The Pentrals by Crystal Mack

now a Shadow, work so determinately to match my outline.
    Finding light within the dark, just as I always have.
     

* * 12 * *
     
    I t is not until the sun sets that I realize I should have gone to school. Violet and I were so engrossed in our Pentral crash course we completely forgot. Oh well. We are sitting on the back porch, the sun low in the sky, as Violet pulls herself long and thin across the backyard. I am alternating random kicks and head bobs to keep her on her metaphorical toes when I hear Mrs. Rayne call from inside.
    “Violet, you have a visitor.”
    “Okay.” Even though last night was overwhelming, a part of me really enjoyed connecting with Violet, telling her about my life. Informing her about the classes of Pentrals was definitely for her own protection, but it was also nice to share more than just a fleeting sentiment with someone. Getting to talk to her, exchange back and forth, helps me see that maybe we really could be friends. In fact I’m not really interested in conversing with anyone else right now. I could stay in this yard with her forever.
    Thomas walks through the sliding glass door. “Hey,” he says, hanging back on the porch. “You weren’t in school today.”
    “Oh, well, figured I’d milk this bad leg for all it’s worth,” I lie.
    “Ah, I see. Well, do you think it’s strong enough to walk to the lake?” he asks.
    My skin prickles. Large bodies of water make me nervous. But the rippling shoreline would be a perfect place for Violet to continue her practice. I agree and casually lace my arm through his, watching as she does the same with Thomas’ Shadow. Nicely done , I think. We may be able to keep her safe yet.
    The route to the lake passes through town, which means a majority of our stroll is littered with mirrors. With so many surfaces covered in glass, the sun’s rays bounce back and forth like a pinball game, illuminating every corner. From the ground, I always appreciated this effect, as the light patterns make for challenging Shadowing, but today, walking hand in hand with Thomas, the constant presence of mirrors is harrowing. As we pass by convenience stores, trash cans, traffic signs—everything—I feel like I’m being stalked. Not by Violet, of course, who is doing her best to dutifully follow below, but by the monster—my Reflection. Strange, mangled features peer back at me from every façade, and not even the comforting squeeze of Thomas’ hand can shake the queasy feeling stirring inside.
    I look at Thomas’ Reflection to see if we are a pair of beasts or if I am alone in my horror, but in the glass he appears as he does at my side: strong, attractive, and confident. He is the same Person I’ve known from my Shadowy viewpoint. Why then is my Reflection so drastically different? Where is Violet’s natural face? Could her fall have caused this much alteration? I know this figure in the mirror cannot possibly be the correct representation of my Person, and yet it follows me all the way to the lake.
    When our feet hit the sand and the mirrors give way to the elements, I realize Thomas has been telling me a story. I’ve been so engrossed in my own disfigurement I’ve failed to notice anything else. I try to wipe my face clean of whatever anxiety the monster riled up and set my focus back on him.
    “So that’s it. Coach thinks I have what it takes to play professionally,” he says.
    “Thomas, that’s great,” I exclaim. I do not know a lot about sports since Violet primarily hangs in the art room, but know that he is the star of his soccer team. “Aren’t you nervous though?”
    “Sure, it’s a lot of pressure, but this is what I’ve been working toward. Plus, I mean, you’ll always be there to cheer me on, right?” he asks, squeezing my hand.
    I squeeze back, feeling the warmth of his palm. “Of course.” I’ll be there one way or another, whether I am in this body or outlined on the bleachers. This boy who has been so considerate deserves