The Pentrals (22 page)

“You know Violet, I thought I should give you a chance,” she starts, eyes locked in a glare. “I reached out to you, tried to be your friend.” Her fists are tightly clenched. I press myself against the glass, trying to appear timid and small. I do not know a lot about this girl, her temperament or what she is capable of. It is quite possible she could hit me at any moment. Even the monsters in the mirror look scared.

“I saw you crying that day, and I knew you were alone, just like me.” Sam inches closer. We are face to face. I am frightened, but also cannot help but observe her painted features from up close. Her makeup, while overly excessive, is masterfully executed, particularly around her eyes. The detailed shading of purple eye shadows masks her lovely light brown eyes—it’s a shame she chooses to cloud them with layers of liner and mascara. Her cosmetic efforts are so focused in this area, I realize her Reflection must transform her natural beauty into something grotesque in need of camouflage.

Just when I think she might physically hurt me, she backs away and starts screaming at the opposite wall. “I helped you, opened up to you, and then you totally ditched me! Went back to your superstar boyfriend and stupid Alliance!” she cries.

I drop my mouth open in surprise, not only because she mentioned Violet’s circle of friends, but because she is expressing sadness, not anger.

“How do you know about the Alliance?” I ask with caution.

She spins around, eyes glossy with tears. “God, Violet! Are you completely brainless? You came into the café and asked me about Mary--do you think you were the only one who loved her?”

Saying her name rips the thread holding Sam together. She collapses to the floor, holding her head in her hands. Her fingertips, coated with chipped, hot pink polish, dig into her scalp. She sobs, giant tears streaking black mascara down her olive cheeks. This is not the reaction to a friend’s disappearance. The pain is deeper, throbbing directly from her chest. She is not suffering from the loss of a friend. She is suffering from a broken heart.

And then it all becomes clear. This is the girl Mary wrote about in her journal. Her breath of fresh air, the girl who could teach her about makeup. It was Sam. Mary’s support system, her girlfriend. And she is falling apart before my eyes.

“You reached out to me because of Mary.” I lower my voice, making it soft, so as not to aggravate her further.

She nods her head, brown hair bobbing up and down.

“But, then you lifted me.” I know I should not kick her when she’s down, but I can’t help but think back to that day, in this very bathroom, when the world was ripped from under me. When a tiny white capsule put my Shadow performance in jeopardy. What kind of a friend does that?

“So? I thought you needed it. Had you never lifted before?” she asks, wiping her messy face with her sleeve. I shake my head no. “Well, I just assumed you did. Everyone does. Lifting is like breathing in this town.” She shrugs. “Besides, you didn’t have to take it.”

This gives me pause. Sam’s right—Violet didn’t have to accept the pill. Maybe she didn’t know exactly what she was getting into, but my Person made the conscious choice to lift. Sam didn’t force the
Lift!
down her throat; she simply made an offer. An offer she thought would be helpful, beneficial even. It was Violet, not Samantha, who set me in a tailspin, swallowing a blurry fate.

I look down at the glossy bathroom tile. Both Sam, balled up on the floor, and Violet, lingering at my feet, look so small and helpless. Two girls made foolish choices from the depths of their heartbreak. And have I done any better? Left and right I’ve made judgments, pushing Persons aside based on my uninformed observations. Ben, Thomas, and Sam—I have no idea what it’s like to be in another Person’s head, and yet I’m constantly deeming the actions of others unworthy. How would Antares act in their shoes? Living in a world where monsters creep and heartache lingers? It’s time to stop being so self-righteous.

Moments ago I feared Sam’s wrath, and now she is cowering before me. It is not right. Deep down I know Violet would not like seeing her best friend’s girlfriend struggle. I reach down to help her up. Sam steadies herself at the sink. She turns the faucet, splashing water on her face. The makeup, already smeared from tears, muddles further, like one of Violet’s used paint palettes. She shakes her head at the mirror.

“Disgusting,” she mutters under her breath. I can only imagine how her Reflection is twisting her tear-stained face.

“Don’t say that,” I say, not wanting her to get more upset.

“Why not?” she fires back. “It’s the truth.”

“Stop. You know it’s not.”

“Why, because of Mary? Her quest to expose some sort of mirripulation or whatever?” Her openness takes me aback. All this time, Sam knew about Mary’s work. I’ve been keeping an ally at arm’s length. If she knows about Mary’s experiments, there is no reason to hold back now.

“Yes! Exactly because of Mary! She had a monster staring her down too, but she tried to do something about it!”

“Yeah, well, Mary’s gone. Okay? Gone! And every day all I’m left with is… this!” She pounds her fist against the glass, causing it to quiver. As it shakes, I watch her Reflection, mimicking Sam’s anguish. Yet something is amiss. The girl beside me is breaking down, but in the mirror I detect something else. It is quick, almost undetectable, but my lifetime of observing others leaves little unnoticed.

Her Reflection, a Pentral like me, required to remain objective and unemotional, slips up. Whereas Sam’s mouth is pulled down by the weight of heartbreak, the Reflection’s lips tilt up in a hint of a smile. Just at the edges, I see it—satisfaction. It is proud of itself, what it has done to this Person. Sam moves her head and the smile fades, but it’s too late. I know what I saw.

I want to jump through the glass, make this Pentral feel the pain it is causing. But of course, Pentrals can’t feel. No. I will have to find another way to take it down, to rip away its moment of pleasure. Show it how there is more to this Person than what she is shown. I will not let this Reflection have its victory.

“Sam, listen to me.” I position myself between the glass and the girl. “You have something else. You are loved. Hold on to that. Not everyone is so lucky. There is still hope for Mary. She never gave up her fight, and neither should you.”

Sam makes a small choking sound, a mix between a sob and a sigh of relief. Tired from crying, she wraps her arms around my shoulders and I do my best to offer her comfort. There are so many reasons to hug, but none seem more important than holding someone after she cries.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into my ear. She is holding me so tightly I know I will not be the first one to break away. She needs to be comforted.

“For what?” I ask.

“For this, for everything. I know you didn’t know about me and Mary. She wanted to be the one to tell you about us. But we hadn’t been together all that long, and you know how she tends to keep things to herself. It took me forever to even figure out she liked me.”

“It’s okay. I mean, I wish Mary would have told me, but that doesn’t change the way I treated you. I shouldn’t have shut you out like that. This whole thing has been so hard.”

Sam pulls back, again wiping her face. “Damn it,” she manages a small laugh. “Now I’ll have to do my face all over again.” I give a tight-lipped grin, knowing that while she shouldn’t have to, Sam still has to face the mirror. “My makeup bag is in my locker. Walk with me?”

The hallways are starting to thin. The bell will be ringing soon. Sam taps her combination on her locker’s holopane. The lacquered plastic door swings open, revealing a mirrored interior. She fumbles through her belongings, spilling trinkets on the floor. I bend down to help her pick everything up, but pause when I see an orange
Lifts!
tin. I haven’t actually come in contact with any
Lifts!
since being in this body. The tin is light, with maybe only one or two sliding around inside. I run my finger over the raised brand name, thinking of how the tiny box acts as a barrier between clarity and delusion. It amazes me how something so small can have such a powerful effect on a Person. I move to put it back in Sam’s locker, but notice there is a description printed in small lettering on the back. I squint, trying to make out the words. They are barely legible.

Manufactured by FreshView Corporation. Please use responsibly
.

What?
Lifts!
are made by FreshView, Mr. Kelly’s business? How did I not know this? I try to stay calm, for Sam’s sake, but cannot believe such a pertinent piece of information could have evaded me.

“Can you hold this?” Sam shoves a bulging bag in my hands. “Feel free to dig around. Although I know you and Mary aren’t all that into makeup.”

The zipper is open, and I notice a shiny rectangular edge that differs from the beauty tools surrounding it. I reach in, and almost drop it when I realize what I’ve found.

Glasses. Thick black plastic frames with deep purple lenses. They are unique in shape and unlike anything I’ve seen people in Talline wear, yet they wouldn’t be completely out of place. In a city that shines, sunglasses are a prerequisite, and the population is always looking for interesting eye gear. But these are different.

My heart is pounding against my ribs. I take extra caution in keeping my voice even. “Where did you get these?” I ask.

“Oh, Mary gave them to me. Told me to keep them safe. They’re pretty hideous, right?”

“Have you worn them?” I might burst.

“Are you kidding? They are so bulky. You can if you want.”

I slide the frames on my face. Looking up and down the hallway, there isn’t much difference, save the surroundings taking on a faint purple hue. But when my eyes hit the mirror in Sam’s locker, a world breaks apart. My Reflection, powerless against the technology outside the glass, splits into two, revealing her double life. On the right is Violet as I’ve always known her—freckled skin, friendly green eyes—and on the left is the monster, swollen and contorted. The couple overlaps slightly in the middle but there is no mistaking the duality of what is real and what is illusion.

She did it. Mary did it. Found a way to reveal the Reflections for the beasts they have become. And I have the proof, standing helpless in the mirror before me. How many Persons have fallen apart before these warped visions, distracted and unable to see their true inner beauty? How many lives have been wasted wishing something less frightening would return their glance? It’s all about to end.

I smile, watching two different grins spread across the faces before me. One grin is full of warmth and hope; the other is needlessly tortured and cruel.
You have nothing to smile about
, I think.
It’s over
.

“Can I borrow these?” I ask.

“Really? I mean, I guess. But be careful with them. They were important to Mary,” Sam says.

“I know. Thanks.” I give Sam a quick hug. “I’ll never turn my back on you again.” I start off, but turn around before I’ve gone too far. “Hey Sam?” I call out.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to hang with us at the fireworks tonight?” It’s the least I can do. She’s been suffering in silence without her love, and now she’s given me what I need to save myself—and everyone in Talline—from continued torture. Sam deserves some companionship. Her eyes light up in gratitude. “Sure. See you tonight,” she answers.

I take off down the hall, pushing through the crowd hurrying to their next class. Violet can barely stay on my heels. I throw open the physics room door, causing Mr. West to knock over a tray of light bulbs. He looks up, face in confusion, and his eyes widen even more after seeing the glasses on my face. Despite the students who have already taken their seats, I rush over to the teacher, my Pentral accomplice, and throw my arms around his shoulders. Not even his chilly touch can freeze me now. I am on fire, full of excitement.

I hear a few snickers from the class, but I don’t care. I feel amazing, so empowered I could shoot across the sky. I will not suffer a life in Class One, nor fade away in despair. My Person, all Persons, none of us will remain victim to outside manipulation, losing our minds over things we cannot control. Soon, we will be free.

Mr. West pushes me back, his face echoing my euphoria. We cannot talk here, with so many ears listening, but he leans in and whispers:

“Well done, Antares.”

* * 29 * *

A
fter school, Mr. West and I set up a plan to meet at tomorrow’s Festival of Light at noon in Lumon Square, when the sun will be at its brightest. After trying on the glasses himself (“Truly remarkable,” he said, as the veins on his mirrored image slipped away.), we agree I should hold on to the pair.

“You found them after all. Credit where credit is due,” he said.

The sun is setting. I lie in Violet’s bed, soaking up the softness of her sheets. Tomorrow night, back in Class Two, my sense of touch will be gone, so I try to imprint the fabric’s feel all over myself. Violet is floating silently beside me.

“Are you ready to get your body back?” I ask, reaching out to her.

“Yes, I am. Are you?”

I turn away. It is bittersweet knowing my time in human form is coming to an end. All my life I watched with envy as Violet shared moments of human connection; I was so sure her feelings needed an actual physical response to take hold. Hands held, hair touched, lips kissed—I thought these acts generated love, passing it from one Person to another. But real love is so much more than that. It’s deeper, stirred from within, and only the right Person makes those acts electric.

So I did not get to experience a whirlwind romance like I’ve always dreamed, so what? I was lucky enough to have someone who made me feel good, kept me steady when all seemed wrong. Ben. He has been an anchor in a world outside my own. A presence so familiar and welcoming, I could not resist being close to him. But I know that as a Pentral, the mistakes I made in my past life brought me here. And it would not be right to ask someone else, with a life full of promise, to feel for something that can never be.