Ripples Read Online Free Page B

climbs in the other side and points to a picture sitting in a tray between us. “I have a granddaughter. I’m not going to hurt you. Just want you to get home safe.”
    I peek at the picture. A little girl … happy … lucky girl. I remember the little girl who didn’t have to follow the rules … the woman who thought something was wrong with me. Think about the girl in the tree. No. She wasn’t real. Feel for my candy wrapper. Look back at the little girl’s picture. “Is she really yours?”
    “Yes, she’s really mine, but someone took her. Which is a good reason you shouldn’t be out here all by yourself.”
    Truck drivers snatch girls off the highway. Bet the trucker Tess scared isn’t that way.
    “By the way,” he says, “you haven’t told me where you live.”
    I don’t look at him. Point. “Up ahead.”
    He says, “Mind buckling up?”
    Keep staring straight ahead. It’s hot in here.
    He stops the car. “Sure you’re okay?”
    “Yes, sir.” Cross my arms. Are Bryce’s marks showing?
    He raises his voice. “You need to buckle up.”
    My chin quivers. “How does it work?”
    “Here.” He reaches across me.
    My body stiffens. The seat belt clicks. I flinch.
    He says, “This is how you undo it when we get you home.” He pushes a button on the buckle. The belt clicks again and comes undone.
    I take a deep breath.
    “Have you walked all the way from town?”
    “No.”
    “How far have you been walking?”
    “Not far. Tess had to stop for the wreck. Said, ‘get out and walk home.’”
    “Tess your mother?”
    “No. No mother.”
    “How about your father?”
    Fish in my pocket for the candy wrapper—still there.
    “How far up the road do you live?”
    “A ways.”
    “She made you get out and walk the whole way? Who is she anyway—a relative?”
    “No family.”
    He sighs. “I don’t have a family, either.”
    I peek over at him.
    “You’ll have to let me know when we get near where you live.”
    No more talking 'til we get to a turnoff ... a little ways before the road to the lake. I point to the side of the road. “Let me off here.”
    He pulls the car over.
    “You sure? I can take you all the way home. I really should talk to someone.”
    “Knee’s fine now.” I undo the seatbelt … fling open the door and jump out. Take a couple steps to show him I’m okay. He smiles and waves goodbye. He’s right … he didn’t bite.
    I cross the highway and keep watching until the shiny red car disappears. When he’s out of sight I limp up to the lake turnoff. As I sneak past the man’s cabin I wonder if the girl in his picture has to follow the rules. Once I’m around the bend, I sit on a stump by the road and put my hands over my face.
    I still see the big black car … crushed into the semi's trailer, as if I was standing next to it. Bloody windows … glass shattered all over the ground … crunching when I step on it. Blood dripping. The girl up in a tree. My stomach twists in knots … head spins … drop to my knees … puke all over the ground. Lie down and roll on my side … tuck into a ball … try not to crap in my pants. Ground’s damp, cool … smells like rotting logs. I look up … can’t see the sky … trees block the sun. Thank god there’s nobody up in those branches.
    Close my eyes again … sleepy … imagine ripples spreading out across the lake … taste candy from crinkly red wrappers.
    Bryce
    Five more minutes gone by. Where the hell are they? Had to get my own damn breakfast. Now it’s gonna be lunchtime. Even have to stoke my own fire.
    Slam the damn stove hatch, stand and stare out the window. Hour and a half, max. That’s all it should take. I grit my teeth, take out my pocket knife, open a can of chili. Set the can on top of the stove and watch it. How the hell long does it take this shit to boil? Jab at it with my knife.
    Now, where’s the damn bread? I’ve told them a thousand times, “I gotta have bread with my damn chili.”
    I stomp