The Pentrals (6 page)

I look back at the hands, so familiar with their pale coloration, and see if I can will them to move. Without hesitation, the right hand reaches up and I touch where my face should be. I feel the chalky residue transfer from the fingers to my cheek, and suddenly understand what has happened.

I am inside Violet’s body.

“Honey, do I need to call an ambulance?” My heart is racing, thoughts flying as I try to decide how to react. Violet would probably stay calm, and reassure her teacher everything is okay. I have never spoken aloud, but know I must communicate with this woman so she doesn’t send a squad of medical professionals to examine me.

I clear my throat, and stammer out, “No, I’m fine.” The thoughts are mine but come out in Violet’s voice. I manage to form a small smile, surprised at how the muscles feel to perform the act.

“Well goodness, you gave me quite a scare! I left the room for a second and came back to find you on the floor!” Mrs. Greenwald places her hand on my shoulder. The small gesture brings me comfort.

“I… I must have… tripped,” I say, awkward in forming sentences out loud. It seems so weird to hear my thoughts outside myself.

“I must say, I might have tripped myself after taking a look at that!” the teacher chuckles, gesturing toward Violet’s easel.

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. I have to agree—the drawing is completely frightening. But I can’t exactly admit that, since if I’m in Violet’s body, then supposedly I drew it.

“I like that you are taking risks, Violet. All artists go through different periods.” She babbles on about surrealism and other artistic movements and I struggle to concentrate on her words. I try to keep still, though my insides are going crazy. How did this happen? How can it be that I am inside my Person’s body? And if I am in here, then where is Violet? Her essence could not have just disappeared.

With caution, I place my feet on the floor, keeping one hand on the stool for balance. I am not used to competing with gravity and am surprised at how Violet’s clothing restricts my movements. I’m used to a freedom of motion, creating shapes without external forces weighing me down. But her clothes are so tight it’s a wonder she’s been able to move at all. Her shorts are vice grips around my thighs, making my current efforts all the more challenging. It takes total concentration to keep from falling over; a feather could knock me down. I try to take a step, but misjudge the amount of effort it takes to raise my leg. My knee shoots up in line with my stomach, and the propulsion almost topples me over again. Thankfully, I still have the chair to hold on to before I try again, using less force to lift my foot. I raise it up, then set it down in slow motion, as if walking on eggshells. It’s an improvement, but not exactly natural. And I’m not quite ready to let go of the chair. As I move, the Shadow below stays still, like a black stain on the tile. A terrible thought crosses my mind. Oh no. Could Violet be…

“So make sure to put away your supplies,” Mrs. Greenwald’s voice drifts back in. “The janitors are looking to lock up for the night. Glad you’re alright. See you in class tomorrow, dear.” She picks up a bag and leaves me alone with my mysterious Shadow.

“Violet?” I whisper, watching the dark blot for a hint of recognition. It flinches, and I gasp, dropping to the floor in surprise. My knees hit first, and I let out a small pained sound. Ouch. I’m really struggling here. The Shadow shoots across the floor, hiding underneath a supply closet. It seems to take every muscle to crawl over, as I drag this body over the cold, smooth porcelain. So many years I’ve spent on these floors never knowing what they felt like. “Violet?”

The Shadow peeks out a sliver of black and I lunge forward to touch it. Though I am temporarily in a human body, I am still a Pentral. Maybe I can communicate with her through contact.

The moment my hand meets the black, Violet’s voice, full of alarm, rings in my head. “What is happening? What have you done to me? What is going on?” she asks all at once. I jump back in shock. We can interact.

What is happening? I don’t have an explanation. It is not like Violet has never fallen on top of me before. I have witnessed many a skinned knee or rock-climbing fall, but it has never caused us to switch places.

But I have also never felt anything like the fury that raged through me when Violet picked up the
Lifts!
tin just moments ago.

“Violet,” I start, still fumbling to make my thoughts heard outside myself. What am I supposed to say anyway? It has to be scary, lying on the ground looking at your own body move without you. Before now, I’m sure Violet has never given her Shadow a second thought. Why would she? I place my hands back on her. “I . . . um … am your Shadow.”

“What? What do you mean ‘my Shadow’? How did this happen? What is going on?” Violet fires question after question.

I am scared too, but at least I understand how the two worlds work. Two worlds. What would the Class Fours think about this?

I have so much to tell her, but this is not the place. I can’t risk having someone overhear; I’m probably in enough trouble as it is. Besides, I don’t know how long this transformation will last and there is something I’ve always wanted to do.

“Stay close to me,” I say to Violet, and use all my strength to head for the door.

* * 9 * *

A
fter an absurd amount of time and countless downward plummets, I make it to my destination. Shadowing has made me familiar with the mechanics of movement, but being the orchestrator is entirely new. I’ve walked, I’ve run, I’ve danced, but never against the laws of physics, never with weight or balance to consider. I stumble to the ground, over and over, feeling the hard surface below bash my skin. I take slow, careful steps as not only a benefit to me, but Violet as well, who trails behind in awkward, globular movements. I promise to make things better, to take her aside and explain everything, right after…

We are outside behind the school. The high school is positioned just so in the canyon: high enough to see the entire city spread, but low enough to make out all the details. I have always wanted a more panoramic view of this place I call home. I have lived in this city for 17 years along my Person, and while I have walked every street, hovered past every building, it’s been nearly impossible to piece together the city as a whole. My view has always been distorted, limited to odd perspectives: never upright, always pulled back or lying flat. Just once I want to see this world I live in and understand its entirety.

A tall rock nearby calls to me, and I start to climb. I kick off Violet’s sneakers to feel the jagged edges of the stone on my bare feet. This is what I have missed during all of Violet’s rock climbing excursions. How many times have I been spread across these formations, never conscious of the intricate texture below? Sure, the bumpy crags are uncomfortable, but I’d rather feel pain than nothing at all.

The rocky landscape steeps dramatically upward and I do my best to climb to a good vantage point. The shifting sand beneath my feet proves more challenging than flat tiles, but I manage to make my way. I settle on a rocky ridge just above the school’s roof, sinking my toes into the dirt. Laughter escapes me as the tiny grains cover my feet. How can something so small feel so funny? I rub my hands over everything, feeling the prickly texture of canyon plants and the coolness of evening air. I look ridiculous I’m sure, but it doesn’t matter. I am overcome with happiness. I can feel.

I climb further. At the top, my toes curl over a boulder, helping me balance as I take in the view. A lot of my time is spent looking up, but now I am privy to the entire scene. Finally, a clear, entire map imprinted in my mind’s eye. The canyon circles into a horseshoe, leaving a small entrance at the opposite end; the water of Lake Clarion provides the city’s only exit. Mirrors dot the terra cotta terrain, mimicking the twinkling stars above. Even at night, Talline shines.

As I take in the view, I realize that somewhere, somehow, the Class Fours must be looking at me, making note of my indiscretion. But I don’t want to think about Pentrals and consequences. Not now. I will pay for this moment of freedom, so I better enjoy it. I push the thought away.

A voice breaks my selfish serenity. “You’re going to fall.” It is Thomas, looking up at me from the ridge below. He must have seen me climbing from the school’s parking lot. The shock of being seen unhinges my tentative grasp on gravity, causing me to tumble down. A sharp sting rips through my right leg.

I try not to cry out, but the pain is much more than I would expect. “Guess you told me so,” I wince.

“You’re bleeding.” He crouches down next to me. I have never been this close to a boy’s face before—the physical proximity takes my breath away. Thomas pulls a tissue out of his pocket and begins dabbing up the blood. After what happened between him and Violet tonight, I can’t understand why he is helping me.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

“You’re hurt, Violet,” he says, concentrating on my cut. He won’t look at me.

“So are you.” I know Violet’s words cut him deep. Thomas’ eyes meet mine. The thick lens of his glasses cannot conceal I’ve spoken the truth.

He sighs. “What do you expect?”

Nothing. I expect nothing. His current attentiveness is more than I have ever been granted.

I don’t know what to say. Well, I know what I would like to say, but I have to remember I am in Violet’s skin. I need to act on her behalf. But her behavior has been so off the map lately, I am unsure how she would handle this either.

“Thomas…” I start.

“You’re going to need something more than a tissue to clean this up. Did you drive here?” I shake my head no. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

I move to stand, but the stinging in my leg is giving me more trouble than my balance woes. Thomas sees me struggling and quickly sweeps me in his arms before I can object.

I wrap my arms around his neck as I’ve seen Violet do, and peer over his shoulder to make sure she’s still following me. A quivering black blob hovers silently on the rocks. What must she be thinking, seeing me in her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend’s—arms?

Being carried… it should feel like floating, but it is so much better. Shadows float and touch nothing; right now, I’m overwhelmed with touch. Thomas touching my legs, holding onto my back, my hands clutching his shirt.
Wow.
He taps the side of his carpod, releasing the door open. He carefully sets me on the passenger seat and we sit in silence. I try not to look conspicuous as I rub my hand over the vehicle’s interior. As a Shadow, I had to bend my shape against the tiny grooves of the seat’s fabric, but I never imagined the pattern would be so cozy. Unlike the canyon crags, these divots are plush, welcoming me to my ride. I shimmy down into my spot, letting the textile touch as much of my skin as possible. I much prefer this to the rocks. The rest of the carpod is sleek, yet surprisingly unreflective. Violet’s carpod has a mirrored interior, but Thomas must drive an older model. The tinted windshield repeatedly makes a pinging sound, waiting for destination coordinates to be entered. Thomas ignores the repeating chime. I take the opportunity to observe him from close up. His face is hard, like he is trying to determine his next move. I don’t know how much time has passed when he catches me staring.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

My cheeks turn hot. “Oh, um, I’m sorry, I…” Very eloquent. I’m still not used to hearing my thoughts outside of myself.

“Are you okay? Like, really?” He looks at me like I’ve had a psychotic break. If I told him what was really going on, he would probably fit me for a straitjacket himself. “It’s just, you’re lifting now, and drawing pictures of crazy hell beasts, and then I see you falling all over the rocks…” he trails off, mystified.

I try to find a blend between what I think Violet would say and what I’m really thinking. “I’m just not feeling like myself, I guess.”

Thomas considers this. “Nothing really feels right anymore, does it? These past few months have been so hard, made even worse because I don’t have you to talk to.” He pauses. “Violet, you have been my best friend—my everything—for years now, and I guess I thought you felt the same. I don’t understand how you are making it through without me.”

“Well, clearly I’m not.” I see Shadow Violet flinch at this, but she would have to admit I’m right. “I mean, look at me,” I say, nodding to my ripped up calf.

He allows a small chuckle. “What were you doing up there anyway?”

Oh, just taking my first independent view of the world. “I don’t know. I needed some inspiration.”

Thomas turns to me with a shy smile. “Find any?”

I smile back. This boy of Violet’s is very sweet. Too sweet, which is why I must remind myself he belongs to Violet, not Antares. “I’ll let you know.”

We start the drive back to Violet’s house, and once again I am staring. Thomas is a very strong Person; although I am sure the turmoil with Violet has been torture, he continues to follow his natural instincts. To love her, look out for her. It must take a lot of courage to fight for what you believe in, especially when that thing is fighting you back.

“You’re staring again,” he says, a slight satisfaction in his voice.

“Sorry, I…”

“No, it’s okay. It’s been awhile since I’ve had someone watch me so intently.” I look down at the floor where Thomas’ Shadow lingers. If only he knew.

In Violet’s driveway, Thomas makes his way to the passenger door before I have a chance to undo my seatbelt.

“Let me help you upstairs,” he offers. I am used to taking care of myself, but feel it would be in pre-lifting Violet’s character to oblige. Plus, I have to admit it is nice to be attended to for a change. Together we hobble up the stairs and I rest on the edge of Violet’s bed while Thomas looks for a first aid kit. The comforter is impossibly soft, even better than the carpod seat. It’s the most delicious texture I’ve felt yet. I want to dive in, but Thomas returns and wraps my leg in a bandage. I watch his hands—strong, gentle, and dirty from soccer practice—touch my skin and try not to flinch. He’s not hurting me; it’s the very act of being touched. Skin on skin: the friction it creates. I can understand why Violet and Thomas were always wrapped around each other. It feels nice. I do not want him to see how much I am enjoying it.