Ripple

Chapter Twelve

The rain has returned. It’s sprinkling, darkening the sidewalks and streets. I stand under the overhang at the movie theater in town, my hands crammed into the small pockets of my fleece jacket.

I almost didn’t show up. But I just . . . couldn’t seem to force myself to stay home. So, here I am, wearing my best-fitting jeans and a soft cream-colored turtleneck beneath my fleece. I even left my hair down today, falling in waves around my shoulders.

When a familiar black Range Rover pulls into the lot, all sparkle and shine, my nerves begin to dissipate. To my surprise, I calm down as I see him emerge from his car. And by the time he’s walking up to me, I feel my lips curl upward into a grin.

He smiles back at me and reaches out for my hand. “Ah. See, you always did have a devastating smile,” he says.

My cheeks flush, and I break eye contact, looking down at the toe of my scuffed black flats. He gives my hand a squeeze, and then we walk toward the entrance, where he buys two tickets to the comedy playing on the only screen in the place. He orders a huge tub of popcorn and some M&M’s and a soda, and we find a pair of seats in the darkened back corner of the theater. It’s nearly empty, except an older couple toward the front and two girls on the opposite corner.

I settle into my chair near the curtained walls and lean back. Our shoulders bump as the previews roll on-screen. Cole sets the big Coke in the cup holder between us.

“Thanks for showing up,” Cole says, leaning on an elbow as I sink further into my seat.

I nod. “Of course,” I say, as if I hadn’t even considered the idea of standing him up.

“I have to admit, I thought you’d be a no-show.” He grins, and there’s a tinge of nervousness to it.

I turn to him and raise an eyebrow as if I’m surprised, but I don’t think he buys it. “Okay, fine. Maybe I almost stayed home.”

He tips his head to the side, the faintest of smiles playing at the corners of his lips. “I’ll try to pretend that doesn’t kill my ego.”

And then I’m grinning again. Every logical shred of me knows this will never end with a happily ever after, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge that when all I want to do is sit here forever under the heat of his gaze.

Pop music blasts from the speakers, and I tear my eyes away from Cole to see an overarching shot of the Hollywood Hills. The camera slowly zooms in on a blue convertible with a pretty blonde at the wheel, her hair flying out around her.

Cole reaches out and takes my hand. He seems so confident, and I wonder if I should be, too.

I smile again and sink even further into my chair, silencing the doubts screaming in the back of my mind. I nestle closer to him, wondering how I ever could have thought of missing this.

The movie is longer than I expected. It’s past seven by the time we walk out. I picked an early showing so that I could be up at my lake in time to swim.

Cole reaches out, links his pinky with mine. It’s good that he does, because I think I might float away without him to anchor me.

It’s almost dusk. It’s not sprinkling anymore, and the clouds have lifted a little bit, but the concrete still gleams with rain. Cole pulls me in the opposite direction of the parking lot. “Let’s go for a walk.”

I guess he doesn’t want this evening to end either. I meet his eyes and smile. I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy, this content. I’d follow him anywhere.

But I go about five steps before I realize where we’re heading. The ocean. My heart plummets. It’s so close to night—the sun is nearly touching the horizon. I can’t possibly be anywhere near the ocean with him. I jerk to a stop, but he’s still holding my pinky, so I end up sort of shuffling and tripping, until he stops, too.

“Something wrong?”

“I have to go home,” I say. “I can’t—I can’t leave my grandmother for too long.” I don’t look at him. He’ll know something is going on if I meet his eyes. Instead, I stare at my brown Toyota, raindrops sparkling under the streetlamp.

“Are you sure? I thought we could go for a walk on the beach. . . ”

“No,” I say, too loud, too short. I hate this, hate that tonight can’t be a simple high school date like it would be for anyone else. I want what he is trying to give me: a beautiful date that will live forever in my heart, the closest thing I’ll ever get to a real romance.

Cole narrows his eyes. “Everything okay? We don’t have to . . .”

I realize I’m giving him a total panicked-animal sort of expression and try to act as if everything is okay. “I just need to go home,” I say.

“No biggie. Let me walk you to your car.”

I nod, and he trails me as I walk, too quickly, to the rusted-out brown Toyota. The contented feeling has been replaced with melancholy. This is my reality. Why did I think, even for a moment, that I could change it? “Thanks for the movie,” I say, yanking the door open with a loud screech. I’m about to fling myself into the seat when I feel his arm on mine. I turn to face him.

For a long moment neither of us moves; he just stares right into my eyes, as if to prove that he can see the tears threatening. He wants me to know that I can’t hide this from him.

But instead of saying anything, instead of pushing for answers I’ll never give, he just leans in slowly until his lips brush against mine—a whisper of a kiss.

But it’s still a kiss.

A real, beautiful, perfect kiss. Everything inside me turns inside out, upside down.

And then he pulls away, his lips curling ever so slightly upward as he studies my reaction.

I smile a little, blush creeping up, and slide away from him, finally dipping into the car and plopping down onto my seat. I reach over and twist the key, and the car churns to life. My heart gallops in my chest.

“See you Monday?” I ask, staring down at my hands, suddenly shy.

“Yeah. See you then.”

He lets his fingers slip off the car door, then pushes it shut, and then the window is between us.

He waves, but doesn’t move as I start the car and reverse out of the parking spot.

I watch Cole in my rearview mirror until I turn a corner and he’s gone.