Ripple

by Mandy Hubbard

  “I hate rivers. My curse isn’t like yours. It’s tied to a river, not all bodies of water. And besides, you love the ocean, right?”

  It’s weird to think it, but yes. I mean, once the curse is gone . . . there’s no reason to hate it. I think.

  I find myself hugging him again, a smile pulling at my lips even though I don’t know why. I just like being around him, not having to hide this side of me. Having someone who gets it for the first time. I don’t have secrets like I do with everyone else.

  “How did you get this place? You’re only seventeen. . . .”

  “My parents arranged it all.”

  I look up at him, surprised. For some reason, I haven’t thought much about his family. But he has one, of course.

  “Like I said, he’s a nix and she’s a siren. They want this to work as much as I do. You’ll meet them, eventually.”

  Oh. I wonder what it’s like to have two parents who know what you are, understand your struggle. I wonder what they’re like. Maybe someday I’ll get to talk to his mother. She knows what it’s like, being a siren.

  He slides open the glass door and ushers me inside. It smells fresh, like he’s left the windows open all day and the salty sea air has streamed indoors. He leads me through the living room, past the quaint wicker furniture that I can only assume came with the rental, to a small back room, lit only by a lamp with a stained-glass shade.

  When I see the large king-size bed under the window, I stop abruptly and stand in the doorway. “You don’t think—”

  “No—of course not. If you ever want to stay over, I can take the couch.” He comes back to me and tilts my head up, so that I’m looking into his eyes. “Eventually, when we’ve broken the curse . . . you’ll sleep.”

  “What?”

  He nods. “When we’ve fixed this . . . when you don’t have to swim anymore . . . you will sleep.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “When the curse is gone, you won’t swim, and that means you need to sleep. Just as . . . regular people do.”

  I can hardly remember what it’s like to sleep. He leans in to kiss me, and I close my eyes.

  I lose myself to the kiss and to the dreams of what will be.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Are you sure this isn’t too slutty?” I tug at the denim miniskirt and frown as I look in the mirror. The tiny skirt fails to cover most of my upper thigh.

  “Are you kidding me? If you got it, flaunt it.” Sienna purses her lips as she slathers on another layer of cherry gloss.

  I roll my eyes. “I’m serious. This is kind of short.”

  “I thought you wanted to impress Erik?”

  I cross my arms and look up at Sienna’s reflection in the mirror. Behind us is about two dozen discarded outfits, creating a towering mound of denim and cashmere atop her bed. “I do. I guess I’m just nervous.”

  “I would be too if I was you.” She grins and winks at me. And yet as bright as her expression is, it changes abruptly. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.” I twist at the bracelet on my wrist.

  “Um, well, what happened with . . .”

  “Cole?”

  She nods.

  I chew on my bottom lip. “We weren’t very good together. I mean I wanted it to work, but it just didn’t. At all.”

  She regards me with a raised brow for several long moments. I think she’s going to call me on it. She tips her head to the side and opens her mouth to say something. Then she shrugs. “You do know Erik is the hottest guy at CCH in, well, ever, right? And he is totally into you.”

  I blush and scrunch my shoulders. “Seriously? Because I feel like I’m all over the place, a total nervous mess.”

  Sienna laughs. “Completely justified. That guy could melt an iceberg, he’s so hot. Which is why you should trust me when I say you should definitely wear that skirt.”

  I chew on my lip and look in the mirror again, stare at the nervous expression in my eyes, and then take a sweeping gaze over the skin-baring outfit. “Fine, you convinced me.”

  “Good, because the guys are here.”

  My heart skips a beat. “What? When?”

  “While you were in the bathroom putting that on. Let’s go.”

  “But I’m not ready!”

  “Yes you are. Trust me. Once he sees your legs, he won’t be looking at anything else.”

  I laugh and let her pull me out the door, the buckles on the chunky brown boots she loaned me jangling as she drags me through the house.

  Tonight is going to be fun. Really, truly fun. There’s a fall harvest festival in town, right off Port Street. I haven’t been to it in years, because it’s close to the piers and the water. From the top of the Ferris wheel, it has a sweeping view of the ocean. And by the time it gets going in earnest, I’m usually up in the mountains, ensconced in my lake.

  Erik and Patrick lounge on the chocolate-leather couch in the living room. Erik has one foot propped up on the opposite knee. He’s got on crisp, deep indigo blue jeans and a navy V-necked sweater. A white T-shirt peeks out from underneath. His hair must have a light layer of gel, because it’s out of his face for once, and it makes his blue eyes seem even brighter.

  He stands and his eyes sweep over me for a second, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. “Wow. You look . . .”

  I grin and hug him, take in the natural salty scent that clings to his skin. “You look pretty good yourself.”

  We follow Sienna and Patrick outside to where Patrick’s old Bronco sits, its flawless coat of red paint gleaming. Patrick could afford a newer car, but I guess he’s like Steven, into the classics. Erik opens the back door for me. I climb in and slide over to give him room. He slams the door shut, and we buckle up as Patrick throws it in reverse. In moments, we’re rolling down the surface streets toward the main drag in town. The Festival always straddles the two parking lots between the grocery store and the post office, at the end of Port Street, not far from the tourist shops.

  Patrick parks on a side street behind the little cinder-block post office. He seems to have found the only empty spot within several blocks. Erik squeezes my hand and then climbs out, pulling me with him.

  Music floods my ears. Country or something with a fiddle. Not normally my taste, but I can’t help but smile as the twangy voice of a girl blares from the speakers. I want to dance. I want to dance until the festival is over and I’m the last one standing there on the floor.

  We follow Patrick and Sienna toward the festival. Flags and streamers are strung back and forth across the space, flapping in the sea breeze. Orange, yellow, and white Christmas lights are wrapped around every light pole.

  Sienna, in her high heels, trips on a crack in the sidewalk and knocks into Patrick. He makes a big show of saving her. She giggles as he swoops in and picks her up, carrying her as if she broke an ankle. They pass a large garbage can, and he pretends like he’s going to throw her in. She shrieks, playfully hitting him in the shoulder, until Patrick sets her back down.

  The relationship glow reflects off the two of them and onto me and Erik. I grin at him, loving every moment of this. He smiles back at me, genuine happiness in his eyes as he leans down and brushes his lips against mine. I have to fight the urge to close my eyes. It’s still a little strange to me that I can be myself around him—that he knows what I am and doesn’t care. He’s as much of a drug to me as the water is.

  We pass through the festival’s main entry and are assaulted by the smells: fried onions, cotton candy, freshly squeezed lemonade, grilled corn on the cob. Tufts of smoke fill the air from the barbecues, and occasional shrill ringing bursts from the games. A small roller coaster clackety-clacks up the incline. The band grows louder.

  “What do you want to do first?” Sienna asks, spinning around and walking backward. Patrick holds on to her elbows to keep her from falling over on the uneven ground.

  “Ferris wheel,” I say.

  “Done.” She spins around again and skips of
f toward the Ferris wheel perched at the edge of the lot, the corner closest to the marina and the piers.

  It’s a warm night for Autumn, with a sky so cloudless I could spend all night counting the stars. A gentle briny breeze floats across the place, mingling with the scent of fried fair food and caramel apples.

  The Ferris wheel is small, the sort that two people sit side by side in. Sienna and Patrick climb into the first car, with Erik and me behind them in the next one. The car rises slowly, pausing momentarily a few times to let other riders on.

  The car above us starts to swing back and forth, and then Patrick’s voice calls out, “If the ride is a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’!”

  I roll my eyes as I hear Sienna chide him, but the car swings for a while longer before finally stilling. We rise higher, until we’ve surpassed the roller coaster and the stage. The landscape opens up around us. Erik slides an arm behind me and pulls me up against him. I lean into his chest and watch as we rise high enough to see the ocean spread out below us. It sparkles under the twinkling stars, eventually disappearing into the mist.

  Our car stops at the tip-top, so that Sienna and Patrick aren’t in view anymore, and it’s just Erik and me, like we’re the only souls on earth. The faint sounds of the band still trickle up to us, but it’s a ballad now, a sweet violin solo as our only company in the darkness.

  My hunger for the ocean grows, as I stare down at it.

  “You want to swim, huh?”

  I nod.

  “If it gets unbearable, tell me. We’ll go.”

  I nod, grateful he understands, and turn to look him in the eyes. I tip my head back, and Erik leans over me enough so that we can kiss again. This time his tongue traces my lips until I part them. And then we’re kissing like that, more heated, deeper than before. Unlike the kisses with Cole, this one doesn’t end too soon.

  I’m so lost in the moment, I nearly jump out of my seat when someone clears their throat. I look up to see the attendant standing there, the next riders behind him.

  Oh, right. We’re at the bottom.

  I scramble out of the car, accepting Erik’s hand as he leads me around the attendant. But just as I pass him, I glance over and nearly trip over my own feet.

  Cole is standing there with Nikki. Are they together now? Or are they here as friends? I blink rapidly and look past them. Kristi’s here, too, with a guy I’ve seen her talking to at school. Are they also on a double date?

  Why do I feel like my insides are in a blender right now? It’s just Nikki. There’s no way he’d date her. There’s no way he’d get over me so quickly.

  But I’m here with Erik. Cole thinks I got over him that quickly.

  I tear my eyes away from him, hoping somehow to get rid of the image of Nikki’s hand on Cole’s arm. Of course, they would be here. Everyone goes to the Harvest Festival.

  Erik notices my expression but doesn’t call me on it. He attempts to distract me. “What now?” he asks. We walk past one of the games that rings out with a shrill bell, overstuffed cartoon characters dangling from the edges of the booth.

  “We dance?”

  “Is that a question?” He asks, turning to look at me.

  “No. It’s a request.”

  He grins, another gleaming smile. “Consider it granted.”

  I’m not sure where Sienna disappeared to, but I can’t bring myself to care as he leads me through the crowd. We weave between stands and strollers and other kids from school too absorbed in their own conversation to notice us, until we’re in the area they’ve set up for the band. The dance area is surrounded by straw bales and is packed with people—couples young and old.

  The band seems to have gone from country to swing, and everyone is going crazy, spinning and swinging, laughing and smiling.

  “Uh, do you know how to swing dance?” I ask, grimacing.

  “Yes.”

  I spin around and look at him, wondering if he’s joking. “Seriously?”

  “Yep. You?”

  “We covered it in PE last year, but I wasn’t very good,” I say, giving him an apologetic look. “Prepare to have your toes smashed.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  He pulls me into the crowd, then spins me around so fast I can hardly breathe. He takes my hands in his, our fingers interlaced and palms together. “Just put your trust in me, and everything will be fine. Can you do that?”

  I nod, but I’m hardly ready when suddenly he pulls me toward him. Just as I think I’m going to crash right into his chest, stumble over his feet, he pushes me away. I nearly lose my balance, but my arm twists above my head, and I’m spinning in a circle. For a millisecond, my back is up against his chest, but then he spins me the opposite direction. Finally, he takes my spare hand, and I end up back where I started.

  I burst into laughter, because I have no idea how he just did that, but I don’t stop dancing. Instead, I pick up on his rhythm. I forfeit all control to Erik, allowing my body to go where he leads it. I let myself lose my balance here and there and hope he’ll catch me.

  And he does. We’re flying all over, spinning, dipping, twisting, and I can’t seem to stop grinning like a fool as I shuffle my feet this way and that, wherever he leads me. The song bleeds into the next and then the next, until I’m not even sure it’s swing music anymore. But still we don’t stop.

  We dance for so long that I lose track of time, which seems an unbelievable feat when my hunger for the ocean grows with each tick of the clock. I wouldn’t be able to do this with anyone but Erik. Knowing he won’t let me walk away from him, won’t let me out of sight, somehow makes it possible to relax and enjoy myself.

  Finally, the beat drifts away, and a slow melody picks up. A love song, clear as day, echoes from the speakers. And only then do I let my feet slow.

  Erik releases my left hand so that he can put his arm around my lower waist. He pulls me against his body, warmer than the night.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A week after the festival, Sienna’s blue coupe follows Nikki’s dark Mitsubishi sedan up a particularly winding part of Route 101. The sky above us is black with storm clouds. It’s a particularly dangerous part of the highway. The cliffs hug the road to our left; the ocean licks at the rocks below to our right, at least fifty feet down. There won’t be a real shoulder for at least another half mile.

  It’s unbelievably dark, and yet the sun won’t set for another hour.

  Erik and I are crammed in the backseat of Sienna’s coupe as we follow the two cars ahead, their headlights illuminating the pavement in front of our caravan. Hip-hop blares from Sienna’s speakers as Erik’s hand rests on my knees. It’s too loud to talk to Erik, but we smile at each other in the darkness, trusting our lives to Sienna’s marginal driving skills.

  Up ahead, a red blinker flashes, and taillights flare brighter. Sienna slows, turning off the road and driving through a rusted open old gate, barely hanging on by one hinge. Dilapidated wire fencing sags between old iron T posts, mostly obscured by the overgrown reedy grass that grows this close to the ocean.

  Our caravan glides quietly up the gravel, winding back and forth on a few lazy switchbacks. The headlights illuminate secluded spots of the sparse grassy hillside until a wide, empty gravel lot opens up. The two cars in front of us pull up next to each other, and then Sienna does the same. “We’re here,” she says, glancing back at us as she turns off the radio. Patrick throws his door open and yanks his seat forward to allow us to climb out.

  Outside the car, I watch as six of my classmates—Nikki included—pile out of the other cars. I am inordinately happy that Cole isn’t here tonight. I haven’t figured out yet if something is going on between him and Nikki. And frankly, if it is, I don’t want to know.

  One of the guys lets loose with a ridiculous coyote screech, his hands above his head in a rock-on kind of signal.

  Erik and I follow the others to this evening’s destination.

  The lighthouse.

  But this
lighthouse isn’t exactly serving its original function. It juts into the dark sky, completely black, devoid of ... anything. It’s engulfed in total blackness, has been for at least a decade.

  Patrick, Brian, and Danny all switch flashlights on.

  Erik leans in, whispers into my ear, “Sorry. I didn’t get the memo about the flashlights.”

  I grin up at him in the gray of the evening light. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

  We manage to find each other’s hands in the darkness and to interlace our fingers. Ahead, the storm clouds seem to have closed in on the lighthouse. It’s as if it has disappeared right into the clouds.

  We walk in silence, and soon my sneakers hit pavement. The last two hundred feet before the backdoor is a crooked, cracked old sidewalk.

  “Are you guys sure this place is still unlocked?” someone asks. Nikki mutters something I can’t quite make out. To my left, Kristi giggles.

  I haven’t been in a group like this in a while. At Sienna’s, it’s easy to detach from everyone, find a quiet room. But today, we’re all together, all on the same mission. And in the darkness, no one separates from the pack.

  Right on time, the ground rumbles with thunder. “Told you,” Sienna says, throwing a look over her shoulder.

  Excited whispers mount as we reach the only door to the lighthouse. Nikki stops, her hand on the knob, and glances back at all of us. Then she purses her lips and turns back to the door, twisting at the knob.

  It swings open.

  “Yes!” Sienna jumps up and hugs Patrick. I let out the air I’d been holding.

  We file one by one through the entry, and by the time I get inside, a whole line of people are already climbing the old steel-grate steps. The stairs wind around and around in a lazy spiral, all the way to the top.

  I wait in silence for a second. Then I grab the rusted wrought iron and follow my friends up, the steps groaning and creaking under our collective weight.

  It must take ten minutes for our whole group to make it to the top. Beams of flashlights bounce around inside the cylindrical area as we wind around and around the spiral staircase.