Rippler

by Cidney Swanson

  THE RIPPLE TRILOGY

  Book One Rippler

  Book Two Chameleon

  Book Three Unfurl

  By Cidney Swanson

  RIPPLER

  Book One in the Ripple Series

  By Cidney Swanson

  For JWS

  Copyright © 2011 by Cidney Swanson

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-0-9835621-7-7

  Chapter One

  NEARLY DROWNED

  The screaming was the first clue that I’d turned invisible again. Above the steady roar of the river, my teammates shouted: some with paddles flailing, others frozen mid–stroke. I’d never disappeared in front of anyone. Before this, I hadn’t even known if it was real or if I was losing my grip on sanity. But now, surrounded by people who looked terrified, I knew it was real.

  Which didn’t exactly comfort me.

  It wasn’t until I heard Gwyn shouting about me drowning that I realized no one had actually seen me turn invisible. For a heartbeat, I felt relief—it wasn’t real after all! But then I realized that the fact that people were staring straight at my position, aft, on the back of the raft, and not seeing me confirmed what I feared. My body had vanished.

  And now I had an additional problem. If I came solid right now, someone would definitely see it happen. So did I want screaming because I’d drowned or screaming because I’d materialized out of thin air? Did I even know for sure how to get back inside my body?

  “Calm down and look for anything orange,” shouted Coach. “That’ll be her helmet or her PFD.”

  “Her life vest will save her, right?” Gwyn asked.

  “Not from entrapment,” said Will. “We should get to shore. I’ll hold the raft and you can send teams up and down the river to spot her in case she’s trapped.”

  “Good thinking,” said Coach. “Paddle for shore!”

  My cross country team came to, redirecting the craft which had spun sideways. Coach set his own oar down and reached onto the sloshing floor for the rope tote–bag. Clipping the bag to his life vest, he began removing the coil.

  The raft scraped against the graveled shore and everyone piled out.

  If they all leave, I can reappear. I hope. It wasn’t like this came with a manual.

  “Whoever sees her first, use the whistle on your PFD,” said Coach, pulling swim goggles from a pocket.

  Hands flew to life–vests, fumbling for emergency whistles. Coach sent José and Nathan, the team’s fastest runners, scrabbling upstream. Gwyn and Carly ran downriver. Unwinding the safety rope, Coach ran it around a sturdy–looking tree and handed the end off to Will.

  “Use it as a belay under your arms,” said Coach. “If you see me with her, down on your butt and dig your heels in.”

  Coach adjusted his goggles and then plunged his head under the icy flow.

  As soon as Coach was submerged, Will called out in a loud whisper. “Sam! Samantha! Come back now while Coach has his head underwater.” He stared straight at me, or rather through me. How did he know I wasn’t drowning? Could he see me?

  “C’mon, Sam!” he called. “You still there?”

  He pulled a hand through his messy curls and squinted at the river. He couldn’t see me.

  Coach came up for air.

  “Anything?” Will shouted to Coach.

  Coach shook his head in response and plunged under once again.

  Will swore. “Now, Sam! Unless you want the whole cross country team asking questions!”

  That decided it: I preferred panic over drowned–Sam to panic over invisible–Sam. But did I know how to get back inside my skin again? I looked at Will’s dark eyes, at the frown shrinking his mouth.

  “Oh, God,” said Will, his voice quieter this time. He looked scared.

  Beside us, the Merced River roiled through the canyon, indifferent to the fate of those who lived by breath. I had to let Will know I was safe. And then all at once, there I was, my body back solid, thighs stuck on the hard edge of the raft, feet planted on a bar above two inches of puddled water, an oar in my grip.

  Will’s face lit up. “Quick!” He reached for my hand, pulling me off the raft. “Take off your helmet.”

  “What?” I had questions for him, and none of them involved my helmet.

  “I saw you—I know about what you can do,” said Will, undoing the buckle on my orange helmet and hurling it upstream.

  Coach’s head re–emerged. The bobbing helmet caught his attention immediately and he swam out for it.

  I opened my mouth to ask Will what he’d seen, what it was that he knew, but he began whistling madly, signaling everyone I’d been found.

  I grabbed his arm, pulling him around to face me. “What just happened?”

  He ignored my question, looking panicked as he ran his eyes over me from head to toe. “Oh, crap! You’re dry.”

  He took my other hand, sprang to the river’s edge, and shoved me so that I tumbled backwards into the shallows.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I took water in through my mouth and nose, and then I couldn’t stop coughing long enough to ask my questions.

  “You need to look like you fell in,” he said, splashing more icy water on me.

  I hunkered down, still gagging, and held up the flat of my palm in a “stop” gesture.

  Will quit as José and Nathan scampered down to us; they’d heard the whistle.

  Will moved close, helping me up, and whispered loudly in my ear. “You rippled; you vanished. Say you fell in. Unless you’d rather be the six o’clock news.”

  I nodded, confused by the fact that Will was taking this so well.

  Coach, swinging my helmet from one hand, emerged from the river, intense relief upon his browned face. “Sammy!” He used my childhood name as he wrapped strong, wet arms around me. “I was so worried! What would I have told your dad? Thank God you’re okay.” He released me and stepped back, looking me over. “You are okay, right?”

  Glaring at Will, I said, “I’m fine, just a little wet—”

  Will interrupted me. “She fell out and lost her helmet, but she’s okay.”

  Coach handed the helmet to me as Carly and Gwyn joined us.

  The next few minutes were a blur of my teammates hugging me, saying how good it was to see me alive, and arguing over what to do for a near–drowning victim.

  The trip down the Merced River was Coach’s idea for team–bonding. Our men’s and women’s teams were too small to compete, and Coach had been looking for ways to keep our enthusiasm up and hopefully get us to recruit friends. I’d gotten Gwyn to sign up by telling her about the raft trip.

  Now, seeing her turn back every couple of minutes to make sure I was still onboard, I figured she was questioning her decision. But as Coach shouted orders to us through a class four rapid, I heard Gwyn roaring above the river, “Yeah, baby, bring it on!” She swung back to me, black braids flying, during the post–rapid calm to give me a huge thumbs–up.

  “Is this the best day ever, or what?” she shouted, grinning ear to ear.

  I’d have to go with “or what,” I thought. I gave her the best smile I had in me, but it must not have been very convincing.

  “Oh, my God, Sam, I’m such an idiot!” said Gwyn.

  Setting her oar down, she leaned back and threw an arm around my neck. “It’s the worst day of my life. It totally sucks and I am completely hating every minute.”

  I hugged her back and told her to shut up.

&nb
sp; Will, meanwhile, completely stonewalled me. Instead of turning back to speak with me, Will cracked jokes with Nathan and José. Coach announced we could take turns swimming for a couple of miles, and I was about to ask Will to jump out with me when he leaned across the raft and shoved Nathan in, then slipped out after him.

  I wanted to hit Will over the head with the paddle. Inside my water–socks, my toes curled and uncurled. I needed answers about what exactly had happened earlier. What had Will seen? Or thought he’d seen? What was wrong with my body? And why did he think ignoring me right now was an option? I frowned at Will as Nathan tried to shove him under the water—impossible with the PFD.

  A blistering sun, merciless, created pockets of contrast through the river. The bright–lit ripples and dark undersides of submerged boulders alternately caught my eyes. Above, the canyon narrowed, closing off the sky to a strip of intense blue. Walls of water–carved stone pressed in and the river began to churn once more, furious at confinement. I shuddered in the triple digit heat, feeling in this an echo of my own entrapment, pressed inside a body I didn’t understand and couldn’t control. This was the third time it had happened since school let out two months ago.

  Coach called Will and Nathan back in. Will flashed me one tiny smile as he took his position in front of me once more. We lived a mile apart on the same highway just out of Las Abuelitas, and after meeting by accident a few times, we’d started running the two miles to school almost everyday as a warm–up before cross country practice.

  But now, when I needed him desperately, I couldn’t get his attention. I thought about just saying out loud, in front of everyone, “Hey, Will, so what was that you said about people vanishing into thin air?” But I didn’t. My own reputation among the kids I’d known all my life was finally on the upswing. I didn’t need to start a whole new round of pointing and staring now that people were finally not talking about eight years ago.

  Coach began shouting orders for the next set of rapids, a pair of boat–eating class fours. I jammed my feet farther under the bulging wall of the raft, feeling relieved to have something to do that took all my concentration.

  When we reached the pull–out, Coach gave a speech about teamwork and how proud he was that we’d all worked together to prevent a tragedy. It took me a minute to realize I was the prevented–tragedy, and then I felt my face heating up. I mumbled thanks, feeling like a colossal liar. Will reached over and gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze. His smile was sober, appropriate to the solemn moment.

  If I was a colossal liar, what did that make Will?

  Chapter Two

  Q & A

  As Coach explained his version of the day’s events to Dad and Sylvia on the brick drive of our house, Will finally decided to acknowledge me.

  “So I’ll see you at six tonight for our run, okay?” he asked.

  What run? I met his eyes, my own narrowing.

  He raised one eyebrow and tipped his head slightly. The resulting look was somewhere between trying–too–hard and complete–idiot and made me laugh.

  “See you at six,” I agreed. “Here.”

  “Good to see you smile,” he said and then pulled the van door shut.

  I showered and put on clean clothes and tried to figure out how to tell Sylvia and Dad what had really happened. “Dad, Syl, guess who turned invisible today?” That start didn’t sound too promising. “So, you know how Coach told you I almost drowned? That didn’t happen, but there’s this other thing …” Not an improvement. Maybe I should tell them to sit down first. Yeah, ‘cause if you say that, they’ll be thinking drugs or pregnancy, and vanishing into thin air will come as a relief.

  I wadded my still–damp rafting clothes into a tight ball and stuffed them deep in my laundry basket. Then I started picturing my laundry basket festering with hidden mold. Sighing, I dug out the tee and shorts and trudged down the stairs.

  “Feeling refreshed?” asked Sylvia.

  I nodded (an untruth) on my way to the washer. My step–mom was easier to talk to than my dad. Maybe I should start with her. But the words weren’t coming.

  “How’s Los Cabos sound for dinner?” she asked.

  My stomach was in knots. I didn’t feel like Mexican. I didn’t feel like ever eating again.

  Sylvia’s brow furrowed. “You sure you’re okay?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t feel like going out tonight.”

  “There’s leftover lasagna if you’d rather lay low,” said Sylvia.

  “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 diagno
sed 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.”