fell off me like a shed skin. What I could do was wonderful —why hadn’t I recognized this before?
"Do you have any idea how cool it will be to share this stuff with someone?” Will shook his head, looking dazedly happy. "I used to try to describe things to Mick when we were little, but she'd get sullen and walk away. I haven’t tried for years.” He ruffled his hair with his fingers. "Hey, Sam, up top at Glacier Point, there's this stone shelter, for looking out at the different points of interest. You want to find out what it feels like to pass through a rock wall?"
I did, but I was worried—what if there were people around? What if I solidified at the wrong moment?
He must have seen the conflict in my eyes. "Only if there's no one around—I guess we don't know how well you'll be able to control your ripple yet, huh?"
As it turned out, when we arrived people were swarming all over Glacier Point, so no rock walls for us. And no Mickie, either. We found a note she had placed under the
windshield wiper:
Will, I caught a ride with a friend I ran into. You have my keys assuming you grabbed my pack. Wreck my Jeep and you’re dead. Mick. P.S. Make a donation to the trail fund. You’ve got my wallet. P.P. S. If you forgot my pack, go back and get it NOW. You’re dead if you left it there.
He sent gravel flying with an angry kick. “Forget her. We’re getting ice cream.” He turned and began walking back to the snack bar.
I hesitated and he looked behind to see why I wasn’t with him.
“I didn’t bring any money,” I said.
Will laughed, unzipped a pocket of his sister’s pack, and pulled out her wallet, waving it in the air. “Mick’s buying.”
A few minutes later we sank our teeth into Toll House Cookie ice-cream-sandwich-
Nirvana. Will popped the change from his sister’s twenty into the Yosemite Trail Fund box.
Will finished before I did and started digging through his pack. “Look.” He held up the small black book of riddles, waving it gleefully. A couple of tourists looked over at him as they moved past in a line. “Let’s drive up the road—it’s kind of crowded here,” murmured Will.
I knew he must be putting off seeing his sister. I was happy to be the person he preferred.
We drove the switchbacks out of the parking lot and a mile later, Will turned off for Washburn Point. Another view to make you forget to breathe.
“You can’t see Yosemite Valley from here,” Will said apologetically.
“I don’t miss it,” I whispered. I felt suspended on top of the world, dangling aloft over one of its edges.
Will smiled. “Come on.” He scrambled up a large boulder, sat, and pulled open his
sister’s pack. He thumped a section of rock next to him. “Sit close and we won’t have to talk loud.”
I scooted to where I could feel his breath, warm on my bare shoulder.
A chipmunk joined us on the boulder, inquisitive. Will flipped through the book, looking for additional sections with English translations. The chipmunk turned its head to one side and made a dash to retrieve a bit of potato chip by Will’s feet.
“I see words that remind me of Spanish or French,” he said.
I nodded in agreement. “Some of this looks like Latin. Maybe we should try a translating program online?”
“We could try Latin-to-English and see what comes up.”
“Wait,” I said. “Flip back a couple pages. There.” I pointed at the small neat handwriting
—another English translation.
Leaning our heads together, we read:
In a dark, cold room, three boys with eager fists approach three other boys.
“Give us your blankets,” says the largest boy, Hans.
The smallest, Wolfi, is clever but not strong, and he passes his blanket to Hans. “It is scratchy. And it smells of rotten vegetables. Take it.”
Hans sniffs the blanket, discovering the small boy has told the truth. He drops the coverlet to the ground. “Give me yours,” Hans demands of another of the boys—the one with brown
"Do you have any idea how cool it will be to share this stuff with someone?” Will shook his head, looking dazedly happy. "I used to try to describe things to Mick when we were little, but she'd get sullen and walk away. I haven’t tried for years.” He ruffled his hair with his fingers. "Hey, Sam, up top at Glacier Point, there's this stone shelter, for looking out at the different points of interest. You want to find out what it feels like to pass through a rock wall?"
I did, but I was worried—what if there were people around? What if I solidified at the wrong moment?
He must have seen the conflict in my eyes. "Only if there's no one around—I guess we don't know how well you'll be able to control your ripple yet, huh?"
As it turned out, when we arrived people were swarming all over Glacier Point, so no rock walls for us. And no Mickie, either. We found a note she had placed under the
windshield wiper:
Will, I caught a ride with a friend I ran into. You have my keys assuming you grabbed my pack. Wreck my Jeep and you’re dead. Mick. P.S. Make a donation to the trail fund. You’ve got my wallet. P.P. S. If you forgot my pack, go back and get it NOW. You’re dead if you left it there.
He sent gravel flying with an angry kick. “Forget her. We’re getting ice cream.” He turned and began walking back to the snack bar.
I hesitated and he looked behind to see why I wasn’t with him.
“I didn’t bring any money,” I said.
Will laughed, unzipped a pocket of his sister’s pack, and pulled out her wallet, waving it in the air. “Mick’s buying.”
A few minutes later we sank our teeth into Toll House Cookie ice-cream-sandwich-
Nirvana. Will popped the change from his sister’s twenty into the Yosemite Trail Fund box.
Will finished before I did and started digging through his pack. “Look.” He held up the small black book of riddles, waving it gleefully. A couple of tourists looked over at him as they moved past in a line. “Let’s drive up the road—it’s kind of crowded here,” murmured Will.
I knew he must be putting off seeing his sister. I was happy to be the person he preferred.
We drove the switchbacks out of the parking lot and a mile later, Will turned off for Washburn Point. Another view to make you forget to breathe.
“You can’t see Yosemite Valley from here,” Will said apologetically.
“I don’t miss it,” I whispered. I felt suspended on top of the world, dangling aloft over one of its edges.
Will smiled. “Come on.” He scrambled up a large boulder, sat, and pulled open his
sister’s pack. He thumped a section of rock next to him. “Sit close and we won’t have to talk loud.”
I scooted to where I could feel his breath, warm on my bare shoulder.
A chipmunk joined us on the boulder, inquisitive. Will flipped through the book, looking for additional sections with English translations. The chipmunk turned its head to one side and made a dash to retrieve a bit of potato chip by Will’s feet.
“I see words that remind me of Spanish or French,” he said.
I nodded in agreement. “Some of this looks like Latin. Maybe we should try a translating program online?”
“We could try Latin-to-English and see what comes up.”
“Wait,” I said. “Flip back a couple pages. There.” I pointed at the small neat handwriting
—another English translation.
Leaning our heads together, we read:
In a dark, cold room, three boys with eager fists approach three other boys.
“Give us your blankets,” says the largest boy, Hans.
The smallest, Wolfi, is clever but not strong, and he passes his blanket to Hans. “It is scratchy. And it smells of rotten vegetables. Take it.”
Hans sniffs the blanket, discovering the small boy has told the truth. He drops the coverlet to the ground. “Give me yours,” Hans demands of another of the boys—the one with brown
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