Ripple

Chapter Seven

That night, I sit at the dinner table across from my grandmother. Behind me, the wood stove crackles, warming my backside. I pick up a pretzel twist from the bowl in between us and chew off the pieces of salt. Gram reaches out, sliding four tiles up next to an S. BOATS. How ironic.

She looks at me as she lines it up on the Scrabble board, and for a second I think she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t.

“Do anything fun today?” I ask.

She chews on her lip while she reaches into the plastic bag and draws her replacement letters. “Oh, not really. One of my exercise sessions at the center. How about you?”

I stare at my tiles. I drew a bunch of consonants, and only one vowel—a U. The fire crackles again as a log splits, and the light of the room turns a little more orange. “We got a new assignment in English. It’s a group thing. We have to read a novel, and then we’re going to debate about it in front of the class.”

“Oh?” She raises a brow.

I spell out HURRY on the board and take a measly handful of points. My grandmother isn’t very good at this game, but I like letting her win. It’s a careful balance not to give away my ploy.

“Yeah. The teacher paired me with Sienna and Cole.”

She fiddles with her tiles, arranging and rearranging them on her little tray. “Well that worked out nicely, being in a group with your friends.” She raises her eyes to meet mine, and I try not to react. I look down at the bag and grab a few replacement tiles, hoping my evasiveness doesn’t give me away.

Lately, she’s been getting suspicious. It began this summer, when she realized I was alone the entire time, reading college textbooks and watching Discovery Channel documentaries. I told her Sienna spent the whole break in France with her family. It worked, for a while, until she ran into Sienna’s mom at the bank. Leave it to her to remember the one thing I wish she’d forget. I had to scramble and make something up, about how they must have come home early, but I still don’t know for sure if she bought it.

“Yeah, it’s cool. The project should be an easy A.”

“How are the rest of your classes?”

I shrug. “Same as usual. Some really good teachers, some meh.”

She nods, finally spelling out PORK. “You should do a movie night soon, like you used to when you were younger. Have Sienna over, get some of your favorite buttered popcorn.” She looks up at me, her eyes appraising, studying my reaction. She might be forgetful but she’s not stupid.

I fight the urge to swallow as I know she’ll catch on. “Yeah. That would be fun.”

“Great. Talk to her about it and I’ll take care of the rest. Well, you two should probably pick the movie.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” I nod again and spell out PATIO.

My grandmother smiles triumphantly as she uses the rest of her tiles to spell out ORDAINED. She waves her hand across the board with a flourish. “I win!”

In more ways than one, I think.

The following day, Mrs. Jensen gives us time to work on our projects in class. I wish she wouldn’t. Maybe then I could just e-mail some debate points to Cole, and he could do a few and send them to Sienna, and we could avoid talking until debate day. I still can’t believe an English teacher would let us choose Manhattan Prep at all, but I guess Mrs. Jensen was intrigued by the debate idea.

It’s so hard to be around Sienna and not think about everything we shared growing up. Not think about laughing so hard we spit soda all over her dining room table. Not think about the first time her mom dropped us off at the mall by ourselves and we felt so adult buying our back-to-school clothes without parental guidance.

How can it be two years now since we shared that stuff?

The three of us push our desks together, and Sienna pulls out a dog-eared copy of Manhattan Prep. Cole digs out his own copy and sets it down on the desk. I can tell he bought it recently, because it has the newer cover with the cast from the TV show, instead of the original.

“Please tell me someone saw you buying that,” I say. I attempt to look haughty and snobbish, but I wonder if I’m pulling it off. He doesn’t look at me like everyone else does. I feel stripped bare every time he’s close.

Cole doesn’t take my insult seriously. “Nope. I borrowed it from my sister,” he announces, grinning.

Sienna sets down two piles of note cards, one pink and one yellow. Most of them have her loopy, feminine handwriting all over them. “We can put the pros on one color and cons on the other. Like a point-counterpoint thing.”

“Whatever,” I say. “You guys debate. I’ll be the moderator.”

Sienna shuffles the cards like she’s starting a poker tournament. “No way. We have to contribute equally, and if I”—she pauses and points at herself with one of her perfectly French-manicured nails—“have already done half the planning, then you”—she points at me—“are doing the debate. You and Cole can duke it out on who gets pro Manhattan Prep, who gets anti.”

I want to thunk my head against my desk. It’s like she’s trying to punish me. This stupid debate wasn’t even my idea, and now I have to stand in front of the class and participate.

Instead, I say, “Who died and made you queen?”

Too late, I realize it was the wrong thing to say in every way imaginable and nearly choke, trying to undo it.

Sienna leans forward and stares straight at me, pursing her lips into a thin line and narrowing her eyes. From here, I can see every mascara-clad lash. “You did.”

I stare back at her, those two tiny words ringing over and over again in my head. Because they’re true. I am as good as dead to all these people. Years ago, I was practically royalty to my classmates, but after Steven, Sienna took over the reins, along with Nikki. They’re the ones who decide which clothes are acceptable, which parties matter.

She looks away and stares at her nails, as if she’s bored of this conversation. “Do you know what the government used to do to traitors?”

I just stare back at her, immobile, afraid of where she’s going.

She turns her attention to her perfectly manicured other hand. “They would hang them. Draw and quarter them. Or behead them.” She looks up at me, her eyes narrowing even further until I can barely see her dark blue eyes anymore. “But women, they were burned at the stake.”

Sienna’s voice drips with venom. Somehow, the pain of losing her brother has been channeled into a single mission: destroying me. I don’t know what she’ll do if she ever succeeds.

“Traitors are dishonorable. They’re better off dead.”

My heart climbs into my throat. I can feel Cole’s gaze on me, needling me. There’s so much weight in his look, so much he wants to say, but he merely sits there. Lets her tear into me.

Sienna clears her throat and resumes shuffling the note cards. It’s like she’s flipped a switch, and she’s back to cool, collected, totally detached.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she says, shoving some note cards in front of me. “I’ve decided you should be pro-Manhattan Prep and say it is meant as satire of the upper class. It makes more sense for the guy to think it’s utter drivel.”

I look through the cards. Sienna must have spent hours on these already. I swallow my pride. “Thanks.”

She slaps a hand over her heart. “Was that a nicety?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s what I thought.” She flips through the yellow cards and then pushes them onto Cole’s desk.

I pick up my backpack and shove the book and note cards into it.

“I guess we’re done,” Sienna says.

“Oh, we’re done,” I say.