Ripple

long swig of her Coke without taking her eyes off of me.

I cough, choke on a kernel of popcorn. “What? I didn’t do anything with him! I swear!”

She rolls her eyes. “But I woke up in the middle of the night, and you two weren’t in the tent. I could hear you whispering outside.”

“Nothing happened,” I say. “We just talked all night.”

“Riiiiiight,” Sienna says, one eyebrow raised.

“I swear!” But somehow I’m smiling, and so is she. I look down and pick a piece of lint off my hoodie. “It doesn’t bother you? That I liked him?”

“Do you think he liked you?”

I look up at her, realize she’s serious, that she wants a real answer. “Yes. I mean, I think so.”

Her lips curl into the faintest of smiles. “Then, no, it doesn’t bother me. I like the idea that when he . . . when he left us, that something happy, something romantic was happening.”

I frown. “It never really happened though.”

She shrugs. “But if he liked you, he probably thought about it a lot. Thought about you a lot. My brother was a world-class flirt, but if he really cared about a girl, it took him a while to work up the nerve.”

My emotions rage, back and forth and up and down. Sadness for losing Steven. Happiness for sharing a conversation like this with Sienna. Despair for knowing she’ll never know why he really died. Optimism about the idea that our friendship could be repaired. Fear for what could happen if we really do become friends again, and I lose her. I can’t do it twice.

“What about you and Patrick? You guys have been dating, like, eighty million years.”

“One year,” she corrects. “And twelve days.”

“He seems super into you,” I say.

“You think?” She picks up a strand of hair and twists it around her finger.

“Definitely.”

“What’s going on with you and Cole?”

I pick up the stray kernels of popcorn that landed on my lap. “Uh, we kind of went out last weekend.”

Sienna’s jaw drops. “Seriously?”

I nod.

“We should do a double date or something, sometime,” she says.

“It’s kind of ... early still. For me and Cole.”

Sienna shrugs. “Maybe in a few weeks then.”

I nod. “That would be . . . great.”

And the scary thing is that it would be.

Chapter Seventeen

After Sienna leaves, all I want to do is swim. I want the water to clear the thoughts away, to somehow make everything make sense. The whole bumpy drive up to my lake, I can feel the anticipation. Every time my car splashes through one of the deep mud puddles, it reminds me of the lake, the feeling of the water on my skin. It’s building in my stomach, churning, growing, until all I want is to leap from my car and run the mile-long trail to get to the water.

I settle for a brisk walk, coupled with the occasional flying leap over downed trees and twisted, gnarled root systems. The ground is dark, moist from the evening rains. Occasional drops from the overhead fir trees hit me on the shoulders or cheeks, but I just wipe it away and keep going. Tonight, nothing will keep me from the hours of mind-numbing swimming. Not when everything in my life is changing so quickly.

By the time my lake comes into view, I’m already peeling off my clothes. It’s darker than usual today; the gray clouds still cling to the skyline, blotting out the moon and the stars.

I wade into the shallows and then dive, relishing the sluice of the water over my bare skin, ignoring the bite of the cold. I surface moments later and the song bursts out, just as it always has for the past two years.

But something doesn’t feel right. I blink up at the dark night sky, trying to figure out why the lake feels different tonight.

It’s as though the shadows have rearranged themselves.

I whirl around, look in every direction. As I tread water, I force a few weak notes out, but they feel off. It’s no longer like a bottle uncorked, but like a forcefully chosen melody, one I don’t know the words to and can’t seem to find. I tread water, my brow furrowed. The frigid water laps against my arms, my chin. This doesn’t make sense.

I clench my jaw and force the song to quiet. The water feels as if it has dropped forty degrees, but I know it hasn’t changed. I’m just freaking out. As the icy water slaps against my skin, the feeling of wrongness just won’t leave. For a reason I can’t quite name, I twist around to see behind me, and look into the woods.

Eyes.

Thirty feet away, under the canopy of evergreens, is a set of deep blue eyes, expressionless, staring back at me. Familiar eyes. I would know that vivid Caribbean blue anywhere.

Fear and shock coarse through me. It’s Erik. My mouth goes so dry I could choke, and my breath comes in weird shallow rasps. Panic consumes me. I want nothing more than to flee.

How long has he been standing there, watching me from beyond the tree line? Can he see the luminescent glow of my skin from that far away?

Then it dawns on me: How has he not followed me in yet? How has he not been lured by the siren’s call?

I find my voice, raspy and uncertain, and I call out to him. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t acknowledge me, just continues to stare. And then he takes a slow step backward.

“Why are you here?” I yell. But he takes another slow step, and then another, and another, until he’s disappeared into the shadows. Soon it is as if he hadn’t been there at all, as if I’d imagined the whole thing, because all I see is the shadowed tree line, jet-black under the canopy of the evergreens.

But I know I didn’t hallucinate.

I paddle to the shoreline and burst out of the water in seconds, grabbing at my clothes. I don’t pause to put them on until I can no longer see the lake, and even then, I struggle to get my shirt over my head while running. My arms are twisted up in my shirt when I collide with something hard. I cry out as I fall. Then I right myself.

It’s just a tree.

I yank my pants on but don’t bother with the shoes, just grip them harder in my hands. I sprint down the trail to my car, barely breathing until I throw myself into the seat and lock the door behind me.

My chest heaves faster and faster, but I can barely get air into my lungs. It’s as if there’s no oxygen inside my car. I jam my key in the ignition and throw the car into gear, spraying gravel as I gun it and head back down the mountain.

It’s barely ten thirty, but I can’t possibly swim.

The whole way down the mountain, the image of Erik watching me keeps floating in the darkness ahead.

Like there’s another one of him standing under every tree.

Chapter Eighteen

The following day at school, I’m freaked out, totally on edge. Why did he just . . . stand there like that? How could he listen to my song and not follow me in? What am I going to do when I see him today? And has he already told everyone what a complete and total freak I am?