Page 57 of The Ripple Effect

My vision tingles, graying at the edges. I squeeze my thigh muscles to force my blood pressure back up, a trick I learned from a surgeon who was in no mood to have another medical student faint into the sterile field. Losing a pair of guests in the middle of the course—I’m sick at the thought. This is my fault for asking her for anything when she had nothing at stake.

“Can you please stop staring and help me?” She throws another handful of lace into the suitcase. It’ll never close over the mess bursting angrily out of it.

“Just go, Sloane,” I say flatly. “Buy new AirPods at the airport and the Love Boat will reimburse you. Get your sh—stuff together or you’ll miss your flight.”

I won’t ask if she’s still planning on endorsing us. I won’t beg her for anything ever again.

An engine revs, then tires crunch in the parking lot as it hums away.

Sloane crumples the sun shirt she’s holding and throws it against the back wall of the tent with a growl. “Asshat. He took my damn AirPods.”

It’s never silent in camp, but this moment feels unnaturally hushed, the sound of the river receding until all that’s left is Sloane’s breathing, and mine.

I recover first. “What in the actual fuck happened here,Sloane? Make it make sense that we are looking for your headphones when your boyfriend just drove away without you.”

Sloane shakes her head, mouth pinched. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“You and Dereckbroke up? Like,this morning?” Jesus Christ. Twenty-five percent of our participants have broken up, and half of those have left the course, and we’re barely at the five-day mark? This deal is getting worse all the time.

“We didn’t break up. We were never together.”

I sit down heavily on the unused bed. “But… all the magazines. The paparazzi photos.” I shouldn’t tell her I read those articles. You don’t do that unless you care about someone and can’t quite crush the stubborn wish to revise history.

Sloane smiles tightly. “How do you think I knew those tricks for fake relationships?”

I stare at the sunburned tops of my knees. All I can think to say is, “Why?”

“Why what? Why did he leave? According to him, he was cold and bored and missed LA, and the small chance that I could help his career wasn’t worth another week of sand in his crevices. He must’ve ordered the car last night. And this morning, when I was at yoga, he was packing. The little shit.”

“I’m sorry he didn’t like the course,” I say stiffly. “And I’m sorry he broke up with you. Or didn’t break up. Are you also leaving? Because you need to call another car, if yes. Lyle and I have other guests; we can’t spend the day driving you to the airport.”

She drops her forehead into her palm. “What day is it today? On the course, I mean.”

“Day five. The first day of I Get You.”

“Great. Thank you. And when is the dayyougetme, Stellar?Can McHuge make us one of his twelve-word plans, so I know when I graduate to someone you trust for even one second?”

“Are you leaving or not?” The words come out harsh and bitter, but Sloane could do me the courtesy of fucking filling me in before hitting me with personal criticism.

She shakes her head. “Your parents really fucked you up, didn’t they?”

I draw back, stung. “Half of them are your parents, too.”

“I know!” Sloane whispers furiously. “I know that. It’s why I’m here. I’m sorry I screwed up, okay? I’m sorry I took my last chance to get to know you instead of letting you give me the Heisman”—she hunches over an imaginary football, holding out an arm as if to push me away, like the figure on the college trophy—“forever. And I’m sorry I dragged Dereck along for the ride, but I didn’t think you’d let me come by myself. He made me promise to ask for his character to come back from the dead in the next movie. If thereisa next movie. Because…”

She presses her lips together, taking a shaky breath.

“My team covered it up, but I broke my pelvis this winter, glade skiing. I was filming GoPro footage for my social media, trying to build up my reputation as an action star. And now my hip might not heal enough for me to do action sequences. I can’t even run very far anymore. It would be easy to recast my role. I’d be what Timothy Dalton is to James Bond. Forgotten. A blip.”

She turns to the back wall of the tent, looking toward the river through the wavy vinyl window. “I know what this means for your business, so Dereck agreed to say he left for family reasons. He’ll stick to the story if he doesn’t want his character’s body to get launched into the sun in the opening credits of the sequel.”

Sloane looks over her shoulder at me, arms wrapped acrossher stomach. The abdomen is the most vulnerable part of the body, with no bones to shield it. Predators instinctively go for it; vulnerable prey know to cover it up.

“If you want me to leave, I’ll go. I’ll still endorse the Love Boat any way you want. Send me the photos and text for my social media accounts. God, my publicist is going to be so fucking mad at me for making her reschedule all those interviews and then coming back a week early.”

Sloane’s retreat hangs between us, a negative space wanting to be filled. I don’t have the luxury of letting her pursue me anymore; I have to ask her to stay, or ask her to go. I have a chance for pleasant Christmas cards, or I could aim for something more. A big sister. An advice giver. A relationship that means something.

Sloane walks over to the far corner of the tent and picks up the tossed shirt. Now that I’m paying attention, I notice how she balances on her right leg when she bends, keeping the left one straight. I remember her struggling to transfer her weight in the canoe, consistently stiff when she stood up, stumbling on a flat trail.

---