Ripple by Mandy Hubbard Page B

seconds to remember where everything is stored. Spoons, bowls, measuring cups. It all comes back to me. A desperate urge to get it all back—to be friends with Sienna—overwhelms me.
    I was happy in this house. I was happy as her friend.
    By the time I’m whipping the warm butter in a bowl, Sienna strolls out, a tiny little bag with pink-ribbon handles dangling from her fingertips.
    “What is that?” I ask, trying not to show the weird little panic that bubbles to the surface.
    She sets it on the counter in front of me. “Your birthday present.”
    I blink, staring at the cute little bag, then turn back to the bowl, whipping the butter faster and faster, even though it’s ready. “My birthday was two weeks ago.”
    Sienna shoves the bag toward me. One of her usually perfect French-manicured nails is chipped. “This is from your sixteenth. I never got to give it to you.”
    “Oh.” My mouth goes dry. I force my hand to stop whipping the butter, but my grip on the spoon tightens. “You kept this for two years?”
    She nods.
    “Why?”
    She just shrugs and pushes the bag toward me again, until it’s right up against the bowl. Heart in my throat, I smile at her and grab the forgotten present. Delicate—albeit a little squished—white tissue pokes out of the shiny white-and-blue polka-dot bag. I dig my hand into it—the bag is so small my fist barely fits—and pull out the tissue.
    As I unfold it, my heart twists. Inside is a bracelet, handmade out of glass seed beads. Little silver seashells and sea stars dangle from it. It’s held together by a tiny polished-silver clasp. It must have taken Sienna hours to make, alternating the tiny beads in blue, green, teal.... It’s meticulous. Perfect.
    I look up at Sienna, take in the bright, expectant look in her pretty blue eyes. Sparkling like this, they look just like Steven’s.
    This isn’t just a lost birthday gift, returned to its rightful owner. This is an offer. To pick up where we left off. And even though I know it’s probably the wrong decision—the last thing I should do—I smile at Sienna and murmur a thank-you. Then I slip it on to my wrist and let her fasten it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    A t school the next day, I feel apprehensive. Everything is changing so fast. My nightly swims at the lake are the only constant. As I step through the double doors, I don’t know what to expect. Three steps in, someone shoulder checks me, just a light bump, enough to startle me. Before I can glare at whoever it is, someone else glances my way—a dark-haired guy Sienna is friends with. His eyes dart down the hall, as if he doesn’t want to acknowledge me. But, instead of knocking into me as he did last week, he steps away. A tingling starts at the base of my spine, rippling upward. What was with that look?
    I narrow my eyes and look around. Kristi Eckly, a girl who used to take pleasure in shunning me as a show of loyalty to Sienna, smiles slightly before rushing away.
    Is it possible to feel your heart beat in your stomach? Because that’s how it feels right now. As if my heart is actually pulsating in my stomach, reverberating through my limbs.
    But I swam last night, so I shouldn’t be nauseous. No, it’s not nausea, it’s nervousness. Something isn’t right here.
    I see Nikki up ahead, and I nearly do my usual—veer out a side door. But then she nods her head at me, as if she’s totally okay with my being there. I almost stumble to a stop, but somehow I manage to keep my feet shuffling along the ugly brown carpet.
    I blink, several times, waiting to see if a whole new picture swims into focus. A normal one, with people glaring at me or avoiding me altogether, but blinking doesn’t change things.
    It’s as if I’m . . . normal again. As if I’m one of my old clique, and they’re okay with me. As if they don’t all hate me.
    I’m torn between grinning like an idiot and hiding in the bathroom. Because I want to just ... slip it all back on like a perfect