Rippler (7 page)

“I rippled.”

I recalled the friction-free movement. “You can move faster invisible.”

“Well, yeah, if you glide straight through all the rocks and stuff.”

“Um—wait a sec—you passed
through
things?” I felt dizzy.

He shrugged like it was no big deal for him.

I thought for a moment. “Guess I just ‘passed through’ water.”

He nodded. “So, Sam, just now, when you rippled back solid upstream—what happened?

I was watching for you and all the sudden there’s this thunderclap and water flying everywhere and you in the middle of it all in the creek.”

I shook my head. “You’re the expert. Does an explosion happen like that every time you materialize in water?”

Will shook his head. “I’ve never done what you did.”

I didn’t like the idea that Will was as new to this as I was, but all I said was, “Huh.”

So materializing in a creek was apparently not a good idea. My mind looked for

explanations, for answers. When I vanished into thin air, what happened? The air shimmered.

“Will, what if I did that—the explosion. What if my body displaced the water? You say the air ripples, right? Maybe the air shimmers like that because it’s being disrupted somehow.”

“Maybe. Although, if that’s true, it’s more dramatic in water than in air.” Will frowned.

“What would happen the other direction? If you rippled
invisible
while standing in water?”

“You wouldn’t be displacing anything. Water would just rush in to fill the space,” I said, guessing.

“Probably,” Will said. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For rippling on purpose. Although, the coming back was a bit drama-queen.”

I dropped a hand into the creek and splashed Will.

“Hey, what was that for?” he asked, spluttering.

“I almost die and you call me a drama queen?”

Will tried to look serious, but his mouth curved up on one side.

“Going over a waterfall is NOT funny,” I said.

“
Very
not funny.”

My own mouth quirked at the corners.

“Splat,” said Will.

We both exploded into giggles, laughing and shaking, gasping for breath. Every time we tried to stop, one of us said “splat!” and we’d be off again. At last we lay back on the gravel shore, smiling pathetically at one another.

Suddenly I wanted to kiss that smiling mouth, taste the little tears that had squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. I swallowed hard.
You don’t need complicated right now. Look
away.
I tried, but my eyes drifted back. Will’s lips: soft, full—what would they feel like touching mine?

Will groaned, sitting up. “We should start back.”

I stood, shaky at first. Will reached out an arm to support me, and I practiced
not
thinking about him holding me again, rooting around in my brain for something
else
to focus on. I had a few things, fortunately.

“You’ve been seriously holding out about how
cool
it is, gliding around invisible,” I said.

“Yeah. Well, something about a blood oath and a temperamental sister.”

"That feeling, though . . . I don't even know the words . . . I need a new vocabulary. That sensation of water rushing
through
your legs when you're invisible: how do you begin to describe that?"

He frowned. "I’ve never paid attention to water flowing through me. But I know what you're getting at. I
love
walking through walls."

"I can walk
through walls
?"

"It's awesome! And they all feel different. Stone walls are amazing—the best. Cement and cinder block walls are a bit, I don't know, screechy or something. You'll see what I mean.

And windows are seriously trippy. I won't even try to describe that feeling.” He grinned like a kid showing off a missing-tooth.

"I want to try it!” I enthused. "All of it!” Any resentment, any fears, any frustration with being a ‘freak’ fell off me like a shed skin. What I could do was
wonderful
—why hadn’t I recognized this before?

"Do you have any idea how cool it will be to share this stuff with someone?” Will shook his head, looking dazedly happy. "I used to try to describe things to Mick when we were little, but she'd get sullen and walk away. I haven’t tried for years.” He ruffled his hair with his fingers. "Hey, Sam, up top at Glacier Point, there's this stone shelter, for looking out at the different points of interest. You want to find out what it feels like to pass through a rock wall?"

I did, but I was worried—what if there were people around? What if I solidified at the wrong moment?

He must have seen the conflict in my eyes. "Only if there's no one around—I guess we don't know how well you'll be able to control your ripple yet, huh?"

As it turned out, when we arrived people were swarming all over Glacier Point, so no rock walls for us. And no Mickie, either. We found a note she had placed under the

windshield wiper:

Will, I caught a ride with a friend I ran into. You have my keys assuming you grabbed my
pack. Wreck my Jeep and you’re dead. Mick. P.S. Make a donation to the trail fund. You’ve
got my wallet. P.P. S. If you forgot my pack, go back and get it NOW. You’re dead if you left
it there.

He sent gravel flying with an angry kick. “Forget her. We’re getting ice cream.” He turned and began walking back to the snack bar.

I hesitated and he looked behind to see why I wasn’t with him.

“I didn’t bring any money,” I said.

Will laughed, unzipped a pocket of his sister’s pack, and pulled out her wallet, waving it in the air. “Mick’s buying.”

A few minutes later we sank our teeth into Toll House Cookie ice-cream-sandwich-

Nirvana. Will popped the change from his sister’s twenty into the Yosemite Trail Fund box.

Will finished before I did and started digging through his pack. “Look.” He held up the small black book of riddles, waving it gleefully. A couple of tourists looked over at him as they moved past in a line. “Let’s drive up the road—it’s kind of crowded here,” murmured Will.

I knew he must be putting off seeing his sister. I was happy to be the person he preferred.

We drove the switchbacks out of the parking lot and a mile later, Will turned off for Washburn Point. Another view to make you forget to breathe.

“You can’t see Yosemite Valley from here,” Will said apologetically.

“I don’t miss it,” I whispered. I felt suspended on top of the world, dangling aloft over one of its edges.

Will smiled. “Come on.” He scrambled up a large boulder, sat, and pulled open his

sister’s pack. He thumped a section of rock next to him. “Sit close and we won’t have to talk loud.”

I scooted to where I could feel his breath, warm on my bare shoulder.

A chipmunk joined us on the boulder, inquisitive. Will flipped through the book, looking for additional sections with English translations. The chipmunk turned its head to one side and made a dash to retrieve a bit of potato chip by Will’s feet.

“I see words that remind me of Spanish or French,” he said.

I nodded in agreement. “Some of this looks like Latin. Maybe we should try a translating program online?”

“We could try Latin-to-English and see what comes up.”

“Wait,” I said. “Flip back a couple pages. There.” I pointed at the small neat handwriting

—another English translation.

Leaning our heads together, we read:

In a dark, cold room, three boys with eager fists approach three other boys.

“Give us your blankets,” says the largest boy, Hans.

The smallest, Wolfi, is clever but not strong, and he passes his blanket to Hans. “It is
scratchy. And it smells of rotten vegetables. Take it.”

Hans sniffs the blanket, discovering the small boy has told the truth. He drops the
coverlet to the ground. “Give me yours,” Hans demands of another of the boys—the one with
brown eyes.

“I’m sharing with Karl and Wolfi,” replies the brown-eyed boy. He stands his ground,
although he is afraid. “You find someone else to share with.”

Hans shrugs and turns as if to concede. Then, as a smile warms the brown eyes, Hans
turns suddenly, delivering a savage kick to the stomach.

“Pepper!” cry Karl and Wolfi.

Hans grabs the blanket as Pepper struggles for breath.

The translation ended and I stopped reading, looking up. The beauty of the Sierra Nevada spread about us no longer spoke to me. I felt sick.

“It’s like the scratchy-blanket thing really happened,” said Will. “Assuming this is someone’s journal.”

I nodded.

“You okay?” asked Will.

“This book isn’t just a journal: it’s someone’s experiments written down. What if the other ones happened too? About the food and the poison? It’s revolting.”

“A twisted experiment in Eugenics and Behaviorism.” Will gazed out over the Sierra.

“Survival of the fittest. What do you want to bet this was Germany in the 1930’s?”

“It’s not written in German,” I pointed out.

A tourist bus pulled in, brakes squealing. The chipmunks fled our boulder.

“Time to go?” asked Will.

“Yeah,” I said.

I felt shaky as I stood. Will offered to help me down off the boulder, and I took his hand in mine. It felt callused but warm.

I couldn’t let go.

Will smiled, gave my hand a quick squeeze and released it, fishing his sister’s keys from a pocket. His very
angry
sister’s keys. Would she take him away from Las Abuelitas?

I couldn’t let him go.

“Do you think your sister’s packing up your place right now?”

He frowned. “The thing is, if Mick’s curious enough about you, she won’t want to leave.

She’s got scientific curiosity, but she’s paranoid. She could go either way.”

I felt cold stealing across my neck and shoulders in the warm evening. “It’s my fault. I don’t want you guys to move.”

“Yeah,” Will said, opening my door.

Yeah
, it was my fault or
yeah
, he didn’t want to move either?

He started the engine. “Man, I am starving. Pizza Factory in Oakhurst? Mick’s buying.”

I nodded, grinning. I could always pay her back later. If she’d speak to me. If they stayed.

I shoved the thoughts away.

At Pizza Factory, we talked about cross country, classes, the French Club’s trip to Europe in December. We didn’t talk about packing or Will’s sister. We didn’t talk about saying goodbye.

We arrived back at my house as the stars were popping out. At my doorway, Will

brushed a hair off my face, lightly. Neither of us spoke, and then he was gone.

I should have fallen asleep as soon as I crawled in bed, what with an exhausting hike, a near-death experience and a belly full of pizza. But my mind refused to shut down.

Will is just like me.

How crazy was that? Will couldn’t leave town. I couldn’t lose him.

I had to keep him here.

I jumped out of bed, shoved my legs into the first pair of jeans I found and pulled a hoodie over my nightshirt. This couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I had to sneak out of the house.

I smiled because all I needed to sneak out of the house was a little running water.

Sylvia did my bathroom like those magazines with bathroom-as-artwork on the back

cover. And right now, what I needed was to run some water out of my artsy faucet into my artsy basin.

I flicked on the lights and started the water. Sitting on the edge of my tub, I gazed at the cylinder of moving liquid, but the florescent lighting overhead didn’t exactly cast the room in an inspiring glow.

I rummaged through a drawer of scrunchies and cotton balls and found what I needed.

Striking a match, I lit two votives, one on either side of the sink. Then I flicked off the fluorescents.

The column of water descended noiselessly into the basin, and with a luminary on either side, the water seemed to catch fire, pulsing and glowing with each flare and gutter of the burning candles.

I thought about all that water running while I was gone, probably breaking fourteen California laws on conservation. I stood to plug the drain and turn off the water. The water in the basin shimmered in the candlelight.

It was magical. Elemental. A dance of fire and water.

I caught a ripple passing across the mirror behind the sink and looked up to see myself fade.

Weird.

I glided downstairs, past my dad and Sylvia. They tidied the kitchen while discussing me and Will. I wanted to hear the conversation, but I wanted to get to Will more. Dad opened the sliding glass door, and I dashed outside, relieved I didn’t have to try walking through walls at the moment.

Passing invisibly down the dilapidated highway towards Will’s house, I saw pairs of nocturnal eyes flicker my direction before taking flight. Did they sense a disturbance as I passed? I laughed. Without a mouth. Strange—no wonder animals ran from me.

As I neared the Baker’s cabin, I began to have second thoughts about knocking on their door. They could be sleeping. They could be packing. And how the heck was I planning to force them to stay? The thought of Mickie’s temper made me want to run back home.

I saw lights on inside and heard voices in the yard out back. I ghosted behind the old house and saw Mickie, standing where the houselights cast a glow upon her. She glared at her younger brother. I pulled back into the shadows, all thoughts of rematerializing gone for the moment.

Gazing past the siblings into the cottage-sized dwelling, I saw stacked boxes. They were moving. I felt a deep ache inside, even without a body.

“I won’t go,” Will said. He was turned from me, but I could imagine the stubborn

expression playing across his face.

“You damned well aren’t staying,” Mick replied.

“I’m eighteen. You can’t force me to go anywhere. Not if I don’t want to.”

“Is this about her?”

“That’s none of your business.”

My heart squeezed.