I look to the window and pray for a glimmer of dawn. I hate the night. It gives me too much time to think.
* * 3 * *
Somehow I make it through the night without driving myself crazy. Now that it is morning, I will be too busy shadowing Violet to think about last night’s conversation. How a girl and her Shadow, so previously full of life, went from being sparks of frenetic energy to lifeless blobs on the street. From the sounds of it, Emily has lost her drive, a condition that happens too often as people age. I have noticed this apathetic feeling amongst many adults, Violet’s mom in particular. Even though today is a school and work day, Mrs. Rayne has yet to peel herself out of bed, leaving Violet to fend for herself once again. When Violet was younger, her mother was always falling over herself to help Violet pick out her outfit, braid her hair, or make her breakfast. These days, their interaction is limited to simple exchanges.
Violet thumbs through her clothes, deciding what to wear. It has become a much more involved process these past few months. She used to throw anything on, not giving too much thought as to how it looked or felt, but now she takes forever searching for the perfect outfit. A tight-fitting purple top is selected, and she pulls off her shirt from yesterday. As she moves, her eye catches the mirrored wall opposite her bed. In perfect synchronization, I move along the floor as Violet runs her left hand over her abdomen. I assume there is a trace of dirt left behind from last night’s trip to the cliff, but instead of her fingers brushing, they are grabbing fistfuls of tissue across her stomach. Over and over, she grabs at her waist, leaving pink marks up and down her skin. I can’t imagine the action would feel pleasant, especially since Violet’s face is tightly winced. Why then would she do it? I have spent my whole existence predicting her movements, but this action surprises me.
She shakes her head and quickly finishes getting dressed. For the rest of the morning, she appears to be working extra hard to avoid looking at the mirrors around her house. It’s not an easy task; the refrigerator, countertops, and doorways are all reflective. I do not mind the mirrors. All those reflective surfaces make my work much more interesting, as light playfully bounces across the room. But today, Violet is not sharing my enthusiasm.
Because she lives so close to her high school, Violet walks every morning. I much prefer traveling by foot than by carpod; the silver bean-shaped vehicles give me no choice but to lay motionless on the floor. Being outside allows me time to flex my artistic abilities as I trace the wind patterns in Violet’s hair or weave in and out of terrain. It is easy enough to duplicate images on flat, smooth surfaces, but becomes more challenging when the environment throws hurdles in the way. Things like bushes and trees are expected and easy enough to deal with, but quickly darting between the slats of a picket fence is more advanced. I welcome obstacles; anything that helps me hone my craft.
The walk is slow today, as Violet stops to kick rocks out of her path or pull a leaf from a tree. As I shadowed her packing up her book bag, I did not get a chance to view her schedule on her holopane. It takes a beat to remember whether or not she has art class today. Ever since school started a few weeks ago, I’ve had trouble mastering her senior year schedule. Once Violet passes through the doors of Talline High, my day is a blur of confusion. With so many Persons packed into such a tight space, it is absolute hysteria on the floor. The Shadows become one undulating mess, smashed into each other as we try to maintain the shape of the one we follow. Persons step on us, left and right, and while we cannot physically feel pain, it is annoying to have someone’s foot in your face when you’re working. Not to mention how once our gray forms touch, we become privy to each other’s thoughts. Small bits of consciousness float into mine, whether I want them or not:
“Ugh, last night was exhausting.”
“Who is this guy she’s kissing?”
“I cannot sit through another algebra class.”
It is a lot to take in. But for now, on our walk, I soak in the sunlight, my outline dark and steady on the pavement, trying not to worry about what the school day will bring.
We stop at the intersection across from school and wait for the streetlight to change. There’s a lot to see at this time of day, from shiny carpods whirring by on their way to work to reflective bus benches mirroring the hustle and bustle. Occasionally I catch another Person’s face, tilted downward, trying to avoid all the mirrored commotion, but I don’t have much time to register their presence. From my angle, I can’t help but look up past Violet’s head to the giant billboard-sized holopane above. Besides the red rock of the towering canyon encircling the city, the extra-large monitor is one of the few non-reflective surfaces in the square, making it impossible to miss.
A three-dimensional projection shows a picture of Talline itself, with people dancing and laughing in the streets. It’s a packed scene, as if every resident in the city is smashed into one image, yet one face stands out amongst the crowd. It is Celestia Sky, the unofficial spokesperson of Talline. With so much white light engulfing the streets, she is a standout vision. An image of her raven hair and flawless ebony skin slinks across the sky, working every angle of the 3D medium. You can’t miss her, nor would you want to; Celestia is a Person who demands to be seen.
“Show your appreciation for the most beautiful city in the world!” she coos. Celestia gracefully gestures to the scene behind her, discussing the details of the Festival of Light, an upcoming town celebration. The party is thrown annually in honor of the city’s radiant beauty. Naturally, I’ve attended every year, though in a limited capacity. The day usually begins with a trip around Lake Clarion on the Kellys’ yacht, and then I spend the rest of the time crushed under everyone’s feet and converging with fellow Pentrals. People always seem to have a lot of fun, though I’ve never understood why, as the day is not much different from most. For a town-wide gathering, I would expect much more than a few food vendors and street performers to entertain the crowd. Still, watching Celestia smiling and enjoying the festivities on the screen makes the event seem so enticing that you wouldn’t want to be left out.
Then the holopane switches, swallowing up the images of Celestia, and spitting back out a group of ridiculously good-looking teenagers, laughing crazily and floating mid-air as if they’ve just jumped off a trampoline. In dazzling orange and blue letters, the slogan reads:
“LIFTS! For when life drags you down.”
I’ve seen variations of this advertisement for years, of course, but only recently has its message made any sort of impact. At school there is a group of kids referred to as lifters, who can use the product once they turn 17. Now that Violet is a senior and herself of age, the presence of Lifts! has become more prevalent than just bouncy holopane teens. Sometimes when I’m lying on the school’s floor, I catch a classmate reaching in her backpack for a small orange tin with LIFTS! imprinted on top. Inside are small, white, circular capsules that dissolve on the tongue.
I cannot decide whether Lifts! are mints, candy, or caffeine-delivery pills, but there must be a reason why you can only obtain them after age 17. Violet has yet to sample Lifts! despite their popularity, so my knowledge of their effect is limited. All I know is that lifters seem to hang together and whenever I come in contact with a Shadow of one who has just lifted, the thoughts I read are fraught with confusion.
The school parking lot is brimming with activity, as the student body takes its last few breaths of fresh air before the first bell rings. Violet stops to survey the crowd, as if trying to decide where to jump in. Last year, there would have been no question as to where she belongs, but things are a lot different now. She starts to cross through the mass of students, when suddenly a carpod screeches across the pavement.
I am not prepared when Violet lets out a scream.
* * 4 * *
I keep my gaze focused on Violet, although I desperately want to scan the scene to see what happened. She is unharmed, but visually shaken, pressing her hands over her ears. I echo her quivers
across the pavement. The carpod is nowhere near her body; it only squealed as it pulled in a nearby parking space. Several onlookers shoot Violet confused looks, which she doesn’t see through her squeezed eyelids. More and more students put distance between themselves and my shaking Person, all except one.
Thomas Brandt.
Slowly, he walks up and places his hands on top of hers. He is several inches taller than Violet, with golden skin and sandy hair. Though he spends a significant amount of time aggressively kicking a soccer ball, right now he is tender. She opens her eyes and stares deeply at his face; for a moment, neither of them moves.
“Oh,” Violet says finally.
“Are you okay?” he asks. He squints behind his glasses, searching her face for signs of distress. Thomas pushes aside a stray strand of her red hair and tucks it behind her ear, an act of familiarity. Of course, the two are very familiar with each other, or at least they were. His other hand touches her cheek.
“Yeah, it’s just, the carpod, it…” She allows his hand to linger, and I watch eagerly from below, trying to soak up the emotion of the moment. What would it feel like to have someone like Thomas trace the curves of your face? From down here, having someone stroke your skin seems nice, a gentle gesture that must come from an affectionate place. I look up at Violet to read her reaction, but she is already pulling away. Her eyes flit down to me, as if she was sensing my questions about the scene, but I know her action is all about the two of them and nothing to do with myself.
“I get it,” Thomas says as he pulls himself back. Violet is so still, I have time to catch the flash of hurt in his eyes, but he regains himself quickly. “I’m still here, okay?”
The school bell rings. Violet nods and watches Thomas turn to walk inside the building. Together we take a moment to hang our heads as one of her last friends leaves her standing alone on the pavement.
It wasn’t always this way.
At the end of Violet’s junior year, you could not tear her away from Thomas’ side. The two had been friends forever, starting with the day he saved her handmade pinwheel from flying away in a sudden gust of spring wind. I remember how hard she worked on it in class, as getting to do art projects on paper was a special occasion. She drew intricate swirls on the curved corners, giving them a sprinkling of glitter on each point. It had flown right out of her hand after she walked out the door of her fourth grade classroom. Thomas, a bespectacled little boy with a mop of blond hair, had just emerged from his class next door, and saw the sparkling contraption spinning through the air. He rescued her creation just before it suffered a watery fate in the nearby drinking fountain.
As a young Shadow, I had not yet mastered the art of quickly stealing glances at Persons besides my own, but on that day, it was impossible not to see how Thomas looked at Violet. His oversized frames could not hide the look of wonder across his face upon meeting the green-eyed, freckle-faced girl with glitter under her fingernails. It was like he saw an angel, and the two became inseparable. Whenever Violet was with Thomas, my job became easier, because her body instantly released any anxiety built up throughout the day. I no longer carried her stress through to my outline, as his presence melted away her tension.
Halfway through high school, the pair became an official couple. Their attraction had grown to such a palpable level even I felt like I could reach out and grab it. After an evening party held on the shore of Lake Clarion, the large body of water at Talline’s basin, the two snuck away close to the water’s edge. I get nervous around water, but luckily the moon was covered in a swath of clouds, so I was free to watch the moment their romance began from an angle of my choosing.
Violet had kicked off her flip-flops and was balancing on the rocky border of the shore.
“You’re going to fall,” Thomas teased.
“Well, then you’d better catch me,” Violet replied. She tiptoed around the formations, miming the movements of a tightrope walker. A wave crashed against the rocks and Violet jumped down to avoid being swept away.
“I told you!” he laughed.
“No, I jumped! I didn’t fall!” She playfully reached out to push him, but he caught her hand and pulled her close to him instead. The two were inches apart, and I waited anxiously to see what would happen next. One silhouette I had yet to outline was that of a couple embracing, but with the moonlight so soft, my form was not visible. I was removed from the moment. I wished to be part of their first kiss, to understand the feelings involved. But all I could do was watch in awe.
Thomas and Violet used to be one half of a group of friends who jokingly called themselves the Alliance. The nickname was created through the playful minds of children, but somehow stuck through the years. The other members included Mary Kelly, Violet’s very best friend since her toddler days, and Benjamin, Mary’s adopted brother. Ben was brought to Talline in middle school and became friends with Thomas through the school’s soccer team. Each member of the Alliance had very different interests and personalities, but somehow when they got together, their variances brought them together. As adopted siblings, Mary and Ben shared a tightly woven bond to be rivaled only by Thomas and Violet’s. The foursome did everything together and would do anything for each other.
This all changed last May. The Alliance was at a graduation party for an older friend, and the night was winding down. Mary wanted to leave the party early and was pestering her best friend for a ride.
“Can you two please stop being adorable for two seconds and drive me home?” Mary asked. “Ben already left.”
Violet pulled herself away from Thomas and looked at Mary with slight confusion, as if just realizing she was at a party and not alone with her boyfriend. “You want to go now?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Give us five more minutes, okay?” Thomas replied. Violet scrunched her face in a goofy grin, causing Mary to roll her eyes in exasperation and walk away, tossing her brunette hair over her shoulder. Thomas pulled Violet back close, eyes dancing from freckle to freckle.
“I better go,” she said, inches from his face.
“Five more minutes,” he whispered. Only it wasn’t five minutes. The clock ticked on as Violet, and myself by extension, became lost in the warmth of the moment. Tucked in a corner, completely entangled in each other, I tried to steal even a sliver of their affections and wondered what their attraction felt like. Every time Thomas moved to touch Violet’s face or kiss her lips, I willed myself to feel something. Anything. I performed their interactions across the dimly lit room without fault, but my movements, void of any sort of physical reciprocation, did not have the same fire behind them.
Mary ended up getting a ride from a senior girl. Hours later Violet was asleep while I guiltily thought about Thomas, about what it would be like to have someone look at me that way. It would nice to be noticed for once, I thought. An urgent holopane signal interrupted our rest. Experience had taught me most late night calls were never good, and this was no exception.
Suddenly I found myself racing along the glossy tiles of a hospital floor, hurriedly projecting Violet’s frantic frame under florescent lights. As it turned out, Mary’s ride home had been hit by a freightpod with miscalculated coordinates. The senior girl survived with only a few scratches, but Mary took most of the impact, leaving her in a coma. Although I know I must have performed what happened next at regular speed, the whole scene seemed to happen in slow motion. Violet crumpled next to Mary’s hospital bed. Thomas stared in stunned silence. Ben paced the room, his face red and splotched.
Violet’s tears rolled down her face, landing directly on top of me. Her fingertips, always caked with residual art supplies, clenched the tile, leaving what would have been scratches across my face. Her pain was a puddle all around me, begging me to share in her sadness. But while all around the Persons I’d come to know fell apart, I had no choice but to keep my composure and carry on, trapped behind a barrier of disconnection.
Nothing
was the same after that night. School let out for the summer a few days later, and Violet spent most of her time visiting Mary. The first several visits involved lots of crying, with Violet taking Mary’s hand or sometimes crawling in her bed to hold her. She took time programming the room’s holopane with a series of beautiful images she’d drawn and hung a few parchment sketches around the stark room. I knew Violet did not like the idea of her friend, so full of life, imprisoned in such a cold, sterile place, so she did her best to fill the room with color.
There were times Thomas would accompany her, but something about the air between them had shifted. When Thomas would offer comfort, I immediately expected her to accept, yet surprisingly found myself moving the opposite direction. I had grown so accustomed to her falling into his arms that shying away from him seemed wrong. It has always been my job to pick up my Person’s patterns, and when major changes in behavior occur, I have to take note. But I could not understand the expressions of shame and regret that passed Violet’s face whenever he came by. Surely she felt some guilt for what happened to Mary, but did she also blame Thomas? Despite his constant pleas for her to open up, she never officially confirmed my suspicions, and the divide between the two deepened.
The one who was not afraid to express his feelings was Ben. From the very start, he venomously blamed Violet for Mary’s coma, saying it would have never happened had she driven her home like she promised. On several occasions he became angry with her, his dark brown eyes filled with rage. Once it seemed as if he was on the verge of tears, but he never let that side break through. It was difficult for me, keeping Violet’s frozen stance while Ben berated her. He never did it in front of Thomas, knowing he would have defended her. Violet was almost too accepting of his anger, taking it all in as her own burden to bear. The weight on her shoulders played all the way through to her Shadow, bringing us both down every day since.
The Pentrals Page 2