The Pentrals (12 page)

For the first time I truly consider the effect of Mary’s condition on Ben. An orphan taken into a family after years of being on his own, he probably became good at building up barriers to keep himself safe. Ben was adopted years after Mary; he was already ten when he was accepted into the Alliance. For a long time, Mary held his hand everywhere they went, until he finally starting feeling comfortable around others. They are the same age, but Mary looked after him like a younger brother, showing him the ropes of how to have family and friends. Then just when he starts opening up his heart, his sister gets ripped away from him, once again leaving him without a world guide. It is not unlike myself. A Shadow with no one, a boy lost in the world.

Ben walks in the kitchen looking for snacks. I watch him dig through the cabinets, his dark hair falling over his forehead, and decide right in that moment to forgive him for his previous icy behavior. To erase any hesitation toward his friendship. Who am I, who has never experienced a loss such as his, to judge him? Maybe Ben has not always kept his emotions in check, but he is doing the best he can. And really, that is all one can do.

“Well, I’ll get out of you kids’ way,” William says. “We’ll see you tomorrow night at the anniversary party, right?”

I panic, scanning through my memories of Violet’s conversations to determine what he’s talking about. Anniversary party? For what? Then I remember trailing my Person at the mall weeks ago as she scanned store after store looking for formal wear. She and Thomas were still talking at that point but just barely, so her hunt was fraught with frustration. This party must be something they had planned on attending together, and she was clearly not looking forward to it.

“Of course, Dad. Teenagers love anniversary parties for major pharmaceutical companies. Wouldn’t miss it!” Ben interjects, provoking an exasperated expression from his father.

“All right, smart aleck. This is an important milestone for FreshView. Forgive me for wanting my loved ones close by.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Ben replies. “I can’t wait to stuff my face with your expensive hors d’oeuvres and talk to all your boring friends.”

“That’s the spirit,” William says, shaking his head. “Take care, Violet.”

“You too,” I reply.

“Hey, you want a drink or something?” Ben asks once his father leaves.

“Sure.” I start to reach above toward the glassware not noticing Ben is doing the same. Just as my hand touches a glass, his fingers wrap around mine, and a fiery current sends us both flying across the room. The shelf breaks, glass shatters on the tiled floor. I hit my head on the polished cabinetry and see that Ben has landed right at my side. We stare at each other, eyes wide in disbelief. I hear footsteps running to the kitchen, as we lie stunned on the floor. Yet I cannot be bothered with any of that.

Ben still has not let go of my hand.

* * 16 * *

“Let go of me! What is wrong with you?” I say in a panicked whisper.

“What is wrong with
me
? What the hell was that?” Ben replies, face tense with fear. He stands, shoes crunching in the glass, and pulls me up, letting go of my hand just before Thomas and Mr. Kelly enter the kitchen.

“What happened?” Thomas rushes over to me, immediately in caretaker mode. After a quick once over looking for injuries, he pulls me into him. Even in a crisis, Thomas is reliably calm.

Ben is shaken but does his best to hide it. He shows no signs of confusion or panic. His dad helps him clean up the broken glass, and he makes up a lie to cover our tracks.

“I lost my balance and reached out for the shelf, knocking it down. Sorry all, guess I’m not as smooth as I think I am,” Ben forces a joke. He wants everyone to think what happened here was no big deal, that we are okay. But we’re not. At least, I’m not.

We go back in the living room and resume watching the holopane like everything is normal. I can’t even focus on what’s playing. I keep running my fingers over my hand, which still stings from Ben’s touch. What was that back there? What is going on? Every so often I feel Ben’s dark eyes on me, but I don’t return his glance. I have to stay calm, pretend everything is okay. Resume the life of Violet, a regular girl who does not feel fire in her fingertips.

As we’re headed out to leave, I trail behind Thomas. Ben sneakily grabs my wrist, which reddens at his touch. I whip back and watch him mouth, “We need to talk.” I shake my head. Of course he has questions, what normal Person wouldn’t? Simply touching someone’s skin shouldn’t be such an explosive event. But the shooting sparks through my palm prove otherwise. Clearly, something is telling me to keep my distance from this boy. From now on, I intend to.

Once back at home, Violet is positively buzzing about the glass. I do not particularly want to talk about it, but she will not let up.

“Antares, it was crazy! When Ben touched your hand, it was like every inch of me turned inside out. I know you said Shadows can sense their Persons’ physical reactions, but wow, I did not expect that!” She is almost breathless with excitement. “What did it feel like for you?”

Energy. Like a lightning bolt running through my veins, a fuse ready to ignite.

“It was… intense. Weird. I don’t understand what happened,” I eventually admit.

“Yeah, sometimes these things are unexplainable.” I detect mischief in her thoughts.

“What are you talking about?” I ask in frustration.

“All I know is, I’ve touched Ben plenty of times, and it’s never catapulted me across a room.” Yes, I am sure of it now. She is messing with me.

“Are you insane? I could have really hurt him! Or, maybe he’s the one who could have hurt me! This is dangerous, Violet!” I am angry at her flippant attitude. All I have been doing is trying to piece together my Person’s life, and instead I am destroying it at every turn. If the Class Fours didn’t notice me before, I am sure they took note of me sending an innocent boy flying across his kitchen.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop,” Violet laughs, but I do not wait to see if she will. I take my hand off her dark form, releasing me from her thoughts. Violet spends a few days observing another life and suddenly she thinks she knows everything? Ridiculous. I know her vantage point—she is not the expert she thinks she is. Watching events from a safe distance is completely different from living them firsthand. I thought I knew all there was to being a Person before I jumped in this body. Now every day I realize how little I understand.

I crawl into bed and pull the comforter up to my chin. What is Violet insinuating about Ben and me anyway? It seems quite obvious that when we touch, a cautionary flicker is telling us to stay apart. To keep our distance, for safety reasons. Yet, Violet’s giggles imply the spark is something else—something positive even. Has she felt this kind of jolt before? Like when she touches Thomas? No. That cannot be right, I would have noticed it. The electricity between Ben and me is a warning.

I hear the holopane ring and ring, but do not pick it up. Its flashing light illuminates the shiny surfaces of the room, but I close my eyes in defiance. If it is Thomas, I do not want to reassure him for the millionth time that I am okay before expressing fake ‘I love yous’. And if it is Ben…

I force myself to sleep but am offered no respite. My dreams plunge me back into watery darkness, sinking deeper and deeper as I try to escape the faceless danger clicking behind me. The further I swim, the more I flail my limbs in protest, the more I choke on the flood. With every gulping breath, the closer the sound becomes.

When I awake, it is mid-afternoon. Mrs. Rayne made no attempt to wake me, and I’m sure Violet was happy for the extended intermission from her duties. It is strange to have slept for so long but not to feel like I got any rest. Regardless, I have to jump straight into action mode, as it is time to get ready for the FreshView anniversary party.

It doesn’t take long to see why Violet was dreading this event. Hours spent looking in the mirror is not time well spent. Clothes pile up on her bedroom floor as I try to find something worthwhile to wear. Violet dodges around the discarded options strewn across the floor. I keep bending down to hear her opinions, but even when she praises my appearance, nothing makes me feel good. A black, strapless dress makes my body look as puffy as my face; a sparkly, cinnamon-colored skirt only accentuates the trail of scabs across my cheeks. Nothing is flattering, nothing is right. And yet the trickiest problem is why I even care.

It’s not like I’ve never thought about the way I look. I think about it all the time; it’s my job to perfect my appearance. Mastering angles, proportion, and symmetry—my duty is to create an accurate manifestation. Every day I toiled over my form, pushing myself to be the best visual representation of my Person. When I moved an extremity out of place or miscalculated a movement, I would get upset. But at least those frustrations had merit. Making a mistake as a Pentral meant putting my salvation at risk, so of course I would get down on myself.

But now, standing in front of this mirror, there is no basis for judgment. I’m standing still, doing nothing worthy of critique or comment, and yet I feel completely worthless. As a Shadow, I would use that energy to work harder, to ensure I didn’t make the same mistake twice. But how I can fix something that isn’t even wrong? How can I improve upon a problem that refuses to be clear? I can’t understand it. This isn’t even my body, yet it’s hard, having this image—so cruel, so twisted and strange—staring back at me.

Finally I settle on an emerald green dress that covers my body without making my flesh bulge unevenly and feels the most comfortable. Though I am far from comfortable. I’ve covered my body, but that’s the least of my problems. Now I have to figure out what to do with everything from the shoulders up.

On the vanity sits a small collection of cosmetics. Shiny tubes of lipstick, little pots of shimmery powder, and an assortment of brushes sit at my fingertips. They are new additions to Violet’s life, these tools of beauty, that slowly began appearing in her room after her birthday this summer. Before June, she never cared about makeup, the only colors of her world being those of paint and digital pens. I couldn’t understand it at the time; covering her freckles with clashing pigments seemed like such a waste. And yet here I am, looking for a miracle solution. I don’t even know how to apply this stuff.

I cross my arms and lie my head down on the vanity. Violet’s consciousness comes streaming into mine.

“You know, you could try a tutorial,” she suggests.

“A what?” I say, trying not to sound as exasperated as I feel.

“Tap on my holopane. In the lower right corner there’s a folder called “how-to.” I’ve saved a bunch of projections there, mostly stuff about digital design. But there should be one on makeup. I was only starting to learn myself.”

Reluctantly, I swivel toward the glass. It’s currently in stand-by mode, with only a single line of blue text describing the weather scrolling across. I realize that up until now, I’ve had no reason to interact with this technology. Figuring out interpersonal relations has been consuming enough; throwing holopanes into the mix takes it to a whole other level.

How much force does it take to activate this thing? Not much, apparently. I barely press my pointer finger to the glass and it comes alive, filling the wall with more images and words than I can process at once. There’s too much to look at, so I focus on the corner as Violet instructed, selecting the glowing “how-to” folder. It springs open toward me, releasing a stream of files that swirl clockwise around my head. Names like “rendering,” “pixel size,” and “filters” float in the air. I turn slowly looking for one about makeup. Then I see it hovering above my shoulder:
Makeup 101 with Celestia Sky
.

You’ve got to be kidding me. “Seriously, Violet?!?” I yell in frustration, though I don’t connect with her for a response. Celestia’s perfect face is the last thing I want to see right now. But really, what choice do I have? Thomas will be picking me up in a matter of minutes, and I still look like a house of horrors. I need help.

I release a low, guttural sound of disgust as I click the file open. This is going to be torture. In seconds, a hologram of Celestia is seated next to me. Her face is natural, free of its usual polished finish. Still, even bare faced, she’s stunning. The projection is so lifelike; I reach to touch it and it quivers faintly, but the pre-recorded Celestia begins anyway, unfazed.

“Hi there! Welcome to this introduction on applying makeup. We’re going to have so much fun today!” she starts in a bubbly tone. Part of me wants to vomit, yet as Celestia starts describing various techniques for using mascara, bronzer, and the like, part of me becomes oddly drawn in. Her personality starts to win me over. She is warm, encouraging, never making me feel ugly or foolish. On the jumbo holopane in town square, she seems like a rare deity, looking down on her subjects from on high, but here, in Violet’s bedroom, she’s more like a big sister, sweetly cheering on my progress. For a moment I forget how intimidated I’ve been by her. As I reach for the finishing touch of lip gloss, I have to admit; I’m almost appreciative of her.

“Well friend, I hope you’ve had as much fun as I have. You’ve done a great job! Please check out my other tutorials for more advanced techniques. Now, take a look in the mirror and admire your handiwork. Aren’t you a stunner?”

Full of hope, I turn toward the mirror. Despite my new friend Celestia’s careful instructions, I can’t say my Reflection has improved much. No amount of shading and contouring can erase my scars and swelling. Maybe I’ve been staring at Celestia’s beautiful face for too long, because now mine seems even worse by comparison. My eyes water, smearing my novice eyeliner work, and my Reflection answers back with midnight-stained moons under my eyes. It’s terrible. I’ve made such a mess. I place my hands, caked with various powders, on top of the mirror, covering the evidence of my mistakes. I wish that somehow, my Reflection could show me something different, just for a night, so I could make it through this event in one piece.