Rippler (2 page)

“Lasagna sounds perfect,” I lied.

“I’ll tell your Dad. We were just getting ready.”

She hugged me tight and when she let go I took a deep breath.

“So, there’s this thing I wanted to let you know,” I said. Then my brain froze, like I’d stopped being able to speak in English.

Sylvia waited, smiling, eyebrows raised.

I completely chickened out.

“I, um, might go to bed early tonight.” Another lie. I didn’t see myself sleeping any time soon.

A few minutes later the house was empty except for me, assuming I was still solid. I looked into the hall mirror.
Still here
. I frowned at my messy bun, at the wet, dark strands escaping the elastic. My mom’s grey eyes stared back at me; I looked away.

Just then I heard Will’s knock—three quick taps. I ran to answer.

“We are
so
not running right now,” I said, by way of greeting.

“Um, okay,” said Will. “Are you home alone?”

“My folks are out getting Mexican for the next half hour or so.”

“Maybe we should talk in your step-mom’s garden.”

“So you’re finally in the mood to talk?”

“Geez, Sam,” Will fidgeted with his cell, opening and shutting it. “I’m sorry. I just—

listen, there’s a lot to talk about, but most of it wouldn’t sound so great in front of regular people.”

“Regular people? Did you seriously just call me abnormal,
to my face
?” I punctuated the last words by poking Will’s chest.

He smiled and brushed my hand aside. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Come on,” I said, sighing. I led him out the kitchen sliding glass door.

We crossed the deck, skirted the pool, and tromped down a set of railroad-tie stairs curving into a small ravine. A hint of a breeze wafted past in the warm evening air. At the raised beds flanked by a couple of scrawny apricot trees, I stopped and sat on a stone bench.

Will grabbed a boulder opposite me.

“So spill,” I said. “You said you knew about what I did? How? And why is this

happening to me?” My heart beat out a crazy-fast staccato. I was about to get answers!

“Um, okay. So, number one—my sister studies what you do. Number two—you have

abnormal genes.”

“Again with the abnormal?” I asked.

His mouth formed a lop-sided smile. “You have genes for something my sister’s advisor

—well, former advisor—called
Rippler’s Syndrome
. As in, you can ripple.”

“Ripple?” I asked, puzzled by his repeated use of the unfamiliar word.

“Oh, sorry. You’ve never heard it called that. My sister actually invented the word to describe what you do: turning invisible. Or coming solid. The air shimmers a little—like a ripple on the water,” he explained. “So your genetics make you able to ripple when you want to.”

“When I
want
to?” I guffawed. “I wish!”

“You can’t ripple when you want to?”

“It happens accidentally,” I said. “And it’s getting worse. I mean, I’ve noticed it two other times this summer.”

“And never before that?” Will looked puzzled.

“I’m pretty sure it happened a couple of times right after Mom and Maggie’s deaths. Not that I recognized it at the time. I can think of some times when I got in trouble for running off when I knew I didn’t run off. So maybe I vanished then, too, and just didn’t notice it.”

He looked across at me, an anxious expression on his face. “You ever been diagnosed or seen a doctor about this?”

I laughed, making a kind of snorting noise. “Yeah, right, I just walked into Dr. Yang’s office this afternoon and said I’d been having trouble misplacing myself.”

“Really?” Will’s eyebrows shot up in alarm.

“No, you dweeb,” I said. “I can’t even figure out how to start a conversation with Sylvia or Dad about this, much less Dr. Yang. He’d have me on heavy meds faster than you can say

‘mental patient.’”

“So you haven’t seen a doctor?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“That’s really good news.”

“Why? I thought you called this a medical condition.”

Will dropped his eyes to a pair of lizards which zipped out in front of us, did a few push-ups and then zoomed away to safety.

“How do you know about this anyway?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of Rippler’s

Syndrome.”

“No,” said Will, scuffing his worn shoes in the dirt. “You wouldn’t have heard of it. Only a handful of people have. And most of them are dead now.”

“
You
are about to be dead for joking about this,” I said, aiming one of my flip-flops at his head.

“I’m not joking, Sam. I wish I were.”

“I’m going to die from this?” My stomach wrenched.

“No. I mean, not exactly. Give me a minute to explain. Okay, so, my sister Mickie was a biology major, right? After graduating, she worked for this genetics professor named Dr.

Pfeffer. He studied a rare disease, Helmann’s Disease, which acts sort of like leprosy, and Mickie wanted to study Helmann’s because our dad had it. But secretly, the professor studied a special form of the disease resulting in what you have—the ability to ripple.”

“Wait—what? I have leprosy?”

“No, no, forget I said leprosy. You have this other thing—the thing Mick’s professor studied
in secret
. Dr. Pfeffer let her in on his research because of some, er, highly unusual circumstances. He’d been working alone for a decade. He swore Mick—well, both of us—to absolute secrecy because two of his previous colleagues were murdered. According to Pfeffer, they were killed because they were studying rippling, and someone out there doesn’t want anyone to know about it, much less study it.”

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.”