Ripple

Chapter Thirteen

It’s grocery day today, so I’m standing next to the passenger door of the Toyota, holding my arm out to help my grandma to her feet. Today she’s wearing a blouse with some kind of bright goofy pattern that might have been cool in the ’70s. Maybe the ’60s.

“I got it, I got it,” she says, waving me away when I offer her my arm. I reach in through the back window and grab her cane, and we shuffle to the front steps. I grab us a cart. She likes to push it, so that she doesn’t have to use her cane.

She grips the handle, and we head through the second set of automatic doors. It’s warm inside, and the scent of the fried chicken from the deli makes my mouth water. “How is chemistry going these days?”

“Good. We haven’t gotten our grades from the last test, but I think I only missed maybe one or two questions. Easy A.”

“That’s good. You want to keep those grades up this year.” Gram waves at someone she recognizes, a smile lighting her face. Then she turns back to me. “They’re reviewing scholarship applications at this week’s rotary-club meeting,” she says, one gray eyebrow raised over her warm blue eyes.

I nod. If I have any hope of going to college, I need a few scholarships. Gram knows that college means leaving her behind, and yet she still wants me to apply to all these schools, even the ones across the country.

She pushes the cart into the produce section, where mounds and mounds of fruits and vegetables shine under the bright fluorescent lights. She stops next to the bananas, and I fight the urge to point out that the bunch she’s grabbing are clearly overripe. Instead I just turn away and move further into the section, my grandmother and the squeaking cart trailing behind me. I pause at a big pallet of tangerines and grab a bag.

When I look up from the tangerines, I glimpse Sienna, standing next to the bagged salads. Her hair is pulled back in a surprisingly casual low ponytail, and she’s got on jeans and a baby blue hoodie. She looks more relaxed than I’ve seen her in a long time.

Gram shuffles toward me, the wheels of her cart squeaking louder than ever. Sienna turns around and, in that moment, seems to freeze, no more certain of what she should do than I am.

We stand and stare at each other, the tangerines and a trough of potatoes stretch on between us. I grip the bag of tangerines even tighter in my hand. If Gram is paying attention, she’s going to see something’s not quite right between us.

Sienna takes a step away from the salads, and I think she’s just going to leave, but she doesn’t. She heads in my direction, and suddenly I wish I’d stuck with a glare or a scowl.

“Hey,” she says. Then Sienna turns to my grandma, who is behind me. “Hi, Mrs. Wentworth,” she adds.

“Sienna. So nice to see you, dear. You never come around anymore.” Gram reaches one of her pale lined hands out and pats Sienna’s shoulder as her eyes dart back at me. As if she wants me to leap forward, to prove that Sienna and I are still friends. “Did Lexi get around to inviting you to movie night?”

My grandma looks my way, accusingly, and I pray Sienna doesn’t give me away. I’m shocked when she just smiles sweetly, as if a movie night with her ex-BFF isn’t the most absurd thing she’s ever heard of. “She did—what night was it, again?”

Whoa.

“How about tomorrow? We can pick up some treats with the groceries,” Gram says.

“Sure! Until then, can I borrow Lexi this afternoon? I want to show her something.”

Why is she doing this? I can’t be friends with her again. I can’t have friends at all. It’s my number one rule for a reason.

“Oh, I mean, I’m—” I start to say, but my grandma looks expectantly at me, as though Sienna inviting me over is the best news she’s had in a month. Maybe if going to Sienna’s just for, like, a millisecond eases her stress, I should do it. And then maybe I can weasel my way out of this movie thing while I’m there.

“Okay, uh, sure. What time?”

Sienna fidgets, reaching up to play with her simple diamond pendant. Sienna never fidgets. “Three sound okay? You can just drop by for a bit. I have something of yours.”

I narrow my eyes. It’s been two years since I was last at her house. If she has anything of mine, it can’t be important, or I’d be missing it by now. And yet I can’t help but feel something shifting as we stare at each other.

I don’t know if we can be friends again. But I get the feeling that she’s not my enemy anymore.