by Dan Rix
“Are you going to move?” she said, lip curled. My God, I was rude. That had to be a recent development, like two months recent.
Damian studied her face. “Blaire, right?”
She rolled her eyes and barged past him. Finally our eyes met, but she quickly glanced away. Not a whisper of recognition. Strange how our minds played tricks, simply failing to process information that contradicted what we knew. To her, I was just some guy’s date from another high school.
As my reflection walked away, Damian stared after her and gave a low whistle. “Clearly I asked the wrong girl to prom.”
“If you had given me more time to get ready,” I said with a sigh. “I could have looked just like that.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, drinking in her backside, his gaze wandering over her butt.
I whacked his shoulder. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“Already got plenty,” he said. “You should be flattered. Besides, we need to talk to her, don’t we?”
“How? I barely even recognized her,” I said. “She’s never going to believe I’m her.”
“You’re right,” he said, nodding. “Without makeup, you’re not fooling anyone.”
My eyes slitted.
Damian licked his thumb and slicked his hair back, and his eyes wandered yearningly up the hall to where my reflection had disappeared. “Allow me,” he said. “I’ll go talk to her. You just—you just go wait in the girl’s bathroom or something.”
I shoved him up against the wall. “I don’t want half my school dead. I’m talking to her.”
“This isn’t your school, Blaire. They’re just reflections.”
“They’re not just reflections. These people—this world—until we find a way back to the source, it’s all we have right now.” I released him. “So let me handle this.”
“Fine.” He straightened up and adjusted his tux. “Go get her, tiger.”
***
I rounded the corner, but the turquoise dress had vanished. Perhaps she had gone into the girls’ bathroom. I wove around a few couples and slipped into the ladies room.
She wasn’t at the sink, and a scan under the occupied stalls revealed white, magenta, and blue dresses. No turquoise.
My gaze flashed to the mirror. Except for the tangled hair, pale skin, and smudged eyeliner, I was indeed the same girl. Every bit as stunning.
The realization flushed me with a hot wave of self-consciousness, and I averted my eyes.
“There you are, babe.” A hand landed on my shoulder, and I whipped around—
And came face to face with Josh, wearing a turquoise vest, sweaty curls stuck to his forehead. Babe?
He eyed me up and down. “Why’d you change?”
“Josh, this is the girl’s bathroom.”
“And I’ve been looking for you for the last ten minutes,” he said, anger flashing in his eyes. “Who’s that guy you were with?”
“What guy?”
“Bryce saw you with a guy.”
I thought briefly of crossing over through the bathroom mirror to escape him. Of course, then I would have to deal with his source and his reflection. “Look, can you just wait outside?” I pushed him toward the door. “I’ll explain in a minute.”
“He better be your gay cousin.” He leaned in to kiss me.
I ducked away. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m trying to kiss my girlfriend.”
Oh.
And then it hit. Two and a half months of overlap crystallized into memories, real memories. The confusion stung my heart, and I let out a gasp. It was nostalgia. Nostalgia for what never was, for what could have been . . . for what wasn’t mine.
All the time at ISDI, spent instead with Josh. All those perfect memories, now dangled in front of me just out of reach.
All that overlap.
A hole had opened up inside me, where everything I had lived through in this different life was supposed to fit. Only now it was empty.
The rush keeled me over, and I fell out of Josh’s grip and choked for air.
I was in love with him.
And Damian.
“Blaire, are you okay?”
“I can’t kiss you today,” I said. “I’ll kiss you tomorrow. I promise.”
“What are you talking about?”
I rose to my feet, and pushed past him, staggered into the hall, still dizzy from the overlap.
Still hollow.
***
Josh followed me into the hall. I ran toward the ballroom, and spotted Damian at the edge of the mass of gyrating bodies. I veered toward him. He was craning his neck, looking for my reflection, no doubt.
“Blaire, wait,” Josh said, on my heels.
I just had to touch Damian, feel his skin, kiss him to know that he was real, then it would all be okay—wait, what was I smoking? Kissing Damian right in front of Josh was a very bad idea. I skidded to a stop and tried to escape them both, but it was too late. Damian had already seen me.
“Blaire,” he hissed, catching me by the waist as I tried to squeeze past him.
I closed my eyes and winced, waiting for two world’s to collide.
“Get your hands off her, punk,” Josh yelled. He stepped between us and shoved Damian hard in the chest. Damian tripped on the edge of the dance floor and tumbled backwards, parting a sea of students. He reached behind his back for his gun. His eyes flicked to me, though, and he lowered his hand.
Damian rose to his feet and slipped into the dancing crowd, which closed behind him.
Josh followed, shoving kids out of the way. “Come back, you little worm—”
He appeared out of nowhere, and his left fist slammed Josh’s jaw. Josh flew into the couple behind him, who stood him up straight and pushed him back into the fight. Josh shook off the blow, lowered his shoulder, and plowed into Damian.
“Stop it!” I yelled, running after them.
Students backed away from the two of them, clearing a circle in the center of the dance floor. The DJ paused between songs to watch the fight. In the silence that filled the ballroom, a chant rippled through the students, getting louder and louder. “Josh . . . Josh . . . Josh . . .”
At first, Damian dodged Josh’s blows, darted around him, playing with him by the looks of it. But they both knew some kind of martial arts, and Josh unleashed a kick into Damian’s side and flattened him. Damian rose, menacing eyes trained on Josh, and wiped blood off his smirk.
He fake lunged, then pulled back, sending Josh stumbling backward, then he circled, crouched low and ready to strike. He sidestepped a second attack, and with lightning speed, twisted behind Josh, clamped his arms around his waist and slammed him to the ground. Josh’s cheek slapped on the wood. Muscles flexed under Damian’s tux, and his left fist made a blur, connected with Josh’s side. He pulled back again.
I ran forward and grabbed Damian’s elbow before he could deliver a blow to Josh’s skull. “Damian, leave him alone!” I yelled.
But Josh rolled out from under him, forcing me back, and attacked again from the right, this time exploiting Damian’s weak wrist. Blood dripping from his nose, he pinned Damian and repaid him with a flurry of his own punches.
“Josh, leave him alone!” It was my voice, but not me who had spoken. The three of us, and the entire watching crowd, which had parted to reveal the better version of myself, stared in confusion.
“Whoa,” said someone at the front of the circle. “It’s Blaire’s twin.”
“What the—” Josh climbed off Damian, staring at her, then me. “Blaire? You didn’t tell me you had a twin sister.”
“I got dibs on her sister,” Bryce called from the sidelines, earning him an elbow in the ribs from his date.
&nb
sp; “Bryce, shut your face,” said Josh.
Confused, my reflection glanced between Josh and me. Finally, recognition dawned on her face. She stepped backward, eyes wide.
The crowd muttered, mirroring her surprise, and a hundred pairs of eyes swiveled to me . . . the imposter.
Now was my chance. I hadn’t expected an audience for this, but some things just couldn’t be helped. While everyone else was still stunned, I stepped into the center of the circle, and faced my reflection.
Broken symmetry was much too complicated to explain, so I settled on the next best thing, took a deep breath, and opened my mouth. Here goes nothing.
“Blaire, remember that movie, Back to the Future?” I said. “Well, this is that movie. I’m you from the future.”
Our high school audience gave a collective sigh of understanding. Mystery explained.
“How far in the future?” she muttered.
“A month. I need something from you really bad right now.”
Her voice wavered. “What?”
“I need you to tell me where you put my—where you put our dad’s diary.”
Damian, who had climbed to his feet next to me, brushed the dust off his tuxedo. Josh narrowed his eyes at him.
“The diary? It’s in my—”
“Don’t tell them, Blaire,” said Josh, stepping between us. “Don’t tell them anything. If she’s really from the future, she should remember where you put the diary.”
“It’s a different version of the future, numchuck,” said Damian.
“Besides,” said Josh, “she shouldn’t even be talking to us. She’s screwing with causality. I could start disappearing any second.”
I rolled my eyes. “If anyone would disappear, Josh, it’s me.”
“So, you’re dating this creep in a month?” he said, sizing up Damian for another fight.
“We’re not dating,” I said.
“It’s more of a friends with benefits thing,” said Damian.
I scowled at him.
My reflection’s eyes darted to Damian. A flash of something . . . curiosity, maybe. Or interest?
Sorry, that one’s not for you.
“Blaire,” I said, drawing her gaze back to me. “I thought you put it with the scrap book at home, but it’s not there.”
My reflection stared at me, and I could practically see the gears working behind her forehead. God, it looked effortful. Tell me I didn’t actually look like that when I was thinking.
“Josh is right,” she said. “If you traveled back in time, you should know where I put it. But if you’re from a different version of the present, like you say, and that you never got the diary, then that means our worlds must have diverged before I got the diary—sometime before today—which would mean I should remember time travelling.”
Hmm . . . impressive.
“Look, time travel is really complicated,” I said, “Just trust me, okay?”
“Blaire, don’t trust her,” said Josh.
“It’s in my locker,” she said. “So if you don’t know the combination, you’re out of luck. I don’t know why you even want that thing . . . there’s nothing in it.”
***
“Your locker?” said Damian, as we skidded into the parking lot of my dark high school a few minutes later. “You couldn’t have guessed your locker?”
“Shut up.” I was more preoccupied with what my reflection had said. The same thing Joe Paretti had said more than a month ago.
There’s nothing in the diary.
Then why were we chasing it? Why was Charles? Were we all chasing a false hope?
With his elbow, Damian smashed in the window on the East Wing, setting off an alarm. He reached in and unlocked the door, and we raced through the school’s dark hallways.
The midnight air squeezed my skin, like the icy pressure at the bottom of the ocean. I could feel how deep we were, the weight of the two symmetries above us crushing down.
“Four-thirty-eight. Here it is.” Arms shaking with adrenaline, I fumbled with the combination lock. “Twelve, twenty-seven, twelve. Got it.”
The lock clicked open. We swung the locker open and peered in at the pile of books.
“What does it look like?” said Damian.
“It’s small. Leather.” I reached in and dragged the entire contents of my locker into the hallway. The books crunched open. But no diary.
A single half-sheet of paper fluttered to the ground behind everything else. Damian caught the sheet, and read it.
He handed it to me, his eyes dark.
It was a note.
I didn’t recognize the handwriting, which meant it wasn’t my own. Next to me, Damian slammed his fist into the lockers, and the clang echoed through the hallway, fading into the screaming alarm. I read the messy handwriting on the note, and the back of my neck prickled.
Sorry kids.
—Charles
Chapter 24
“So he didn’t come down here to hide, he came down here for the diary,” said Damian, slamming the locker door shut. It bounced back open. “Because you didn’t have it in the source. Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Because he’s playing tricks on us. He’s been one step ahead of us from the beginning.” I paused to read the note I had written to my reflection, satisfied.
Dear Blaire,
Josh is a keeper. Give him a big kiss today.
I love you,
Blaire from the future.
P.S. You’re gorgeous.
Damian read the note over my shoulder. “You’re kidding . . . Josh?”
“You’re not here.”
“I’m just saying—”
I slapped the notebook shut. “What does it matter? They’re just reflections, right? They’re not real.”
“I’m not so sure anymore,” he said, pulling his gun out of his waistband and inspecting the barrel. “You were real.”
I glared at him. “Wow. Why don’t you just go back there and ask her to marry you?”
“Please,” he sneered. “I’d take you over your reflection any day.”
“As if you’ve ever looked at me like that.”
“I do. Come on, Blaire. This is stupid.”
“Make me believe it.”
His black eyes targeted mine. “I’ve seen you suffer,” he spat. “I’ve seen you go after what you want, and fail every time. I’ve seen you make every single wrong choice . . .” He held my gaze, breathing heavily. “And I’ve seen you get back up every time. I’ve seen you become stronger. I’ve seen you grow up. You’re a different person now. You’re the Blaire I know.”
The fever in his black eyes didn’t intimidate me. My heart echoed, beating in some far off place I no longer had access to. “Tell me you love me,” I whispered.
“I don’t love you. That’s not for me to do.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” He clenched his fist and pounded the locker again. His body stiffened, but not from the impact. “Charles has the diary,” he said. “You know what that means, right?”
“Just spit it out. I’m not in the mood for riddles.”
“If he came down to the failsafe just to get the diary, and now that he has it . . .”
I piled my reflection’s books inside her locker and carefully laid the note on top. Only when I shut the door did I comprehend Damian’s words. My eyes froze on the combination lock. “He’s going back up.”
Damian nodded. “Back up through the failsafe mirror.”
“This was a mission for him,” I said. “Once he goes back up, he’s going to break the mirror.”
“And orphan us two levels down. Come on,” he said, tugging me up
the hall. “We might not be too late.”
***
Under the dim fluorescent tube in the storage unit, Damian and I stared at the shards of broken glass strewn across the floor—and the bare, dust-free rectangle of corrugated metal against which the mirror had leaned just hours earlier.
Orphaned.
Two levels down.
“The glass didn’t fall straight down,” said Damian. “It was propelled.”
“Meaning what?”
“The impact that broke it occurred on this side,” he said. “He broke it before he crossed over.”
“Then he’s still down here with us.”
“No one would do that. He must have gotten crossover sickness.”
“We’re fine,” I said, struggling to calm my breathing. “We already know there’s a way back up.”
“No, we hoped there was a way back up. We don’t know jack.”
“He knows the way back up,” I insisted.
“Then why is he still down here, Blaire? Why isn’t he gone?”
“He just got the diary,” I said. “Maybe he needs time to figure it out. I think he’s leaving clues so we can follow him.”
“No, he’s going deeper,” said Damian.
I met his gaze. “Then we go deeper.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why, exactly, would we do that?”
“Maybe there’s a way out the bottom. Maybe if you go deep enough all the mirrors connect.”
Damian squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the corrugated wall of the storage unit. “There is no way out the bottom, Blaire. It’s just a dead end.”
“Listen to me,” I said. “All we know is Charles just orphaned himself. If he does have crossover sickness, then whatever’s inside him just permanently cut itself off from the source. That’s not what they do, right?”
He frowned. “Fair point.”
“If there’s any chance of getting back to the source, he’s it,” I said. “He has the diary. He probably has the artifact. And he knows what he’s doing. If he’s going deeper, we have to follow him.”