Page 24 of The Ripple Effect

I can’t imagine he’s gotten less good at hugging since last year. It’s like he can sense some change in your vibrations when he’s reached the perfect amount of pressure, holding it steady until you’re high on wraparound warmth and security. Sloane laughs as she steps away, glowing. Dereck pockets his naked phone and reaches out for a quick handshake.

I dart forward. “Welcome to the Love Boat! I’m Stellar. I’ll bring your bags to the Sunset Dome.”

“I can carry my own—” Sloane begins, reaching for the designer-logoed weekender topmost on the stack assembled by the driver.

“I insist,” I say, grabbing it.

“Of course. Thank you.” Her gaze moves from my serviceable French braid, across the darkening roots of my undercut, to the stainless steel barbells in my cartilage piercings. Her eyes pause on a twining hexagonal circuit in my sleeve tattoo. I feel the differences between us settle hard on my shoulders.

“The camp isbeautiful. I can’t tell you how excited I am about your program.” She’s got a sanitized, placeless accent that immediately makes me hyperaware of the way I pronounce the letterO. Canadian accents are cute. I prefer not to be cute.

Dereck seems less excited to be here, tapping his phone restlessly through the pocket of his streamlined joggers. “Where can I get a signal around here?” He sounds straight out of Brooklyn or the Bronx or possibly Queens—someplace where, if you guess the wrong borough, they never speak to you again.

“We encourage clients to unplug, but if you need to call or text, we can drive you to a place where there’s reception. Usually.”

“What about streaming?”

“Um, that can be tricky on the cellular network up here. But we have a movie night planned, weather permitting.”

“Right.” He drops behind, waving his phone overhead, trying to catch stray bars.

We enter the clearing for Sunset Dome—an audacious name for a tent, but McHuge claims language inspires thought.

“I’m sorry our flight was delayed,” Sloane says. “I hoped we’d have some time to hang out privately.”

“It’s fine,” I say, not meaning for it to sound like “fine,” but it does. “I appreciate you being here.”

A faint line dares to pop up between her eyebrows. “Stellar. I don’t know why it feels like we’re fighting. I’m not here for that. I’m here because I promised I’d always help you, if I could. And because I’d like to get to know you.”

I hoped for something from her once. Since then, I’ve learned you can’t solve problems by trying the same thing over and over again.

I set Sloane’s luggage on the raised platform, unzip the front opening of her tent, and heft the bags onto the chest of drawers to the right of the entrance. “Sloane, if you’re worried I’m harboring resentment, that’s really not the case. I know the value of your time, and I promise to pay you back the secondI’m able.” Sloane might call this a favor, but we both know I’ve taken out a loan against our scrap of shared DNA.

Like mine, Sloane’s features aren’t exactly pretty. A hundred years ago, her high cheekbones, strong nose, wide mouth, and Dad’s square jaw would’ve gotten her calledhandsome. An injured expression works well on her precisely because you’d expect a face like that to stay stoic.

“You don’t have to pay me back for anything. You’re my only—”

My finger flies to my lips:Shhhh.

Her voice drops to a barely audible whisper. “Sister.”

The Love Boat crew all know who Sloane is, but she and I agreed not to reveal our relationship to the other guests. An endorsement will look stronger if it’s not a family affair.

“I already have a sister,” I say, because Liz would call me her sister too. “Like I said, this means the world to McHuge and me. We’re here to provide a transformative experience and to ensure our future brand will reflect positively on yours. For now, I’d better let you change. I suggest a long-sleeved sun shirt, a hat that won’t blow away, and water shoes. Don’t put sunscreen above your eyebrows; it’ll get in your eyes. I’ll see you at the shore in five.”

Sloane’s chin tightens a fraction, her lips pressing together.

I know that face. I’ve seen it in the mirror during my residency, on days I ducked into the bathroom to stop myself from crying after particularly harsh criticism from my staff. It’s not sad, though. It’s a Terminator robot calculating where it can reacquire Sarah Connor.

“Sure,” Sloane agrees, sounding damn disingenuous for someone with years of acting experience. “Oh, isn’t it pretty in here. You did a beautiful job.”

Until this moment, I thought the tentswerebeautiful. The Sunset Dome is every shade of orange, from the pale-coral gauze draped in generous swoops against the white walls to the warm ginger-brown of the rug. It’s stuffed with luxe throws and fat cushions Jasvinder taught me to fluff, then chop with my hand to make soft folds. There’s real furniture—a metal dresser with faux leather pulls, a pair of canvas chairs in bright tangerine.

But Sloane standing here with her sleek neutral outfit and her lips pressed together makes the Sunset Dome look lesser-than. Country. Cheap.

I can’t imagine her staying at my crappy apartment. Or see myself in her Malibu guesthouse, picking out the perfect shoes for a dinner that costs more than I make in a month.

I don’t want a future where I’m eager to keep in touch with her, like I was eager to be hired at Grey Tusk General—excited to join committees and take the projects no one wanted and let a million sketchy things slide in the name of paying my dues.

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