pine resin. If I was lucky, I’d find a boulder off the mountain, pocketed with tiny, fresh water circles. I’d climb up and sit cross-legged in front of the best one, surrounded by cool, damp air and the pointed tips of the trees. Tiergan would have to get off his bike and come up on his own, get his hands all dirty against the rocks. He’d glare at me and reach down to scoop all the water out of my puddle.
Once, when I’d just turned fifteen, I yelled after him, “What’s wrong with you?”
His bike skidded to a halt and he didn’t look back. From my position on the boulder I could see the top of his head, the swirl of his cowlick. I didn’t think he was very pretty like stupid Juliet Banks.
“My mother drowned in a puddle,” he finally said before taking off.
Which I knew was a gee-dee lie. His mama ran off with a professor from St. Mary’s. Everybody knew that.
I stopped playing our game. There were puddles in town, in my own backyard. But in town they got filmed over with oil, and that was all shiny and rainbowed, but you couldn’t see the other world in them, couldn’t imagine falling through to find your other self. And in my backyard, Daddy was too near.
At school, in the cafeteria, I caught Tiergan watching me from his table with the other freshman who’d made the football team. Or rather, I caught him looking through me like I was as transparent as water. I flipped him off, which Juliet and Tabitha noticed. “Oh my God, Iz, what are you thinking! Does he like you? Oh my God!” They went on and on while I stared at Tiergan Fitch, fluttering their hands and begging for the scoop on how we knew each other. I told them he pushed me into a puddle once when we were kids.
That afternoon it stormed so hard we all ended up in the school basement in case of microbursts. On the way home I veered immediately into his woods and ran so hard down the hiking trail my footprints made fresh little puddles in the mud.
A half mile in, a huge puddle—more like a tiny lake—cut across the track. I fell to my knees beside it, ignoring the cold mud that squished against my socks and the hem of my skirt. I froze. The surface of the water was perfect. Still as glass and so wide I could see the whole gray sky with its leftover waves of clouds. The tips of pine trees poked against the edges like a ruffled border. I panted from my run and was overwhelmed by the scent of resin and rain.
I leaned over, and there I was: red-cheeked, hair falling out around my face, hands pressed to my chest where my heart beat a hundred times too fast.
Something under my reflection moved. Another face like mine, with huge, round eyes. But no mouth. In its eyes were secrets. I darted out my hand to grab at it. Instead it grabbed my wrist and tugged.
I fell in, all of me collapsing into the water, and it was deep—oh, so deep. Tiny hands grasped at me, and I whirled around, not struggling. It was dark here, black like a cave, and the water clear and clean as rain. Light spilled down from overhead, from the puddle.
Eyes surrounded me. Each pair like tiny caves themselves. I couldn’t breathe, and the water was freezing. But I wasn’t afraid. Their secrets pressed at me, whispered through the rainwater, and I stared at them, at the hundreds, the thousands of them. I opened my mouth to reply, to tell them my own secret.
Water poured into my mouth . I jerked, flailing back, kicked for the surface, but they were above me now, too, with their huge eyes. My lungs spasmed, my stomach, my throat, all begging for air. I reached out, grasping with my hands, and the things slid smooth cheeks and cool fingers against me. I could hardly see them anymore, the weight of the water in my lungs and stomach dragging me down.
Something hard knocked into my shoulder. I grabbed at it. Rough wood. I circled my hands around it and felt myself rising up.
The creatures whispered their silent, rainy secrets after me, scratching my ears, but I clung to the
Once, when I’d just turned fifteen, I yelled after him, “What’s wrong with you?”
His bike skidded to a halt and he didn’t look back. From my position on the boulder I could see the top of his head, the swirl of his cowlick. I didn’t think he was very pretty like stupid Juliet Banks.
“My mother drowned in a puddle,” he finally said before taking off.
Which I knew was a gee-dee lie. His mama ran off with a professor from St. Mary’s. Everybody knew that.
I stopped playing our game. There were puddles in town, in my own backyard. But in town they got filmed over with oil, and that was all shiny and rainbowed, but you couldn’t see the other world in them, couldn’t imagine falling through to find your other self. And in my backyard, Daddy was too near.
At school, in the cafeteria, I caught Tiergan watching me from his table with the other freshman who’d made the football team. Or rather, I caught him looking through me like I was as transparent as water. I flipped him off, which Juliet and Tabitha noticed. “Oh my God, Iz, what are you thinking! Does he like you? Oh my God!” They went on and on while I stared at Tiergan Fitch, fluttering their hands and begging for the scoop on how we knew each other. I told them he pushed me into a puddle once when we were kids.
That afternoon it stormed so hard we all ended up in the school basement in case of microbursts. On the way home I veered immediately into his woods and ran so hard down the hiking trail my footprints made fresh little puddles in the mud.
A half mile in, a huge puddle—more like a tiny lake—cut across the track. I fell to my knees beside it, ignoring the cold mud that squished against my socks and the hem of my skirt. I froze. The surface of the water was perfect. Still as glass and so wide I could see the whole gray sky with its leftover waves of clouds. The tips of pine trees poked against the edges like a ruffled border. I panted from my run and was overwhelmed by the scent of resin and rain.
I leaned over, and there I was: red-cheeked, hair falling out around my face, hands pressed to my chest where my heart beat a hundred times too fast.
Something under my reflection moved. Another face like mine, with huge, round eyes. But no mouth. In its eyes were secrets. I darted out my hand to grab at it. Instead it grabbed my wrist and tugged.
I fell in, all of me collapsing into the water, and it was deep—oh, so deep. Tiny hands grasped at me, and I whirled around, not struggling. It was dark here, black like a cave, and the water clear and clean as rain. Light spilled down from overhead, from the puddle.
Eyes surrounded me. Each pair like tiny caves themselves. I couldn’t breathe, and the water was freezing. But I wasn’t afraid. Their secrets pressed at me, whispered through the rainwater, and I stared at them, at the hundreds, the thousands of them. I opened my mouth to reply, to tell them my own secret.
Water poured into my mouth . I jerked, flailing back, kicked for the surface, but they were above me now, too, with their huge eyes. My lungs spasmed, my stomach, my throat, all begging for air. I reached out, grasping with my hands, and the things slid smooth cheeks and cool fingers against me. I could hardly see them anymore, the weight of the water in my lungs and stomach dragging me down.
Something hard knocked into my shoulder. I grabbed at it. Rough wood. I circled my hands around it and felt myself rising up.
The creatures whispered their silent, rainy secrets after me, scratching my ears, but I clung to the
Similar Books
