Page 8 of Ripple Effect

I recount the morning’s events, describing Elio with as much detail as I can remember—his intense gaze, the protective way he hovered over his dog, Bentley, and his reserved, yet oddly inviting, demeanor. The way I found him, curled up and shivering, sleeping alone without a blanket at 4:30 in the morning.

How at first, I assumed he might be houseless, but he claimed to live in an apartment nearby. How, for some unknown reason, I couldn’t stop asking him an endless stream of questions.

As I talk, Gracie listens, sipping her coffee and encouraging me with nods and thoughtful hums.

“And you let him just walk away in the end? Didn’t immediately rope him into a lifelong friendship?” she asks when I finish up, a playful smirk twisting her lips.

I shrug, my cheeks flushing. “What was I supposed to do, Gracie? Lasso him?”

Her laughter fills the room, a welcome sound that helps to diffuse the strange tension that’s built up inside me. “Well, at least you know where to look if you want to run into him.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “I’m not going to, like, stalk him or anything, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

She chuckles, closing her textbook to give me her full attention. “Who said anything about stalking? Just a coincidental meeting. You both seem to be early risers, after all, so a chance encounter is pretty likely.”

Her words, though in jest, plant an idea in my mind. It may sound silly, but part of me thinks I should work to make that happen. It’s just . . . Elio seemed like he could use a friend. And while I’m not exactly short on those myself, it never hurts to widen the circle.

I glance out the window—the desolate parking lot a sharp contrast from the quiet, sandy stretch of my new favorite beach—and let out a sigh. A mischievous smile plays on my lips as I turn back to face her.

“Oh, would you stop that?” she asks, running a wary hand through her soft, brown curls.

“Stop what?”

She rolls her eyes at my act, leaning against the counter as she folds her arms. “You’ve got that look on your face. The one you get when you’re scheming.”

“You’ve only known me for a few weeks now, Grace, and I don’t scheme,” I say, the corners of my mouth lifting. “I just . . . ponder possibilities.”

She arches a brow as she gets up, leaving her half-finished breakfast on the table. “You’re right, you love toponder. Besides, I suppose it’ll be good for you to make more friends at Coastal outside of our little group.”

“Hey!” I protest, my mock offense earning me a chuckle.

With Gracie now in the kitchen, I trade places and plop myself down at the table, my eyes scanning the cluttered surface. Her law textbooks are stacked in one corner, while my own bio papers are spread out on the other.

It’s only now that I realize I haven’t checked my phone since late last night. So, I pull it out, half expecting to see a classic good-morning text from Logan. But the other—much more self-aware—part of me knows that he’s been too busy this week to remember to message back.

“Speaking offriends,” Gracie starts, pulling me back into the conversation. She leans against the kitchen counter, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You haven’t mentioned Logan as much this week.”

I shrug, not bothering to meet her eyes. “He’s just been busy with practice.”

“But isn’t it off-season?” she asks, brows furrowing. I have to give her credit—she’s more observant than I thought, especially considering her distinct lack of interest in all things sports.

“They’ve been ramping up practice, and ... other stuff. You know, with Logan vying for the captaincy and all,” I explain, brushing off her concern.

Despite my words, there’s a knot of unease forming in my stomach, a nagging doubt I’ve been trying to ignore. But now, with Gracie’s pointed questions, it’s becoming harder to push away.

“Hmm,” is all she says, but I can tell she’s not entirely convinced, and I don’t blame her one bit.

It’s not just that random girl’s voice I heard over the phone that unsettles me but also the growing gap between us: unanswered calls, unread messages, and a sense of disconnect that’s crept in over the last five days.

I’m usually not one to stress over the small stuff—a few unanswered texts and a handful of days—but it’s never been like this before. Not between us.

Maybe it’s just a phase every long-distance relationship goes through, a rough patch due to the physical separation. At least, I hope that’s all it is.

* * *

Later that night,Gracie and I join Max and LJ for a late-night bonfire at the beach. A few of their other friends are here, too. Some people Max knows from his graduate cohort, a few of the other girls in LJ’s classes, and even Gracie brought along someone new.

It would be the perfect Saturday evening if not for the glaring absence of one person. Logan, who might be physically hundreds of miles away but should, in theory, feel much closer to me than he does tonight.

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