Mirrored

by Alex Flinn

  This turned me off to theme parks. Obviously. I tell people it’s because I’m not tall enough for the rides, but I actually can go on all the rides at Disney. You only have to be three foot eight to go on Space Mountain. I just don’t want to. Other things I avoid include rock-climbing walls, rope courses, skyscrapers, hotels with high balconies, and—oh, yeah—the Metrorail.

  “Are you okay?” Kendra has decided to accompany me, at least this far, probably in hopes of talking me out of it. Which she never will. I wanted her to stay with Celine. My mother is at the hospital, but Kendra would be better protection. We rehearsed things for me to say to Violet, but now, they’re out of my head.

  “You’re turning green,” she says.

  “It’s not easy being green,” I try to joke. I feel the hospital cafeteria tacos in my throat.

  “I didn’t realize you were this big a chicken.”

  “I’m no chicken.” But I still don’t open my eyes, preferring to stare at the red and black shadows behind them. “I have a problem with heights, but I’m here. I’m in this. I’m brave. Brave—whoot! A chicken would say, ‘Oh, well,’ and go home.”

  “Yes, he would.” Kendra touches my arm. “You’re going to want to open your eyes now and step forward, brave boy. You’re at the top. You’ve arrived.”

  I open them just as my left foot hits the metal at the top of the escalator. I made it. The first half of my journey seemed to take as long as a drive to Fort Lauderdale with my brothers fighting. The second, with the distraction of my annoyance with Kendra, took seconds. For an instant, the floor swims below me, and I stumble. But Kendra takes my arm and points to the turnstiles. “Wait for Violet inside. No scary heights, and she comes through here most days around 5:10. And be careful.”

  My watch says 5:07. We cut it close. When I turn to thank Kendra, she is gone. I go to buy a ticket, dreading standing on my toes for the ticket machine. Then, I notice I have one in my hand. It wasn’t there before. Thanks, Kendra.

  Her “be careful” rings in my head.

  I go inside, and wait where Kendra told me. I don’t know what I’ll say when Violet gets here, but I have to try.

  If I feel like the climb was the scary part, that all changes when Violet shows up.

  I’ve only seen the real Violet twice, once for a brief second as she rushed into the hospital, the other time at the funeral. Both times, she was frantic and messed up, miserable about her husband’s accident. She still looked inhumanly beautiful.

  Now, her beauty is something else.

  Kendra spoke of Celine’s beauty as being from within, a light of kindness and innocence. Celine and I joked about it, because, who talks like that. But it was true. Celine has the face of an Old Master’s Madonna.

  Violet is a comic book super-villainess. Catwoman? Harley Quinn? Elektra? No, she’s Poison Ivy, Batman’s nemesis, live and in person in the Metrorail station with long, bright auburn hair and a body you can’t help noticing, hugged by a bright blue suit that shows off her curves—and her eyes.

  Those eyes. They’re blue, almost purple, and huge. And evil. I can see them even through the mobs of commuters. In high-heeled boots, she sticks out above the crowd and way over me. Every guy in the place pivots to stare at her, and more than a few women.

  She is the most intimidating person I have ever beheld. I practically expect to see vines sprout from her hands. A girl in front of me smacks her boyfriend, who’s staring.

  And I have to confront her. Now. Preferably before she goes out to the scary trains.

  I pursue her. “Violet!”

  She looks around, hearing her name but, at first, not seeing me. I shove through all the legs. Some guy calls me an asshole. It’s rude, but this is life and death. No time to apologize.

  “Violet, wait!”

  She turns and stares. She looks at me like I’m a mangy dog or a leper. Maybe I am.

  “May I help you?”

  “Violet.” I’m panting. “I’m Goose, Goose Guzman. I’m—”

  “I know who you are. You’re my stepdaughter’s little friend.” She emphasizes little. Her eyes bore into me, and I see something like revulsion at my appearance. “You brought her home once, and to the hospital, when Greg . . . but Celine is gone now. She’s living with her aunt in . . . Tennessee.”

  People are stopping to stare, and I realize we must look like characters in some fantasy movie. Their eyes give me courage. Violet can’t do anything to me in front of all these witnesses.

  Nothing except not help Celine.

  “You know that’s a lie,” I say. “You didn’t send her to Tennessee. You sent Kendra to kill her. But Kendra didn’t. You know that too, because you saw Celine this morning.”

  Violet looks away. “I don’t have to listen to your babbling, dwarf.” She turns on her heel and walks toward the glass brick escalator, the one that will carry her—and me—even higher to the train platform.

  “Wait!” I run after her, trying to get in front of her, or grab her hand. But she eludes me, striding through the crowds so I have no choice but to pursue her up a second scary escalator. I want to take the elevator, but I can’t risk losing her.

  I’m shaking when my foot hits the bottom step. By the top, I can’t breathe, much less speak. I stumble after her.

  “Why?” I gasp out. Everyone’s staring at me, but I don’t care. I follow Violet. The train station is laid out with a platform in the middle, north and southbound tracks on either side. She stands on the southbound side, too near the edge, away from the crowds of people.

  The train station is open, overlooking the city. How great if it was underground, like the New York subway, where the only drop is onto the tracks themselves. Instead, I can see for miles and miles, practically to my house. I hang back, or try to, but Violet seems to realize my fear for she steps closer to the edge, her beauty silhouetted against the blue and silver skyline, teetering on four-inch heels. I could push her over. It wouldn’t help Celine, though.

  “Why do you hate her so much?” I’m shivering, though the day is hot and windless, a June day in Miami.

  She smiles, then laughs. “Come closer, and I’ll tell you.” With her hand, she beckons me. Yep, she definitely knows I’m afraid.

  I edge closer. When I’m near a high place, I always picture myself plunging, flying at first, then diving down, dropping like a . . . well, dropping like a guy falling off a train platform. Must concentrate. I look into Violet’s eyes, but they’re almost as scary as the height.

  I will myself forward. When I’m five feet away, far enough that, if I fell, I wouldn’t go over, I stop. I try again.

  “Celine loved you,” I say. “When she first met you, she did. She told me how wonderful you were. You got her a kitten. You did her hair, and then . . .”

  “And then, she turned into her mother. I hated that bitch.” Violet’s voice is a knife in the noisy station. “She was cruel and heartless. She never loved Greg. She only took him because I wanted him. You can’t imagine how she bullied me. And Celine is the same.”

  I hear the wind down the tracks. “I think I can imagine being bullied. But Celine isn’t like that. She’s not a bully. I’ve seen her stand up for people, not bully them.”

  “Please. She’s exactly like her mother.”

  “I wouldn’t be friends with her if she was like that.”

  Violet smiles and gets a little gleam in her eye. “Is that what you are, dwarf? Friends? Because that’s not what I see.”

  “What do you see?” But I think I know. And I guess she’s just going to keep calling me “dwarf” like she’s some evil sorceress.

  Which, I guess, she sort of is.

  She throws back her head so her orange hair streams down her back. “I see a beautiful girl, using some loser who’s in love with her. I see Jennifer all over again.”

  I shake my h
ead. “She’s not like that.” But I wonder. Violet is half right. I am in love with Celine. Is she all right? Am I just deluding myself about Celine?

  No. That’s not true. Celine was nice before she knew me, definitely before she needed me. If anything, I was using her, pretending to be her friend in the hope of being something more.

  “Believe what you want.” Violet takes a step backward. “I’ve seen the look on your face when you’re beside her on the piano bench, holding her hand, trying to edge closer. Or when you watch TV together at all hours of the night. It’s the same look I used to have with Greg, sad, longing. Pathetic.”

  “How did you . . . ?” But I know. Magic. All those things happened in the past few weeks, after Celine had moved out. Violet had watched us the whole time. She’d known Celine was alive, waited until she could harm her. I take a half step toward her, saying, “What did Celine do to you? What did she do that was so awful that you want her dead?”

  Violet thinks for a moment. “She is a constant reminder that her father preferred someone else to me. Even when we were married, he never really loved me. He was enthralled, but his love was all for Jennifer.”

  “But her father’s gone. Either way, he’s gone. Couldn’t you, in his memory, just be the bigger person? Just let his daughter live?” In the distance, I see the train coming. What if I fell onto the track, if I was swallowed up in it? I feel dizzy, like my head is an escaped balloon, floating in the fluorescent lights above me.

  Violet chuckles. “You’re really afraid, aren’t you?” When I don’t answer, she says, “With a blink of my eye, I could send you hurtling over that track, then crash! Down onto the sidewalk. They wouldn’t even recognize you.”

  I feel her words as if she did it. But I say, “Why don’t you?” Trying to keep my voice steady, though I hear it shaking.

  Violet smiles. “I know that, whatever I can do, Celine can hurt you more, hurt you the way Greg hurt me. That’s better, my little friend.” The train is pulling into the station now, brakes squealing, covering the treacherous view. “My train is here. I have to go. I’ll do you a favor, dwarf. I won’t kill your darling.”

  I feel my knees start to give way, but I catch myself. “Really?” Sensing a trick.

  “Really. But I won’t revive her either. She will sleep forever. As long as you both shall live, you can fantasize that she might have loved you, if only Evil Violet hadn’t taken her away. You can worship her shell of a body, wrap your little tiny arms around her, and dream that she is yours instead of knowing the cruel reality, as I did with Greg.”

  Her eyes are mesmerizing, like Christmas lights.

  “And what reality is that?” I barely whisper it.

  “That someone beautiful like her could never love a little freak like you.”

  Her words snap me out of my trance. I stumble forward, wanting to hurt her. The train screeches to a stop, but I barely notice it, the people, the height. My heart is banging like crazy, and I advance toward her, remembering every kid who ever made fun of me in elementary school, every fear I had about Celine, every doubt I had about myself, sinking that anger into Violet.

  “You know, Violet, I may be a freak, but I have a family that loves me, unlike you. I have tons of friends, unlike you.” I’m saying this to a witch? But I don’t care. I can’t stop myself. The words just come out, like vomit all over the yellow, rubber barrier that separates the train from the station. “You’re a beautiful woman, and it hasn’t helped you. Your beauty is nothing, worthless.”

  I take a shaky breath. I look up at Violet, and she’s smiling.

  She laughs. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. You’re evil, and you’ve paid the price. You have no one. Greg is gone, and everyone else hates you.”

  I look up to see if I’ve hurt her. I want to hurt her. But her face is immobile, unreal.

  I add, “So, sometime, you may want to ask yourself which one of us is really the freak.”

  And, before she can change me into a toad, I turn and walk toward the elevator. When I look back at her, the train doors are just opening. Yet, she is gone.

  I’m sweating when the elevator comes. I take it down, then sit in the train station for half an hour, trying not to hyperventilate, wanting my mother. Finally, I summon Kendra with the mirror. She walks with me back to the hospital.

  “I’m sorry, but not surprised. If a good talking to was all it took, I would have done it. It is, alas, her nature to be cruel.” She touches my shoulder. “I am sorry.”

  “I’ll find another way.”

  Celine is still in ICU, beautiful and dead-looking. I think of what Violet said about her being a shell. It’s not true. I want to take her into my arms, give some of my own life to her. I could give her ten years, twenty, half the time I have left. I would if I could. Was Violet right? Would I rather Celine be like this forever, rather than face her rejection?

  No. I love Celine, and part of loving someone is wanting the best for them, even if the best for them isn’t being with you. I’m not Violet. Even if Celine will only ever be my friend, I want her alive.

  But how can I make that happen?

  I gaze at Celine’s pale white face, and I feel the weight of utter hopelessness upon me.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  4

  It’s Sunday now. Celine is still in ICU, stable, but no different. The doctor assured Violet/Kendra that Celine has a good chance for recovery. Of course, the doctor doesn’t know about the magic.

  Friday and Saturday, day and night, I sat in a hard, metal chair by Celine’s bed, holding her limp hand, squeezing it, willing her to squeeze back. The nurses didn’t even try to kick me out. Kendra said it was okay, and I guess they felt sorry for me. Maybe they realize I can barely move. I feel petrified, not like when people say they’re petrified meaning scared, but actually petrified like wood, like parts of me have turned to stone, and if Celine doesn’t come out of this, maybe I’ll just turn to stone beside her. Of course, I can’t help but think of what Violet said about worshiping Celine’s shell of a body. How long can I go on, waiting for someone who may never awaken?

  Forever.

  Violet has been true to her word. She hasn’t been here. Still, I won’t leave Celine alone.

  When I went home to get my clothes Friday afternoon, the poem I left for Celine was still on the bathroom counter, facedown, exactly where I’d left it. She never saw it. And that was when I realized, I wanted her to. Even if I was going to be totally crushed by her reaction. When you love someone, you have to tell her.

  I lean close and whisper in her ear, “Please wake up.”

  But she doesn’t. I squeeze her hand. I have my American history exam tomorrow, and I’ve been reading aloud to her from the book. In between World War One and World War Two, I tell her all the things we can do together if she wakes up. After Korea, I beg her to wake up. Vietnam, the Cold War, “I miss you so much.” Now, I’ve studied all I can, so I just watch her.

  Stacey’s texted me about a dozen time, telling me I have to sleep at home tonight, long texts about how she understands I’m upset, but I have to finish out the year. Finally, I text back that I’ll be home by nine.

  It’s a little before eight when Kendra shows up. She’s disguised as Violet, and I shudder. As soon as she closes the curtain, she changes into herself, red hair melting to purple-streaked black, her clothing turning to a long, black dress.

  She looks excited. “I’ve figured out what will help Celine.”

  “Really?” I clutch Celine’s hand, hopeful.

  Until the next words out of Kendra’s mouth.

  “Yes. A handsome prince! I remember once, there was a girl who slept for over a hundred years. It was a curse like this one, except a
fairy placed it. The girl pricked her finger on a spindle and fell down as if dead. A century passed—they didn’t even have feeding tubes then—and everyone forgot her until, one day, a prince came riding by on his horse. He kissed the girl. She woke and they lived happily ever after.”

  I try to keep my voice even. “So what year was this?”

  Kendra thinks about it. “The kiss happened in 1675, but the princess went to sleep a century before.”

  “And this was in Europe? England?” I feel suddenly tired, like I could just put my head down on Celine’s bed and go to sleep.

  “Or Germany, maybe. One of those countries.”

  “One of those countries with princes riding around on horses?”

  “Yeah.” She finally gets my meaning. “Oh.”

  “This is America, Kendra. No princes here.”

  “There could be. It probably doesn’t have to be from a reigning family. One of the Romanovs was mayor of Palm Beach for a while—the great-grandson of the tsar of Russia.”

  Palm Beach is about two hours’ drive from here. “Do you know him?” I ask.

  “He died in 2004.”

  Not helpful. I shake my head. “Could there be another way?” But, even as I say it, I remember her saying the other princess slept for a hundred years. A hundred years before they found a way to wake her. Celine might live a hundred years in a state of suspended animation.

  But I won’t.

  I take a long look at Celine, the shell of Celine. Is this all I’ll have of her, ever? I want to shake her, slap her, do anything to wake her, but it won’t work. No, that’s not what I want. I want to take her in my arms and kiss her. But I’m no prince, just some poor slob who loves her. She’s not mine to kiss.