Ripple

Those unnatural bright blue eyes just keep coming back to me. Even in the shadows, I could see them, eyes like mine, almost glowing.

By the time I reach English class, I’m exhausted, a combination of worry and pain from only swimming for mere moments last night. I’m so caught up in thinking about last night I almost don’t register that the blue eyes staring at me are real. When it finally does click that the eyes staring at me aren’t a figment of my imagination, I yank backward so fast my chair lets out a wild screech on the tiled floor.

Erik smiles without looking away, a tiny lift of his lips. I blink and rip my gaze away from his. He steps away from the door to our classroom and makes his way back to his usual desk, glancing over at me once more, concern replacing his smile.

Just as he’s sitting down, I jerk out of my chair. My binder and English book fly off my desk and land with a loud smack on the tiled floor. “Uh, can I go to the restroom, please?” I ask, scrambling to pick up my book and binder.

Why is he acting so normal? He was at my lake last night. He knows what I am. And he’s just sitting at his desk like nothing is out of the ordinary.

Mrs. Jensen raises an eyebrow at me and looks at the clock. “You couldn’t have gone between classes?”

I shake my head so fast I think my brain must smack around inside my skull.

“Very well,” she says, with a dismissive wave.

I rush past Erik and leave Sienna and Cole staring, bewildered, as I yank the door open and burst into the empty hall. The door swings with such force it bangs on the cinder wall and almost comes back to hit me. I dodge it and keep going.

I’m halfway down the hallway before I can breathe again.

A few weeks ago and my routine was just as steady as ever, and now I have a sort-of boyfriend, a reconciled best friend, and a mystery transfer student who saw me swimming in my secret lake.

I find a bathroom and duck inside, slamming the bolt shut. Then I sit on a toilet in one of the stalls and rest my forehead on my knees.

I stay there until the bell rings and I can go home.

To get my mind off the Erik situation, I text Cole.

What are you doing?

I sit, my toes tapping on the hardwood floor in the dining room. Gram is at the crafts night at the senior center, and the emptiness of the house is driving me crazy.

Nothing. Want to watch a movie at my house?

It’s all the invitation I need. I text back, Give me twenty minutes.

Then I dash into the bathroom to check my hair, which is silly because being a siren means flawless beauty, whether you want it or not. I run a comb through it anyway and then brush my teeth. When I’m done, I give one last glance in the mirror, and then flip off the lights and head to Cole’s house.

Fifteen minutes later, I find myself sitting on a leather couch in a theater room in his house, wondering why he took me out to see a movie when he has such an amazing setup right here. Cole is standing next to a cute little popcorn maker, filling up a little paper bag. Previews are rolling on-screen as he walks toward me, two Cokes tucked under his arm and a bag of popcorn in his hand.

He hands me the popcorn and a soda, then pulls the blanket off the back of the couch as he sits down. He covers our legs with it. The only light in the room is coming from the projector screen and a few dim sconces in the back of the cave-like space. I wish I could stay here forever, a secluded paradise, just Cole and me and no complications. No water.

Cole slides closer, until our sides are touching. I lean into him, warm and cozy beneath the blanket.

“You okay?”

I raise a brow and give him a pointed look. “You know, you ask me that at least once a day.”

He cringes. “That often, huh?”

“Yeah. What gives?”

He looks away for a minute, chewing on his lip. “I guess I feel guilty for not talking to you sooner.”

I tip my head at him. “Why did things change this year? Why now?”

He pops the top on his soda and takes a slow drink. Wiping his lips, he says, “I don’t know. I walked into English class that first day, and I saw you resting your head on your desk. Your eyes were closed and you looked so . . . serene. Of course, then you opened your eyes and snapped right at me—”

I grin and smack his arm. He smiles, but then he gets serious again, and I realize he wasn’t kidding.

“Look, you’re just a little intimidating is all.”

I snort. “You lie. You don’t get intimidated. Least of all by girls.”

“Anyone can see you have a wall bigger than the one in China. You’re just kind of ... unapproachable. It’s not like someone can catch your eye and smile if you’re constantly looking down at the ground. And it felt like to talk to you directly was to risk going down in flames.”

I blink. I guess I never realized just how effective I’ve been at keeping people at arm’s length.

He turns to look at me, and with how close we’re sitting, our noses are just inches apart. His voice lowers. “But I guess you’re worth the risk.” He leans in slowly, and I close my eyes.

This time, the kiss isn’t just a brush of his lips on mine; it’s more. His fingers find the back of my neck and he pulls me into him. His kiss deepens, and I stop breathing.

After a moment he pulls away, but immediately, I want him back. I take his face in my hands and pull him toward me, pressing my lips into his. I lean into the couch and pull him against me. It’s nothing like the sweet, innocent kisses of before. It’s raw and hungry, and I can’t get enough of it. I want this. I need this. Two years of being alone, and now the need to feel something burns out of control.

I nip at his bottom lip and pull him closer, closer than is possible, and kiss him harder, faster, longer, until my lungs burn. More than when I’ve been under water for fifteen minutes. My hands roam all over his back. My fingers find his hair and tangle in his curls. I want to forget everything. I want to just be with him, banish the loneliness.

He pulls back a little, breathless, his chest heaving. His wide eyes catch the flashes of light from the big screen. “Wow, I . . . I didn’t think . . . didn’t expect . . .” He pauses to gather his thoughts. “You spent so much time pushing me away, and now . . .” He stops again, struggles with what he wants to say as he picks up my hand and stares at our interlaced fingers.

“What?”

He worries his bottom lip and then looks me directly in the eyes. “I just really like you.”

Why does he look so confused? “And?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his dark curls, and they get a little more unruly. I struggle to keep my hands in my lap instead of reaching up to mess them up even more.

I love it when his hair is wild. He always gels it when he’s around other people.

As if hearing my thoughts, he speaks up. “You know how I’ve been with girls. How I was when Steven was around. But that’s not who I am anymore.” He pauses, runs his tongue over his teeth, deep in thought. “You’re not the only one who changed when he died.”

I look down, suddenly embarrassed by how desperate I must have looked, totally throwing myself at him like that. Cole wraps his arm around me.

He rests his lips against my temple. “You need to figure out what you really want from this—from us.”

I swallow, then find myself nodding, as if to agree, as if to say I want this—want to give him more than I already have.

Even though I know what we’re doing right now, in the dark theater, is the first step toward disaster, I don’t care anymore.

I just sink into him as he wraps his arms around me.