Ripple

“It’s not my fault they stare,” I try to tell her with my eyes. I’m wearing the most nondescript clothes in my closet: a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve black V-neck, a scuffed pair of ballet flats on my feet. My hair, long and straight, is pulled back in a low ponytail. I’m not wearing makeup, but I know it doesn’t matter—my skin is flawless, my lashes dark and thick even without mascara.

I walk as briskly as possible, until I’m three doors down and can take my seat in English class. As the weight comes off my feet, I clamp my jaw down so that I don’t actually sigh aloud. It’s never hurt this badly before. I don’t know what that means. It’s been months since I last skipped swimming. That was when my last lake was overrun by campers, and I had to move.

The new lake was working, until Cole showed up. How did he find it? Why was he there?

I don’t know if I have the energy . . . the willpower to start the process all over and find a new lake. I hope he doesn’t go back.

I’m resting my head on my desk, my eyes shut, when I hear the chair beside me creak with the weight of another student. It must be the last available chair or no one would sit in it.

“Lexi, you don’t look so good,” he says.

My mouth goes dry. Please don’t let it be Cole.

I turn to scowl at him, but when our eyes meet, all I can do is stare, my breath caught in my throat. His eyes are a startling bright shade of hazel. How have I never noticed that? How have I always thought they were a simple dull shade of brown?

Last night they appeared dark, but today they’re full of light, browns and greens swirling together like a painter dipped his brush in both colors and spun it around in a circle on canvas. It reminds me of the trees when I’m underwater, their brown and green outline just a shimmery mass beyond the surface. His deep brown hair isn’t quite as shaggy as it was last night—he always gels it into submission for school.

I liked it more when it was wild.

“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