anyone. I’ll forever be alone, but that’s what I deserve.

I sigh as reality hits me. There are so many holes in my plan—it’s as if I wrote it all down on Swiss cheese. I can’t leave my grandmother, not with her health failing. I can’t afford to pay for classes. I can’t move away from my hidden lake. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. But the mirage in the distance—the idea of a world where my troubles disappear—is all that I cling to these days, because reality is getting harder and harder to handle.

I walk the familiar path to Steven’s grave. I stick to the walkways, because if I stepped on the grass, there would be a groove worn into it by now. The turf would give away what the cement doesn’t, namely the hundreds of times I’ve visited Steven.

I shove my hands into my pockets as a breeze picks up. The salty air reminds me of the ocean, which, in turn, reminds me that I need to be in the water in under an hour. I drop to my knees in the grass. Steven’s headstone is surrounded by flowers, left behind by people on the anniversary of his death. There are mounds of them. It’s like a visual representation of how many people I hurt.

“Hey, Steven.” I rock back on my heels, settling in for the next ten or so minutes I’ll spend with him, my only confidant.

The Hot Wheels Chevelle is gone. I wonder who took it. Probably the landscapers. They have a lot of picky rules about what you can leave at the graves, because it makes the maintenance harder. It doesn’t matter. I still have mine, sitting on the windowsill in my room. I stare at it sometimes, when I’m sitting at my desk, trying to do homework.

I take in a slow breath and close my eyes. I don’t know where to start. “I’ve been talking to Sienna lately. Not a lot . . . but more than before. I don’t deserve her friendship, but I still miss her, you know? We were so close before. I guess I’m glad she hates me so much. If she didn’t, it would be so tempting to try and get what we had back.”

I reach down and pick up a blade of grass, twisting it around in my fingers. “It’s really hard to be around her sometimes. I can’t even look at her without thinking of you.”

“She misses you, you know. She’d never admit it because she doesn’t like to show weakness, but I know her too well to fall for the charade.”

I heave a long sigh. I don’t want to talk about Sienna right now. “Cole is the only one who doesn’t hate me.” I feel a little pang, saying his name to Steven.