Page 29 of Ripple Effect

His bike skates away, careening into the distance, but my attention is riveted to his prone form. Braking abruptly, I barely manage to keep my balance as I scramble to help.

“El!” I yell, dropping to my knees beside him.

His eyes are closed, his face ashen, lips slightly parted as he takes in shallow, irregular breaths. His pulse is quick under my trembling fingertips, erratic and stuttering, like a drummer with a shitty sense of rhythm.

I pull my phone out of my pocket with my other hand, dialing 911 with shaking fingers.

“You’ll be okay,” I whisper to him, hoping he can hear me even though his eyes remain shut.

I tuck my phone away and gently position his head in my lap, his dark hair soft under my touch. He’s flushed, semiconscious but still stirring, so I pour a bit of water from my bottle onto his face, hoping the coolness might rouse him.

“Elio,” I murmur, stroking his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. “Can you hear me?”

The minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity, the silence between his gasps punctuated by the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. Then, finally, his eyelids flutter open. They’re heavy, dazed, but it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve seen all day.

“Wha’ happened?” he manages to rasp out, his voice so faint I can barely hear him.

I squeeze his hand gently, relief flooding through me. “Oh, thank God. You, um, you just fell out of nowhere. But don’t worry, I called an ambulance,” I rush to add. “They’ll be here soon.”

He attempts a weak nod, closing his eyes again as he takes a shaky breath. I can still feel his heartbeat fluttering under my palm, too fast, too uneven, but at least it’s there.

Sirens wail in the distance, growing steadily louder until it fills our quiet street. An ambulance rounds the corner, lights flashing. Two EMTs jump out, equipment in hand, as I call out, “Over here!”

They rush toward us, their movements quick and efficient as they kneel down next to Elio. One of them is talking to me, asking questions about what happened, but my attention is fixed firmly on the broken boy beside me.

His eyes are closed again, his face pale and sweaty.

It’s strange seeing him so vulnerable, so unlike the carefree guy who’d been teasing me just minutes ago. But one thing is clear: I need to be strong for both of us now. Elio needs someone to be there for him, and I’m not about to let him down.

“Just hold on,” I whisper, brushing his hair back as the EMTs begin their work. “It’s all going to be okay.”

* * *

Once he’s stabilized,strapped down, and placed inside the ambulance, they all head off to the hospital. And I’m left here, alone, standing in the middle of the deserted street. I scramble to pull out my phone, my hands trembling as I dial Gracie’s number.

“Hey,” I begin, my voice breaking. “Can you come pick me up from Pacific Street? Elio ... he’s been taken to the hospital.”

“Oh, my God. Yes, just drop me a pin, and I’ll be there as soon as possible.” There’s a distinct rustling in the background and then the sound of a car door opening. “What happened?”

I explain the best I can between hiccups and shaky breaths. I tell her about the bike ride, the sudden collapse, and all the air squeezing out of my lungs.

“Could you take me to Harbor Point Hospital?” I finally ask, my throat tight as her ignition turns.

“Okay,” she says, voice steady and reassuring. “I’ll be there as fast as I can. And hey ... he’s gonna be okay, you know? You did everything you possibly could.”

“I really fucking hope so.”

Hanging up, I sit on the curb, cradling my head in my hands. The uncertainty of the situation crashes over me, leaving me numb and confused. But I try my best to hold my shit together for the time being.

When Gracie arrives, I’ve managed to calm my breathing and push down the panic. She doesn’t ask any questions, just wraps an arm around me and helps me into her car. The drive to the hospital is silent, save for the occasional reassurances she whispers in my direction.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Daze. It’s probably just a little scare.” Her words don’t quite soothe the ache in my chest, but they’re enough to keep me going for now.

Unfortunately, Harbor Point’s waiting room is just as terrifying as I’d imagined. The sterile scent of antiseptic, the muted hush, the intermittent whispers—it all adds to my anxiety. Time seems to stretch out before me, each second feeling like a lifetime.

“I’m here.” Gracie’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “It shouldn’t be too long now.”

We stay seated in the rigid plastic chairs for what seems like an eternity, although in reality, it’s probably just a few agonizing minutes. Every once in a while, Gracie tries to engage me in light conversation to take my mind off the situation, but her words barely register.

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