Rippler

by Cidney Swanson

  Above the garden, I heard the roar of my dad’s truck. They must have decided on take out. Did I want to tell them everything right now or hear more from Will on my own? I hesitated.

  Will continued. “Pfeffer believed that people with the rippling gene are in danger from this same person or group of people, so that’s the risk I’m talking about. That’s why you don’t want to go spreading the word that you have this.”

  “Come with me,” I said. My decision to hear Will out had just solidified. “So my folks don’t interrupt us.”

  I dashed along a contracted path away from the garden and house. To the south, our land dropped away to a small canyon. Overlooking the canyon sat a patch of flat ground I claimed as “mine” when we moved here with Sylvia as my new step–mom five years ago.

  Will and I flopped to the ground. The breeze felt weaker here, but the sun would be down soon. This was a place I came when I felt most alone, and I felt hollow inside as we settled. Maybe some of my old feelings had worked their way into the very soil, into the view, at least for me. I looked across the canyon, at the far foothills arranged in rows like a battalion, ending in the hazy distance of California’s San Joaquin Valley. I tried to gather all the questions and fears into something I could talk over with Will.

  He brushed a hand against my shoulder. “Sam? I know it’s a lot to take in. Believe me, I get that, okay?” He looked at me, dark orbs piercing my fear and isolation.

  I wasn’t in this alone.

  The question, when it tumbled out, surprised even me. “Why wouldn’t you look at me on the raft?” I asked. “It was like you didn’t want to acknowledge I existed.”

  Will kicked at the dirt. “You must have thought I was being a total jerk. I was so scared you’d start talking about rippling. I ignored you to try and keep you safe.”

  “To keep rumors from starting?”

  Will nodded.

  Trying to keep me safe was a million times better than ignoring me. A weight lifted off my chest.

  “So can you put me in touch with this Pfeffer guy?” I asked.

  “He’s kind of …” Will looked down, fussed with a piece of his sneaker that was peeling away. “He’s missing, presumed dead.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry for …” I heard the phrase tumbling out of my mouth, words that I swore I’d never say about someone dying, so inadequate. “Were you close?”

  “He was our friend. And a good man.”

  In my head, I heard the worn out words like a recording: Sorry for your loss; we’re sorry for your loss; so sorry for your loss. I turned the recording off. “So, maybe your sister could explain all this to my folks. They’re gonna think I’m nuts when I tell them. Sylvia’s doctor–happy as it is, and I’ll need help convincing them both I don’t need a psychiatrist.”

  Will jerked his head up swiftly, a look of worry creasing his forehead. “When you say ‘doctor–happy,’ that means what?”

  I rolled my eyes. “An ingrown toenail is cause for a trip to Fresno’s best podiatrist, that kind of thing.”

  “Then, you can’t tell them. The risk of someone finding out is too great.” His hands balled into fists so tight the skin began to whiten.

  What he said was starting to make sense.

  What was the first thing Dad or Sylvia would do assuming they didn’t think I was crazy or lying? They’d take me to the doctor. And assuming I could vanish in front of a doctor, well, what would you do if you were a doctor, knowing you’ve hit the jackpot of medical history? Word would spread like a summer brush fire. If Will was right, I’d end up dead. Even if he was wrong, I’d end up a lab rat.

  Either way, my life looked like a mess. I grasped at a last thread of hope. “Couldn’t it be a coincidence that those researchers died?”

  “Pfeffer was sure they were killed. And now he’s gone, too. I wouldn’t bet my life on it.”

  Goosebumps rose up and down my arm. Would I bet my life on it?

  “There’s something else,” said Will. “Pfeffer’s disappearance has made my sister really paranoid. If we tell Mickie, she’d make it into this huge deal that you live here in town and that the killers might find you and then somehow discover where she and I are hiding out.”

  “You guys are in hiding? What, like the witness protection program?”

  “Sort of, yeah. Minus the protection part. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not tell Mick that you have the rippling gene. I think she’d make us move and … I like it here. A lot.”

  I didn’t have a problem not telling his sister. She kind of intimidated me.

  “I can pull some information together for you, scientific stuff, if you want,” said Will.

  “That would be helpful,” I said.

  Orange and gold now streaked the sky. Sylvia said it was air pollution that created the beautiful sunsets. Something beautiful from something bad.

  I took a deep breath and snuck a glance at Will. He was fidgeting with a leaf and his eyes flickered briefly my direction.

  He started tearing pieces off the leaf. “I hate to say it, but I should get back. My sister freaks when I bike or run on the highway after dark. Makes me want to shove my age in her face, but she knows I can’t pay for my own place.” He threw the rest of the leaf to the ground.

  “Dude, you’re what, sixteen? You can’t move out on your own.” I stood and we started back up to the house.

  “Do I look sixteen?”

  “Is this a trick question?”

  Will looked at me, waiting for my answer.

  “Yeah, you look sixteen.”

  “I’m eighteen actually. We … moved around a lot, and I got behind in school. Plus I kind of missed a year when Mom got sick. So I’m an eighteen–year old sophomore.”

  “And you’re still in school? Are you insane?”

  He shrugged. “I want a good education. It mattered to Mom. Anyway, I can’t leave Mick. She’s all I’ve got,” he said.

  “Not all,” I said, punching his shoulder.

  He looked over, a half smile on his face. “Not all.”

  As soon as Will left, the questions began multiplying. Things I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought to ask: stacks of Sam–questions piling up in my head like boxes in a warehouse. The big ones were pretty basic: Could I prevent this from happening? Could I get “stuck” invisible forever? Was Rippler’s Syndrome dangerous, apart from possible murderous intentions of mysterious bad guys?

  Will and his sister shared a small cabin and one cell phone. If I texted questions, she might be the one who read them. She’d hear every word if I called. And Will had dropped enough hints about her hyper–vigilance that I didn’t want her asking him why he had to go outside to talk on the phone.

  In the end I composed a carefully obscure text which could be seen as me asking about homework—we had a summer research assignment for AP Biology this coming fall.

  He didn’t respond until after midnight, but I was still wide awake.

  Experience helps. I have some ideas.

  Getting stuck not an issue.

  Not dangerous.

  Even with these three most important questions answered, I didn’t sleep, and that took me back to the sleepless months after the hit and run. Some nights I’d lain awake wishing I could die; other nights I’d been terrified I’d be killed, too.

  And now, according to Will’s vanished professor–friend, I had a real reason to be afraid. I would have to spend the rest of my life hiding this ability.

  Experience helps.

  I didn’t have much. I hoped the papers Will was gathering for me included an instruction manual. But I have some ideas sounded like he was just going to offer advice based on his sister and Pfeffer’s research. Obviously I’d take whatever I could get, idea–wise. The possibility that I might ripple at school sent another flood of adrenaline through me. I sat upright. My clock read 2:23 AM.

  I wondered if Will was sleeping. It must have been a shock to see a living, breathing example of a rippler. The more
I thought about it, the weirder the coincidence sounded. Las Abuelitas was a very small town. He must have been surprised.

  2:42 AM.

  Was Will worried for me? Losing sleep over it?

  I burrowed back under my duvet, curled on my side, and drew my legs up into my chest. I’d slept this way after I lost Maggie and Mom. It felt safe.

  3:04 AM.

  I thought about the panicked look on Will’s face beside the river, before I’d come back solid, and his whispered words of fear. He really cares about me. I smiled and uncoiled my body. I’d wondered before if Will felt something special for me. Sometimes I’d caught a glance that felt different from “just friends.”

  3:29 AM.

  But everyone else from my team had looked really concerned at the river, too. It was a natural response.

  4:09 AM.

  What am I doing wondering if Will likes me? Do I not have enough on my plate at the moment?

  At 4:32 AM, I staggered outside to sit on the deck. The pool waterfall was turned off and all was quiet. Overhead, the stars glistened and shimmered, impossibly numerous against a raven–black sky. Panic slowly receded.

  But by breakfast, I didn’t look so good, and Sylvia noticed.

  “You want to cut today? I can call Coach,” she offered. “We want you ready for school next week.”

  “No.” I was desperate to see Will. “I want to run.”

  Will knocked at the door, and we were off.

  “Wow, you look awful,” Will said as we headed up the driveway.

  I didn’t respond.

  “Hmm. Awkward,” said Will.

  “No, it’s okay. I’m sure I look like a zombie. I had trouble sleeping.”

  “So, your folks, did you talk to them?” he asked.

  “No. If I had, I’d be in some medical office right now, getting my blood drawn or my brain scanned or something.”

  Will nodded. “I’m glad you’re not telling; my sister’s too paranoid about some things, but I don’t think this is one of them.”

  “Did you tell her about me?”

  “I thought about it. I stayed up ‘til past two trying to decide.”

  “And?”

  “I’m not going to. I’m sure she’d make us move. It’s just how she is, ever since …” He left the thought unfinished, but I knew what he meant. Sometimes you just didn’t want to speak your losses aloud.

  Scaring up pairs of redwing blackbirds, we thumped along our quiet highway, running in perfect step with one another. The rhythm comforted me.

  “Thanks for responding last night,” I said. “To my questions.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry it took so long. I was pulling stuff together for you, and trying to keep off Mick’s radar, and I didn’t notice your text ‘til late.”

  “I was just relieved to hear I’m not going to die from this … thing.”

  Will grinned. “That’s good news, huh?”

  “So what do you know about controlling what I do? School’s starting and all.”

  Will nodded, taking a swallow from his Camelbak. “I’ve been trying to figure out how it is you rippled without meaning to. That’s a little strange, from what I’ve read.”

  “Strange can’t be good,” I said.

  “Well, I don’t know. You said you’ve only disappeared a handful of times?”

  “Yeah. Three times this summer. Before that, there’s one other time I’m sure of when I was seven.”

  “What happened? Where were you?” asked Will.

  “I was at a zoo with my grandma so I wouldn’t ask questions about the cremation. I remember watching polar bears swimming. You could see them in this peaceful room below ground where my grandma had wheeled me in a stroller.

  “I didn’t know whether I was watching something real or a movie, but it didn’t matter. That mass of white fur, those dark eyes flying toward the glass, toward me, and then spiraling backwards and away—I don’t remember any other sounds or people. Nothing but those silent bears sailing towards me and away from me. I remember feeling warm and calm for the first time since the accident.

  “I didn’t notice the voices right off. But when the bears left the pool, suddenly it was noisy and people were calling my name. I twisted in my stroller to try to find my grandma and this woman looked at me like she was shocked to see me in the stroller. She asked if I was Samantha and she ran and got my grandma, who’d been far up the stairs away from me. And Grandma was really upset and crying and she told me to never run off like that again which didn’t make sense to me, but I kept my mouth shut because she looked so unhappy. I didn’t explain that I hadn’t left the stroller. I didn’t ask her why she had left me alone in the polar bear room. And I didn’t understand the event. ‘Til now.”

  Will took another sip and gestured that I should do the same.

  It felt hot already and the water soothed my dry throat.

  “Sam, I want to ask you something kind of personal,” Will said. “You don’t have to answer.”

  I nodded, rubbing sweat from my forehead.

  “After your mom and your friend were killed in that accident, were you depressed for a long time, maybe until just recently?”

  I flushed. The question hit close to home. I didn’t answer right away, just breathed in the scent of bear clover, strong already in the August heat, like artichoke and fresh–cut wood. When I spoke, my voice was husky with emotion.

  “I pulled inside myself for a long time. You wouldn’t know this because you didn’t grow up around here, but I stopped talking to anyone for a couple of years. I got called shy or stuck–up, and those were the nice things kids had to say about me.” I paused. The next part was harder to admit. “Gwyn Li was my friend, but then she moved to L.A. and lived there ‘til just last year, when she and her mom moved back and opened the bakery. She didn’t know about my … my weird years, so we just picked back up being friends. Then you came along this summer and now I have two friends.”

  “Geez, Sam. That’s a long time to be alone.”

  I nodded and we ran in silence for a minute before I felt ready to say more.

  “These last few months, I’ve finally felt happy again,” I said. “I’d forgotten what it felt like, waking up and being excited about getting on with my day. I mean, running has always helped with the depression, but only when I’m running, you know?”

  “Sure,” said Will. “I think I understand why you started rippling this summer.”

  “Because I’m happy?”

  “More or less,” Will replied. “Wow, we’re making good time.”

  I hadn’t been paying attention, but Will was right. Murietta Park was coming up on our right: we’d reached Main Street already. We rounded past a hundred year old stand of willows. I held my hand out and ran it through the leafy branches.

  “You do that every day,” said Will.

  I smiled. “Every time. Ever since I was—I don’t know, actually. I’ve always done it. The leaves feel like dry water when you do it at a run.”

  “Dry water?” He raised an eyebrow.

  I smiled and nodded. “If you could imagine water running over your hands and it was dry, that’s what it would feel like.”

  Will shook his head, grinning.

  I was bummed we’d have to stop talking in the next few minutes. I wanted to cram in more questions. “So yesterday you said I had a special form of genetic disorder?”

  “Oh, right. So, usually, someone with this abnormality in their genes develops Helmann’s Disease, which causes sporadic full–body numbness.”

  The hairs on my arms prickled as I remembered something. “Will, I had a great–grandma who used to go all numb—to where she couldn’t feel anything. They called it a type of leprosy. But she would go months without any symptoms, and she never did any damage to herself like lepers do.”

  Will nodded. “People with this chromosome often get told they have leprosy. Or it gets mixed up with psychosomatic numbness. But the symptoms of Helmann’s Disease are
pretty distinct once you get seen by a doctor. With Helmann’s, you have to be totally chilled, happy basically, and then whole body numbness sets in. The ‘happy’ factor is one of main things a doctor looks for to make sure it’s Helmann’s Disease. That’s what the genes do normally, okay? Your body has taken the disease and done it one better: you don’t just go numb, you lose your physical being.”

  “When I get too … happy?” I asked.

  “When your serotonin levels spike.”

  The track loomed ahead. I could see a few team members filling water bottles.

  “So how come I don’t vanish when we’re running together?”

  I felt my face turning red because of all that could be inferred from my question, but Will just answered it straight–faced. “You’re using too much of your body’s available energy when you run. It takes energy to ripple, and there’s not enough left, I’d guess.”

  I nodded as we pulled into the school parking lot. “So if I start to feel too happy, just take off running?”

  Will guffawed. “You could try that.”

  We’d reached the track, which meant no further discussion for now, but we asked Coach to run us together. Coach liked to mix up men and women by pairs for Monday’s timed runs, claiming it made the boys run harder (so a girl didn’t beat them,) and it made the girls realize what they were capable of.

  Half an hour later, after warm–up laps and a talk about staying hydrated, Coach released us onto the 7K, my favorite trail, even in the August heat.

  I began rattling off questions as soon as we got out of earshot. It was harder to talk on a timed run, but I needed answers more than I needed a personal best. “Do I have Helmann’s Disease, too?”

  “You can’t have both,” panted Will. “Mick says one or the other shows up, but not both.”

  “And it’s rare?”

  “Helmann’s is rare, rippling is ultra–rare.”