I open my mouth to speak but he presses a finger to his lips. “We can’t talk here. My next class will be here any minute. But I have important matters to discuss with you.”
Suddenly my stomach drops. The excitement at connecting to someone from my realm fades. He is not here for a friendly chat. He is here on business. A liaison? More like a henchman, sent from the Class Fours to recalculate my fate. He is here to deliver my punishment.
He must see the worry on my face. I always thought of myself as a performance artist, but clearly I am lacking as an actress. “Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble.” He pauses. “Not yet, anyway. Meet me back here at the end of day, alright?”
I nod, but feel as if I just consented to my death sentence. There is no point in trying to escape now—the other Pentrals know about me. All I can do is go along with their plan and hope my cooperation will grant me some leniency.
I start for the door as Mr. West calls me back.
“Before you go, what do you call yourself? Since you’re obviously not Violet, I’d like to call you by your chosen name,” he asks.
“Antares,” I answer, knowing it could be one of the last times I heard it uttered.
“Antares,” he repeats, letting it simmer like he’s sampling a new flavor. “An exotic flower that only blooms at night. How poetic.” He smiles, giving me a look of appreciation and adds, “See you at four o’clock then.”
The day flies by. I hardly notice my surroundings. I am a robot, mindlessly roaming the halls, fulfilling my duties—haven’t I always been? All I have ever done, whether outlined in black or within a body, is follow orders. Directives of the Pentral world, rules of the physical world: I have had no say in my journey. Isn’t that what a robot is? A machine wielded to execute the wishes of others? Now my usefulness has come to an end, and I wait to be powered off when the clock strikes four.
Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble. Not yet, anyway.
I think about reaching down to touch Violet, to say goodbye. She was present for the whole exchange and must know what is coming. Even if she does not fully understand, she must sense the stress in my core. But I cannot bring myself to talk to her. I have failed her, and cannot honestly say whether or not she will be spared in the Pentrals’ judgment. The thought of her being punished for my actions is unbearable. This girl, my Person, whom I have watched grow from a tiny baby to a brilliant young woman… what will the Class Fours do with her? Surely they will return her to her rightful place, her body, and leave the insanity of Class One for myself. Right? Yes, this has to be the only option. I refuse to picture anything else.
There is only one Person I feel the need to speak with before heading off to my fate. When the final bell rings, I hurry down to the gym, where I know all the athletes will be getting ready for afternoon practice. I see Thomas emerge from the locker room, but duck behind the bleachers until he is well out onto the soccer field. There is nothing I need to say to him. I have played my girlfriend role to the best of my abilities. Soon he will be reunited with his real love, and the two of them will spend the rest of their lives appreciating each other. No, I only have a few minutes. I need to save them for Benjamin Kelly.
He is the last one out, dressed in grass-stained shorts and a well-worn t-shirt. He stops to lace his shoe and I scurry over to him.
“Hey,” I call out.
Ben looks up, surprised to see the voice has come from me. He looks around to see if my call was meant for anyone else. “Oh, you’re talking to me now?”
“Yes.” I look down at my feet in embarrassment. It has been days since the anniversary party, and any words we shared have been brief on my account. I left him with nothing—no explanation for the spark, no effort in uncovering the mystery. There has been nothing for him to go on but a bruise on his skull and burn on his wrist. “I owe you an apology.”
He stands up, and steps close to me, arms crossed. Guarded as usual, his athletic frame very close to mine. “I’m listening.”
I hadn’t planned a speech but feel I owe him some explanation before I am sentenced to lose my sanity.
“I shouldn’t have blown you off all week. It wasn’t right. The thing with the glass, it was weird, and I didn’t know what to say. But I shouldn’t have said nothing.” I am talking fast, trying to expunge every last thing I can think of before it’s too late. Luckily, he doesn’t shut me down and seems to be absorbing every word. “I didn’t like it when you froze me out before, so, I’m sorry to have done it to you.”
“Hmm,” he mulls it over, uncrossing his arms. Maybe what I said got through to him. “Well, apology accepted.” I look up at him for what will probably be the last time, and think about Violet’s speculations. How the energy between Ben and I could have meant something good. If I had more time, maybe I would be able to determine what the spark between us means, positive or negative. I automatically assumed the worst, thinking it was some sort of warning to stay away. But standing before him now, he’s not giving me any reason to think he’s dangerous. In fact, he’s actually quite nice to be around. Those chocolate eyes gaze down at me, and I think of all the time I spent on the pavement, silently laughing at his jokes and feeling thankful that Violet had him in her life. It was wrong to be scared, and now I’ve wasted the chance to get to know him better. “I’d say we could engage in a friendly handshake or something, but I don’t want to chance any charred limbs right before practice,” he says.
We both laugh, and I am sad knowing it will be our last shared experience.
He nods to the row of boys doing sprints in the field. “I gotta run—literally—so, I’ll see you later, okay?” he says.
Not likely, I think, my heart sinking. But I answer, “Okay.”
As I trudge back to the school building, I think about all I’ve wished for myself over the years. I’ve imagined many things—feeling the wind through my hair, creating colorful art, falling in love. I spent 17 years living vicariously through Violet, trying to steal bits of her happiness to make them my own, but going through the motions is not the same as actually experiencing them. When we switched bodies, I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d get a taste of what it’s like to live for yourself, to have free will and experience the consequences, good and bad. It was a foolish dream.
Wanting something for myself is how I got here in the first place. I am a Shadow, meant to follow, not to act. And now I’ll never know what could have been. I’ll spend the rest of my days zoned out, tied to some chair or flower bush, slowly losing any connection to who I am or what I care about. I’ll be a drone, forgetting about my dreams, my Person—nothing will matter except for the patterns of the sun.
When I reach Mr. West’s classroom, he is finishing up with another student. I stand outside the door until she exits the room, then enter. “Violet. Wonderful. Let’s get down to work,” he says within earshot of the other student. Mr. West types in a message on the door’s holopane. Private Tutoring in Session: Do Not Disturb—projects out. He locks it from inside.
He takes a seat at his desk, legs crossed and foot tapping in the air. I sit across from him in the front row. I wonder how many minutes I have left.
“You must have a lot of questions,” Mr. West begins.
“I… I just want to say that none of this was Violet’s fault. She’s been trying so hard to be a Shadow and I think it would be unfair to punish her—“
“Why would the Pentrals punish Violet?” he interrupts. I look down at her, outlining my shape even in my final hour. “Antares, that’s not why I asked you here.”
“Right. You’ve come to reassign me.”
“No,” he shakes his head. “This is not a disciplinary meeting.”
I stop, dumbfounded. I don’t know what to think. I’ve been waiting all day for a deathblow, and he just asked me here to, what, talk?
“I know as Class Two, you do not have much, or any, contact with the higher Pentral ranks. You are… rather isolated. And that
is frustrating. Believe me, I understand. Until my recent reassignment, I worked in your same class.”
He gives me what I’m sure he assumes is a reassuring grin, but I don’t reciprocate. I wish he would just cut to the chase already. My nerves have gotten the best of me and I need answers.
“But there is no need to fear me or other Pentrals. The Class Fours are not some all-knowing gods out to smite for simple mistakes. They allowed you to be a Shadow because they want you to have a chance at redemption from your human life. They are your allies.”
His assessment is in direct opposition of what I have pictured all these years. I always thought the Class Fours were watching every move, waiting for me to slip up. Someone has to Shadow stationary objects—surely they must always be on the lookout for new victims. Why else have I been living on edge, pushing myself to be the best Shadow I can be? If they are not looking for mistakes, why even bother?
“But, what about Class One? The insanity sentence?” I stammer.
Mr. West gives a nod of agreement. “Well, yes, Class One is undesirable. But that is reserved for extreme cases. Pentrals who have no respect for their Persons. Complete disregard for their assignments. Unfortunately, those who are in most need of a second chance are the ones likely to squander it.” He gets up from his desk and takes the seat next to me.
“Antares, not every Pentral works as hard as you do. And that is why I’m coming to you. I need your help.”
* * 20 * *
I take a breath to let this sink in. Did I just hear correctly? Not only is Mr. West not here to rip away my rank, but he’s actually praising me and in need of my assistance? All day I have been so wound up that upon hearing these words I feel I could burst. Everything has been flipped on its head in a matter of minutes, and it’s a lot to keep up with. But I try to keep it together. I need to hear what else this Class Three has to say.
He stands up and begins pacing the room, his lanky frame picking up the animated movements he exhibits during class.
“Over a year ago I was sent here. To monitor suspected disorder amongst Class Two Pentrals. My first assignment in this rank.” He stops and smiles, taking in a moment of pride. “At first, I didn’t find anything outside the ordinary. All the Shadows were exceeding expectation. But then I looked in the mirror.”
Wait, what is he saying? I take a quick look at the mirrored wall to my left to take stock of his Reflection. He looks normal to me, his image the same in glass as in flesh. There is nothing there to cause alarm. But does he see something different? When Mr. West looks in the mirror, do strange horrors greet him? Am I not alone in my company of monsters?
My heart skips a beat. The thought is instantly gratifying, like a drop of water after days of thirst. “Yes!” I burst out unintentionally. Mr. West stops, cocking his head to the side, looking at me as if I just had a fit. But I don’t care if he thinks I’m crazy. I am too worked up and cannot contain my excitement—if his Reflection has betrayed him, shown him something other than what’s true, then I need to know. If my Reflection is not a solo huntress out for my destruction, I need that confirmation. “Sorry, I just… I’m glad I’m not the only one.”
“No, you are not. Like you, at first I assumed the Reflection was correct. Frightening, but accurate. I had no reason to doubt it. My first time in a human body; perhaps Class Four sent me back in some altered form. After all, Talline is a town covered in glass, and when I observed the Reflections of others, they appeared correctly.
“By then I had also become immersed in my teaching job. I started the Science Scholars team, which is how I met Mary, who was so bright, so talented—I appreciated her right away. But a few months after working together, there was a distinct shift in her personality. Right after January, I believe.”
“Her birthday,” I interject. I remember the party. The Alliance programmed pulsating light into all the holopanes of the Kellys’ mansion, turning their home into a dance club. Half the school was there, partying the night away. Mr. Kelly was less than thrilled, but everyone had an amazing time.
“Precisely. Turning 17 seemed to… unravel her. One day after school we were working with a light reflecting experiment. After staring in the mirror, she broke down.” He looks down at the floor, obviously pained by the memory. I think of beautiful Mary, with her lovely features, and shudder at how a Reflection could twist them into something awful.
“She told me about her Reflection being too upsetting to look at. She described a pattern of green splotches that covered the left side of her face. Obviously, this did not match the girl sitting in front of me. It became clear the Reflections were altering human appearances, manipulating the mirrors. A mirripulation, if you will. For when I looked at Mary in the mirror, she appeared normal.”
He jaunts over to the room’s giant holopane, and brings up a series of notes. Words and formulas printed in what must be Mary’s handwriting float around me. “We began running some tests with light and mirrors, trying to understand how Reflections were able to show two images at once: the distorted view for the Person, and the correct view for everyone else.
“Wait, so, Mary knew about Pentrals?” I ask. I cannot believe I would have missed her talking about my own realm.
He shakes his head, blonde hair flopping. “Mary is a girl of science. Convincing her of supernatural forces seemed hopeless. So no, she did not officially know. But it wouldn’t have mattered. Even with my knowledge of how they work, I could not figure out how they were managing this illusion. I tried touching the mirror, in an attempt to communicate with my Reflection, but it either could not or would not respond. However it is achieving this trick, it has to be something of this world, something we could figure out through science.”
I think of my effort to reach out to my Reflection, how it stood motionless, unwilling to connect. My head starts to spin. “I don’t understand. If you know the Reflections are breaking rules, why don’t you just stop them? Report their crimes to Class Four and put an end to everything?”
“For the same reason you’ve been doubtful of any misdoing. Up until right now, were you completely convinced your Reflection was wrong? Did a small part of you believe what you saw was true?”
I nod, guiltily. I did not want to accept the monster in the mirror as a reality, but the more it followed me, the harder it became to shake.
“We tend to give weight to our worst fears. Try as we might, nightmares always seem more plausible,” Mr. West says.
It is awful, but true. Didn’t I assume moments ago I was marching off to my punishment? My automatic response was negative, with no conceivable happy ending in sight. I was saying goodbye to my sanity before I even knew if it was being taken.
He switches off the holopane and takes a seat. He seems to be winding down, like his energy source is powering off. “When Mary was in the accident, it was devastating. Not only for her, but also because we were on the edge of a breakthrough. She was developing a pair of glasses that would reveal the Reflections’ double takes. It’s all there in her journal—“
The journal. Violet left it with Mary at the hospital.
“Antares, we need to find those glasses. The Class Fours need evidence. Some sort of proof the mirripulation exists.” He looks down, rubbing his hand on his pants. “This being my first assignment, they are hesitant to act on my word alone. Playing the role of teacher, it limits my access to those in Mary’s life...”
“And I have nothing but access,” I interject.
“Exactly.” He looks back up, eyes pleading. “Will you help?”
I feel a swelling in my chest. In a matter of minutes, I have gone from death row to worthy accomplice. A mission, in need of my help. No longer subject to acting on the will of others; I have the chance to put my stamp on something of my own. Maybe my switch with Violet was not so random after all. Maybe I was destined to make a change, a difference in the lives of others.
“I’ll do it,” I say, grinning.
<
br /> Mr. West bounds up, rejuvenated. “Wonderful. Read her journal, it will give you more insight.”
“Why do you think she kept a journal? I mean, it’s a bit unconventional. Wouldn’t it have been easier to keep all her findings in her holopane?”
“Well, Mary was very competitive, protective of her work,” Mr. West says. “She kept a lot of things to herself. She didn’t like the connectivity of holopanes, how easily information is shared and distributed. She didn’t entirely trust that her ideas were safe in glass.”
I guess I can’t blame her. It seems like very little is safe in glass.
It’s been crazy, learning more about my universe, actually conversing with another Pentral and not just exchanging random thoughts. I feel like the world is opening before my eyes, possibility spilling over. Still, I have to ask, “Mr. West, are there others like you?”
“Of course. Class Three is a respected ranking. Although me being in the same place for so long is uncommon. It becomes easier though, to spot other Pentrals.”
“Like how?”
“There are ways. For example, earlier when I touched your hand, did it feel odd?”
Terrifying, actually. “Yes, it was so cold, like you had frozen me.”
He chuckles. “In a sense I did. Extreme sensations like that are not normal. They act as an alert of such, forcing fellow Pentrals to pay attention. Then there is the oculoy.”
I stare at him blankly. Am I supposed to know what that is?
He laughs, shaking his head in embarrassment. “Of course. You’ve never seen one.” He rolls up the sleeve on his left arm, revealing a small mark on his wrist. A symbol, permanently tattooed on his skin, only rather than outlined in the usual black ink, it is gold with a faint shimmer. There’s a horizontal line with ends that coil in opposite directions, curling in an inverse reflection. Resting on top is a semi-circle, with a tiny dot in its center. Four identical lines fan out from above, in what I assume must symbolize the four Pentral classes. At first I’m sure the design must be a sunrise, which makes sense considering how much Shadows and Reflections rely upon light, but the longer I stare, it is almost as if the symbol is looking back at me, like a watchful eye. I can’t remember ever seeing anything like it, and yet instantly I feel I’ve been given a piece of my ancestry. All these lines, connecting the dots to a community I’ve yearned to understand. An oculoy.
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