The Shadow peeks out a sliver of black and I lunge forward to touch it. Though I am temporarily in a human body, I am still a Pentral. Maybe I can communicate with her through contact.
The moment my hand meets the black, Violet’s voice, full of alarm, rings in my head. “What is happening? What have you done to me? What is going on?” she asks all at once. I jump back in shock. We can interact.
What is happening? I don’t have an explanation. It is not like Violet has never fallen on top of me before. I have witnessed many a skinned knee or rock-climbing fall, but it has never caused us to switch places.
But I have also never felt anything like the fury that raged through me when Violet picked up the Lifts! tin just moments ago.
“Violet,” I start, still fumbling to make my thoughts heard outside myself. What am I supposed to say anyway? It has to be scary, lying on the ground looking at your own body move without you. Before now, I’m sure Violet has never given her Shadow a second thought. Why would she? I place my hands back on her. “I . . . um … am your Shadow.”
“What? What do you mean ‘my Shadow’? How did this happen? What is going on?” Violet fires question after question.
I am scared too, but at least I understand how the two worlds work. Two worlds. What would the Class Fours think about this?
I have so much to tell her, but this is not the place. I can’t risk having someone overhear; I’m probably in enough trouble as it is. Besides, I don’t know how long this transformation will last and there is something I’ve always wanted to do.
“Stay close to me,” I say to Violet, and use all my strength to head for the door.
* * 9 * *
After an absurd amount of time and countless downward plummets, I make it to my destination. Shadowing has made me familiar with the mechanics of movement, but being the orchestrator is entirely new. I’ve walked, I’ve run, I’ve danced, but never against the laws of physics, never with weight or balance to consider. I stumble to the ground, over and over, feeling the hard surface below bash my skin. I take slow, careful steps as not only a benefit to me, but Violet as well, who trails behind in awkward, globular movements. I promise to make things better, to take her aside and explain everything, right after…
We are outside behind the school. The high school is positioned just so in the canyon: high enough to see the entire city spread, but low enough to make out all the details. I have always wanted a more panoramic view of this place I call home. I have lived in this city for 17 years along my Person, and while I have walked every street, hovered past every building, it’s been nearly impossible to piece together the city as a whole. My view has always been distorted, limited to odd perspectives: never upright, always pulled back or lying flat. Just once I want to see this world I live in and understand its entirety.
A tall rock nearby calls to me, and I start to climb. I kick off Violet’s sneakers to feel the jagged edges of the stone on my bare feet. This is what I have missed during all of Violet’s rock climbing excursions. How many times have I been spread across these formations, never conscious of the intricate texture below? Sure, the bumpy crags are uncomfortable, but I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all.
The rocky landscape steeps dramatically upward and I do my best to climb to a good vantage point. The shifting sand beneath my feet proves more challenging than flat tiles, but I manage to make my way. I settle on a rocky ridge just above the school’s roof, sinking my toes into the dirt. Laughter escapes me as the tiny grains cover my feet. How can something so small feel so funny? I rub my hands over everything, feeling the prickly texture of canyon plants and the coolness of evening air. I look ridiculous I’m sure, but it doesn’t matter. I am overcome with happiness. I can feel.
I climb further. At the top, my toes curl over a boulder, helping me balance as I take in the view. A lot of my time is spent looking up, but now I am privy to the entire scene. Finally, a clear, entire map imprinted in my mind’s eye. The canyon circles into a horseshoe, leaving a small entrance at the opposite end; the water of Lake Clarion provides the city’s only exit. Mirrors dot the terra cotta terrain, mimicking the twinkling stars above. Even at night, Talline shines.
As I take in the view, I realize that somewhere, somehow, the Class Fours must be looking at me, making note of my indiscretion. But I don’t want to think about Pentrals and consequences. Not now. I will pay for this moment of freedom, so I better enjoy it. I push the thought away.
A voice breaks my selfish serenity. “You’re going to fall.” It is Thomas, looking up at me from the ridge below. He must have seen me climbing from the school’s parking lot. The shock of being seen unhinges my tentative grasp on gravity, causing me to tumble down. A sharp sting rips through my right leg.
I try not to cry out, but the pain is much more than I would expect. “Guess you told me so,” I wince.
“You’re bleeding.” He crouches down next to me. I have never been this close to a boy’s face before—the physical proximity takes my breath away. Thomas pulls a tissue out of his pocket and begins dabbing up the blood. After what happened between him and Violet tonight, I can’t understand why he is helping me.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“You’re hurt, Violet,” he says, concentrating on my cut. He won’t look at me.
“So are you.” I know Violet’s words cut him deep. Thomas’ eyes meet mine. The thick lens of his glasses cannot conceal I’ve spoken the truth.
He sighs. “What do you expect?”
Nothing. I expect nothing. His current attentiveness is more than I have ever been granted.
I don’t know what to say. Well, I know what I would like to say, but I have to remember I am in Violet’s skin. I need to act on her behalf. But her behavior has been so off the map lately, I am unsure how she would handle this either.
“Thomas…” I start.
“You’re going to need something more than a tissue to clean this up. Did you drive here?” I shake my head no. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”
I move to stand, but the stinging in my leg is giving me more trouble than my balance woes. Thomas sees me struggling and quickly sweeps me in his arms before I can object.
I wrap my arms around his neck as I’ve seen Violet do, and peer over his shoulder to make sure she’s still following me. A quivering black blob hovers silently on the rocks. What must she be thinking, seeing me in her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend’s—arms?
Being carried… it should feel like floating, but it is so much better. Shadows float and touch nothing; right now, I’m overwhelmed with touch. Thomas touching my legs, holding onto my back, my hands clutching his shirt. Wow. He taps the side of his carpod, releasing the door open. He carefully sets me on the passenger seat and we sit in silence. I try not to look conspicuous as I rub my hand over the vehicle’s interior. As a Shadow, I had to bend my shape against the tiny grooves of the seat’s fabric, but I never imagined the pattern would be so cozy. Unlike the canyon crags, these divots are plush, welcoming me to my ride. I shimmy down into my spot, letting the textile touch as much of my skin as possible. I much prefer this to the rocks. The rest of the carpod is sleek, yet surprisingly unreflective. Violet’s carpod has a mirrored interior, but Thomas must drive an older model. The tinted windshield repeatedly makes a pinging sound, waiting for destination coordinates to be entered. Thomas ignores the repeating chime. I take the opportunity to observe him from close up. His face is hard, like he is trying to determine his next move. I don’t know how much time has passed when he catches me staring.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.
My cheeks turn hot. “Oh, um, I’m sorry, I…” Very eloquent. I’m still not used to hearing my thoughts outside of myself.
“Are you okay? Like, really?” He looks at me like I’ve had a psychotic break. If I told him what was really going on, he would probably fit me for a straitjacket himself. “It’s just, you’re lif
ting now, and drawing pictures of crazy hell beasts, and then I see you falling all over the rocks…” he trails off, mystified.
I try to find a blend between what I think Violet would say and what I’m really thinking. “I’m just not feeling like myself, I guess.”
Thomas considers this. “Nothing really feels right anymore, does it? These past few months have been so hard, made even worse because I don’t have you to talk to.” He pauses. “Violet, you have been my best friend—my everything—for years now, and I guess I thought you felt the same. I don’t understand how you are making it through without me.”
“Well, clearly I’m not.” I see Shadow Violet flinch at this, but she would have to admit I’m right. “I mean, look at me,” I say, nodding to my ripped up calf.
He allows a small chuckle. “What were you doing up there anyway?”
Oh, just taking my first independent view of the world. “I don’t know. I needed some inspiration.”
Thomas turns to me with a shy smile. “Find any?”
I smile back. This boy of Violet’s is very sweet. Too sweet, which is why I must remind myself he belongs to Violet, not Antares. “I’ll let you know.”
We start the drive back to Violet’s house, and once again I am staring. Thomas is a very strong Person; although I am sure the turmoil with Violet has been torture, he continues to follow his natural instincts. To love her, look out for her. It must take a lot of courage to fight for what you believe in, especially when that thing is fighting you back.
“You’re staring again,” he says, a slight satisfaction in his voice.
“Sorry, I…”
“No, it’s okay. It’s been awhile since I’ve had someone watch me so intently.” I look down at the floor where Thomas’ Shadow lingers. If only he knew.
In Violet’s driveway, Thomas makes his way to the passenger door before I have a chance to undo my seatbelt.
“Let me help you upstairs,” he offers. I am used to taking care of myself, but feel it would be in pre-lifting Violet’s character to oblige. Plus, I have to admit it is nice to be attended to for a change. Together we hobble up the stairs and I rest on the edge of Violet’s bed while Thomas looks for a first aid kit. The comforter is impossibly soft, even better than the carpod seat. It’s the most delicious texture I’ve felt yet. I want to dive in, but Thomas returns and wraps my leg in a bandage. I watch his hands—strong, gentle, and dirty from soccer practice—touch my skin and try not to flinch. He’s not hurting me; it’s the very act of being touched. Skin on skin: the friction it creates. I can understand why Violet and Thomas were always wrapped around each other. It feels nice. I do not want him to see how much I am enjoying it.
“Okay, I think you’re good,” he says when he’s done.
“I think you’re good.” I instantly cover my face with my hands. Did I seriously just say that out loud?
He laughs. “Well, this has been an interesting day.” I feel hot, burning even, and know I’ve experienced a new feeling: embarrassment.
“Um, thanks for your help,” I say, wanting to crawl under the covers for good.
“Thanks for letting me help you.” I wonder if he is going to kiss me. Months ago, no Thomas-Violet scene would end without a kiss. He takes a step forward and I brace myself, sick with nerves at the idea of finally experiencing a kiss, at feeling true love.
But he doesn’t. He places his right hand on my face, and slowly runs his thumb across my cheek. Not what I expected but equally nice, a tender act of affection.
“Goodnight,” Thomas whispers.
“Goodnight.” I listen to him walk downstairs and out the front door, before I fall back into the cloud-like comforter. The fluffy fabric surrounds my body, and I roll around to make sure every inch is covered in comfort. Ahh, now this is nice. Even though I am within a gravity-restricted body, I feel like my Shadow self: light as air. But the feeling is more than a physical assessment of self; there is a stirring in my chest, particles racing to find a final destination.
What a precious gift—to be noticed. And not just noticed, but adored. It is something my Person has certainly taken for granted. I roll over to connect with Violet, to convey this very thought, when I catch something moving out of the corner of my eye.
A movement, perfectly synced to my own, shifts across the room. It cannot be Violet, as she is struggling to even keep up. It took me years of practice to follow her correctly; I’m sure shadowing is the least of her worries right now. No, there’s only one thing that could be echoing me with such precision: a Reflection.
It’s surprising, really, that it has taken me this long since our switch to catch a Reflection, considering Talline’s obsession with mirrors. I guess I’ve been too caught up in ogling sensitive soccer players and trying to stand upright to notice what I look like. But now that I am alone and have a better grasp on gravity, I can take the time to meet my other half, the other Pentral who spends her life staring at Violet.
I approach the mirrored wall on the other side of the room, anxious to see how this Reflection works. Although we perform similar roles, our worlds do not overlap. Just as I barely had time to look at anything other than Violet, I certainly never had time to mingle with mirrors. Still, I’ve always been curious.
Reflections portray the world as it is meant to be seen. There is no interpretation of size and shape as with Shadows; within the frame of their boxed-in view, Reflections must paint an accurate picture. Though limited in artistic license, I envy these Pentrals for their access to color. Everything Shadows do exists with the same dark palette, but Reflections have a rainbow of shades at their disposal. With so many textures and hues at their fingertips, Reflections get to put on a real show, one I’ve always been curious to witness.
But what I see in the glass is not what I expect. Rather than an exact inverse of my Person, the vision before me has taken additional liberties. Even in the dim light, I know there is something very wrong with what is displayed.
It is not Violet. It is a monster.
* * 10 * *
A creature, cut from the same cloth as Violet, but with a bizarre configuration of features, stares back at me. At the hairline is a protruding lump, the size of a golf ball. I touch my hand to the spot, and watch in the mirror as I trace its outline. I have never seen this before on Violet’s face—did it happen when she fell? It does not hurt to touch it, though I am still new to the feeling of skin. I am not sure how it should feel. The skin under her right eye is inflamed, puffy like from a bee sting, transforming her face into an entirely different shape. It is asymmetrical—the left side seems taught compared to the swollen right. Violet’s delicate freckles, usually confined to her cheekbones and tip of her nose, have multiplied, and taken on a putrid green color. No, this is wrong. This face cannot be the result of a fall. I step back in shock.
The only way I realize the high-pitched scream comes from me is seeing the Reflection twist its mouth open wide. Before I know it, Mrs. Rayne is standing next to me.
“Violet! What’s wrong?” she asks me. I peel my eyes away from the horror before me and take a good long look at her mom. She is so absent from Violet’s life I almost forgot what she looks like. Her hair is red like Violet’s, only less vibrant, and though her eyes are currently tense with concern, they are usually dark and sunken against her sallow skin. If she smiled, it would pull her features into a less hopeless formation, but she rarely smiles anymore.
I am angry with Mrs. Rayne for her disappearing mom act, but she is my only viable witness to this scene. “There’s something wrong with my mirror. When I look at it, I don’t see myself.”
I want her to confirm whether or not what I see is really there, whether I have gone crazy. But when her eyes meet the glass, she does not look at my Reflection at all. Instead, she is transfixed by her own Reflection. I watch Mrs. Rayne examine herself in the mirror, with the same mix of confusion and sadness on her face I witnessed Violet express in the pa
st. Yet when I look at Mrs. Rayne’s Reflection, it appears normal, a true telling of her features. Suddenly I am even more frustrated with her. What does she have to be upset about? I am the one with a monster staring back at me!
“Mom!” I shout, breaking her from her spell. She turns to me, surprised. “Mom, do I look okay to you?”
“Yes, of course dear,” she replies automatically, without even giving me a once over. “Why don’t you get some rest, it’s late.” And with that she retreats back to her cave of a room. I don’t know which is more upsetting—her apathy or my Reflection.
I stomp around the room looking for Violet, who has stayed close these last few hours but not as close as she should. The monster stomps along with me in the mirror, though I try to avoid its terrible appearance. “Violet?” I finally find her under the bed. I try to reach her, but she is behind a pile of old art supplies.
“Violet, I need to talk to you.” I see no point in whispering; Violet’s mom is clearly not paying attention. Shadow Violet doesn’t budge. “Violet, please. I know you’re scared right now, but… I am too.” It’s true. The carefree serenity found on the cliff now feels lifetimes away after one quick look in the mirror.
Slowly she slinks out, like a small frightened animal, and I lay my hand down to connect to her consciousness. At first she is silent, then suddenly explodes into a tirade of thoughts. “What is happening—please—I don’t understand how can I not be in my body—who are you—make it stop—.“
“Okay, try to slow down,” I say gently. I wonder if she has become aware of the tether between us. I try to relax my body as much as possible in hope that some calm will transfer to her. I watch as her form changes from a tortured, writhing configuration to a steadily swaying splotch.
The Pentrals Page 5