“I’m scared.”
“I thought ahead. Check this out.” He pulled out the small camera he’d taken on our trip to Yosemite.
My heart fell to the bottom of my stomach. “You’re going to film this?”
“No, I have some footage of Illilouette Creek to calm you. Water, right?”
“You’re a genius.”
He shrugged. “You know the willows here in the park? Well, they’re not exactly a wall, but the branches form a solid mass, and you like running your hand through them, so I’m thinking maybe we could start there?”
I smiled. “Perfect.”
We walked across the parking lot to the willow cluster. Will turned on the camera. It was dark now: the screen threw off light like a flashlight.
“I’m setting this to loop continuously,” he explained, pushing buttons.
“Would you mind going first, just so … I don’t know; I think it would be easier if I watched you first.”
“Sure.” Will smiled and turned to the trees.
A breath of wind passed us, and the willows rustled in response, a whispering chorus. Will approached the murmuring branches, faded and was gone.
He reappeared seconds later with a huge smile. “You’re going to love it.”
“Yeah, okay.” I held out the camera where I could see it.
“The camera is going to go invisible at the same time you do because you’re touching it. Just a heads–up.”
I nodded. That would have distracted me.
“Oh, and Sam, one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Step away from the branches before you come back. In case branches explode like water.”
I nodded, trying to smile. I looked at the tiny bright screen and saw the creek in miniature perfection. The water looked glassy–still, but as I watched, a pine needle cluster worked free from a rock and spun lazily into the current and out of the frame. The image rippled away. My invisible lips smiled, confidence coursing through me. I turned to the willows.
Leaves and branches tickled their way right through me. I wanted to giggle. I caught a scent component: greenish, damp, and full of life. Maybe it was even a flavor rather than a scent. I turned to take another pass—again, the fresh soothing taste passed through my mind. Again, the willows shivered against me as I moved ghostly–smooth in my invisible state.
Incredible. I had to tell Will about it. I rippled solid.
“It’s like I have to invent words for what that felt like, and the incredible taste—wow!”
We tried out different words for the sensation of the willow branches as they passed through us: “prickly” and “needling” we rejected, “slithery” and “ticklish” worked.
“You’ll like passing through glass if you liked that,” he said. “But it’s too early to risk being seen in front of school. We should probably wait ‘til after midnight for that.”
“My curfew’s 11:30.”
“Oh. Right. So maybe we head over to the bakery now? You’ve got to try a rock wall.” He grinned eagerly at me.
I nodded and we turned to walk down Main Street. “How did you figure out you could walk through walls? That must have taken some nerve the first time.”
“My dad threw me at our fireplace when I was seven. Instinct kicked in and the next thing I knew I was invisible and sailing right through this screechy brick wall. I stood outside, trying to figure out what happened, and if I was dead or alive. A few days later, I got curious enough to try walking through.”
“Um, did you just say your dad threw you at a brick wall?”
“Yeah. He was pretty drunk.”
“You could have died. What was he thinking?”
He shrugged as we walked on. “He storms in one night shouting for money. I ripple and hide behind the couch ‘cause I’m scared. He grabs Mickie and puts her in a headlock and calls for Mom, saying how he’s gonna squeeze Mick’s brains out if Mom doesn’t bring him some money right now.
“I’m watching all this from behind the couch and Mom comes out of the kitchen and sees Mickie and freezes, tells him to let go of her, she’s a child, stuff like that. Dad’s shouting even louder how he knows she’s hiding a hundred thousand dollars somewhere in the house, and she better get it quick. She grabs an envelope she got at the bank that afternoon. I’d been with her and watched them count it out, and I know it’s only a couple hundred, so I’m getting pretty scared what he’ll do if he counts it. Plus Mickie’s face is a bad color, and I’m thinking he might actually kill her this time.”
Will paused to point me into the alley beside Bridget and Gwyn’s.
He continued. “Then after Mom gives him the money, he clocks her and she goes down like a rag doll. I just lose it. I mean, I actually see red for a couple seconds. I ripple solid and charge him. I get a couple of good soccer kicks in on his shins before he even notices me. But when he sees it’s me hurting his shins, he drops Mickie like she’s on fire and grabs me. He doesn’t even take any swipes, just throws me at the fireplace.”
I realized I’d been holding my breath and let it out.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Me? Sure, I’m fine. I didn’t have to live that. Geez, Will. And how’d you turn out like, one of the nicest people I’ve ever met when you had all that to deal with?”
Will shrugged. “Growing up with my dad around, I knew exactly what I didn’t want to be. With Mom, we always knew what it meant to be loved. Maybe it would have been different without her. I wish you could have met her.”
“Me, too.”
It felt like peeling through an onion–skin layer of honesty.
Will punched me on the shoulder. “Nicest person you ever met. Give me a friggin’ break.”
The rawness of the moment passed.
“You up for some breaking and entering, without the breaking?” asked Will.
I smiled, letting the weight of his story slide off my shoulders.
Will said he could go first, and I nodded. I still needed proof that this was possible. Of course you won’t actually see him do it—he’ll be invisible, a part of me said. But even as I heard that small voice, I realized that the truth was I trusted Will, completely.
“Here goes nothing.” He winked at me as he rippled.
A minute later he rematerialized, beaming like a kid with a new bike.
“Rock walls are so sick! Wish our house was made of rock. Okay, you go now.” He reached down to switch the camera to the creek video again.
I held the camera in front of me. I was calmer and this time I rippled right away.
Walking through a wall didn’t sound like a strange idea anymore. I felt invincible. The feeling seemed to accompany rippling. Without fear, I passed into the wall of Bridget’s bakery kitchen.
The flavor was sand. Or what a river–beach would smell like on a warm day. Dry, a bit of desert–dustiness to it. The physical echoes were harder for me to place. I ran my hand back through the wall again and decided that if I were an hour–glass with sand running through me, this might be how I’d feel. It was unmistakably pleasant—Will had that right—almost like something I’d felt some other time, but I couldn’t place when or where. Then I laughed. It was almost exactly like the feeling of sand as I poured buckets over my hands when I was little.
I passed back through the wall, a delicious whisper of sand, and saw kids loitering at the mouth of the alley. I wanted to tell Will how right he was about rock walls. As I waited for the kids to leave, I moved closer to Will, leaning against him, which I figured would freeze him in an obvious way and let him know I’d passed back into the alley.
He grunted a small laugh. He knew I was here. We waited for the loiterers to leave. I moved away from Will and spun on one foot, flinging my arms out like an ice–skater. The lack of resistance against whatever “me” existed felt so cool. If I were visible, I’d be doing perfect spirals. I continued spinning, never dizzy, but very aware of the sense that my arms and even my ponytail were flung
out from me in some “real” sense. I scooted closer to the wall so I could pass through the falling–beach–sand sensation while spinning
He called to me, a stage whisper, “Sam—they left.”
I prepared to ripple back solid beside the corner of the building, spinning one last time and noting the same sensations that my invisible body had reality, from toes to pulled–back hair.
Just as I came solid, a shotgun report blasted out, so near it deafened me. A rain of fine gravel and small rocks followed the sound.
I yelled in pain as a rock caught my jaw and another clipped my shoulder.
Will grabbed for me, trying to pull me away from the shower of debris. “Your hair,” he said. He pointed to a small hole blasted through the wall of Bridget’s kitchen, right beside the corner. Several cats were growling behind us—a low, eerie noise.
I didn’t see the connection between the wall and my hair. And then I did see it. “My ponytail did that?” I asked, pointing to the hole.
“It was ‘in’ the rock wall as you materialized,” he said. “Your hair displaced the wall.”
I cringed, imagining what could have happened if it had been my arm or leg.
We heard shouting. Perhaps ten seconds had passed after the explosion. “Over there: the alley,” shouted a deep, male voice.
Within seconds, a police car siren wound to life.
“Let’s ripple. Now,” said Will, vanishing.
I tried to still my heart. “I don’t think I can,” I said to thin air.
Will reappeared, looking around for additional ways to escape.
There were none.
Chapter Ten
ROCK STAR
We were blocked in, buildings on either side of us, an eight–foot fence running the width of the dead–end alley before becoming the back–side of the cat kennels. Cats yowled, making freaky noises I didn’t think should come out of a cat. The police car approached, lights bouncing into the alley.
“I’ll hide in the cat kennels,” I said. “You ripple!”
I dashed to the closest one, lifted the latch, and let myself in. I saw Will hesitate. What was he doing? I watched through the tiny cat kennel windows, one on each corner. Will took a running leap at the fence, grabbed the top, and hauled himself up, lit by oncoming headlights. The patrol car paused for a moment as Will disappeared over the fence. Then the vehicle backed out of the alley rapidly, tires squealing as it raced down Main to catch him on the other side.
“Dear God, let him have the sense to ripple this time,” I whispered as I backed away from the window. A cat hissed and another clawed the back of my left leg. I kept silent, lips pulled thin and tight from the sudden, sharp pain. I had no light now that the police car had backed away. That had been Will’s goal, of course. He’d stayed visible to lead the cops away from me. The stupid idiot.
A look out the window revealed a handful of onlookers milling in the alley, pointing to the hole in the wall. I drew back into the shadows, amidst anxious felines. I heard a door open, the back entrance to Gwyn’s home. Gwyn and her mom were arguing.
“You called the police, Ma, let them do their job.” That was Gwyn’s voice.
“Las Abs’ finest aren’t going to take care of my kids.” Bridget’s voice, referring to her feline “children.” “Run grab me the kitty Xanax. Woody Allen is going to need one.”
What if “Woody Allen” was in this kennel? So. Not. Good.
Gwyn unlocked a storage door under the stairwell. She fumbled inside and called out, “How many?”
“He doesn’t look good. Bring me two.”
“Where are you?” Gwyn again.
“I’m in apartment one. Honestly, Gwyn, it’s not like I move the cats around.”
I must be in “five,” since this was the fifth from the left.
“Gwyn, check on everyone in number two, will you? See how Jet Li’s doing.”
But Gwyn apparently had her own ideas. I heard her storming towards me and I froze.
“Do you mind?” She sounded ticked. “The cats are totally freaked, and having all of you making noise out here isn’t helping.”
She was speaking to the group in the alley.
“Here, someone dropped this camera,” said one voice as the others receded.
Will’s camera! And me the opposite of chillaxed. I thought with envy of Will’s easy control of his talent.
And I had an idea.
“Don’t over–exert yourself, Gwyn.” Bridget’s voice dripped sarcasm. “I’ll take a look at Jet Li.”
“Chill, Ma. I was kicking everyone out of the alley.”
I tried to focus on the pull of Will’s arm, strong and comforting as the wall had exploded around me minutes ago.
“Oh.” Bridget’s voice, repentant. “That was very thoughtful of you.”
I recalled the warmth of his touch, remembered the exact spot where his fingers pressed into my skin.
“I’m checking number three,” Gwyn said.
I thought how those fingers would feel tracing my jaw line, my lips.
“Gwyn! Rufus isn’t home,” said Bridget, opening number four.
I remembered Will’s arms pulling me to safety from Illilouette Creek. I could almost feel it.
“You can’t let him wander at night.” Bridget, a zillion miles away.
“Like I’m the boss of him.” Gwyn, muttering.
Warm and safe in Will’s arms, I felt myself slip into serene invisibility.
Gwyn opened the door to kennel five, my kennel. I straightened up and passed through the cat house wall as cats renewed their strange guttural moans. The wall was scent–tainted with cats marking their territory. No way was I ever passing through these walls again. I’d let the police haul me off in hand–cuffs first.
I glided silently back to the park, quiet as the nocturnal creatures I passed. Twice, dogs followed my progress with bright eyes; one barked. When I reached the car, it was empty and my pulse picked up speed. Where was Will? I rippled solid, tried the door. It opened and I climbed in.
Will rippled solid in the driver’s seat, and I let out a squeak.
We backed out of the parking lot. “You’ve got nine minutes,” he said. “Good timing!”
He remembered my curfew.
It hadn’t even crossed my mind.
“You look like you’re freezing,” he said, as we pulled onto Main, creating a breeze in the open–topped Jeep. “Here.” He tossed me his hoodie, warm and soft and smelling like Will.
“Someone found your camera,” I said. “I must have dropped it when I ran to the cat house. I’m really sorry.”
“No big deal.”
“Gwyn will look at the pictures. She’s going to know it’s either yours or Mickie’s. You could end up in trouble.”
“I’ll say I lost it. No worries.”
We turned off Main onto the old highway that both our homes sat on.
And suddenly I was giggling. I’d walked through a wall!
“Hey Will—I walked through a freaking rock wall tonight!”
He laughed—a deep, throaty guffaw.
“I’m like, a rock–star.”
“You did not just say that, man.”
I giggled again and Will laughed along with me.
I took a deep breath as we picked up speed. I threw my head back, raised my arms and hollered to the ink–black sky, “I’M A ROCK STAR! WAAAAA–HOOOOO!”
I slept great, the opposite of what I’d expected after a harrowing evening with a boy I was now officially obsessing over. I showered and dressed, taking the stairs two at a time on my way to breakfast. That’s when I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. A large, purplish bruise bloomed to the side of my chin. I pushed on it. Bad idea. I winced.
“Hey, Sylvia, do you have some cover–up I can borrow?” I pointed to the ugly bruise.
“That looks awful,” she said. Something in her voice made my dad look up from his paper. “How’d it happen?” She walked to her desk and came
back rummaging through her purse.
“I walked into a wall.” And out the other side.
I took the cover–stick from Sylvia and walked to the mirror hanging over the fireplace at the far end of our combination kitchen and family room. While I applied cover–up, I saw my dad, in the mirror, staring pointedly at Sylvia—non–verbals flying back and forth between them.
“You were out with the Baker kid.” Dad said it like an accusation.
“Will,” I replied. “From cross country.”
My dad’s brows pulled together. “Did he hit you?”
I stared in shock.
Sylvia whispered, “Dave!”
“Answer me, Samantha. Did he hit you?”
I looked my dad straight in the eyes. “Of course not,” I replied, my voice icy.
“He’s not that kind of boy,” said Sylvia. I silently blessed her for coming to Will’s defense.
“I hear his dad was.”
“Will’s not like his dad,” I said.
“You’re not trying to cover for him, are you Sam?”
“Dad, if I were trying to cover for him, do you seriously think I’d come down here and show this to you?” I pointed to the bruise.
Sylvia passed me a bowl of oatmeal, loaded with brown sugar, cream and syllaberries.
“I’m going to my room to eat,” I said.
I could hear Sylvia’s voice as I thumped up the stairs. “Dave, if anyone knows the signs to look for, it’s me. You know that.”
I didn’t want to hear his response. I slammed the door—my response. But the ducting relayed Sylvia’s calm, sensible tones.
“Believe me: Sam coming down here asking for cover–up for that bruise is proof that she’s not someone who would hide if there were anything to hide.”
True enough, I realized. If a boy hit me, I wouldn’t keep quiet about it. Of course, I’d also kick the crap out of him, thanks to the self–defense lessons Syl made me take three years ago: “A woman needs to know how to deliver a good kick to the cojones.”
“I want to keep her safe,” Dad said.
“You can’t always do that. You have to trust her.”
My dad sighed heavily and I began shoveling mouthfuls of oatmeal. Will would be by in less than five minutes.
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