The Pentrals (4 page)

I am sure Violet’s answer would be first period itself: physics. Sitting through science is a struggle for her, as she is more attuned to using the right-side of her brain. Personally, I find physics fascinating. Maybe it is because my whole life has been devoted to perfecting angles in balance with light particles, but something about all that precision is so beautiful to me. It used to be that I was not alone in my interest; physics was Mary’s favorite subject as well. Violet crumples into a seat near the back and automatically looks at the digital clock projected in the front of the room. The bell has not even rung and she is already counting down the minutes.

A girl with a short brunette bob and thick eyeliner takes a seat nearby and gives Violet a little wave. “Hey, Samantha,” Violet offers.

“You can call me Sam, you know.” She pauses, looking Violet up and down. “You okay? You look like crap,” Sam remarks. Nice. Very helpful. Who is this girl?

Violet gives a small surprised laugh at her candor. “Yeah, I’ve been better.”

“Tell me about it. I seriously had to drag myself to school today. Sometimes I just feel like, what is the point?”

“Yeah…” Violet drifts off. I know she does not share this attitude but is feeling desperate to connect.

“Well,” Sam says, reaching for her purse, “no reason to keep the day set in a downward spiral.” She pulls out an orange
Lifts!
tin and pops a tablet in her mouth. A satisfied smile instantly spreads across her painted lips. She nudges the tin in Violet’s direction, but my Person shakes her head in refusal. Samantha shrugs and leans back in her chair, looking relaxed and carefree.

“Okay all,” starts a voice from the front of the class. “Let’s get started!” I perk up, and watch Mr. West stride into class, his wild blonde hair flopping in every direction. I have sat through every lecture and presentation Violet’s ever taken, and most of the time I am usually still as a statue. Most of the educators at Talline High seem so tired and disengaged, but Mr. West appears to have a real passion for his profession. Day after day, his energy practically vibrates out of his lanky, jittery frame, as he enthusiastically conveys the principles of physics with creative lesson plans.

Last year, Mary was on his Science Scholars team, and I can remember her telling Violet about his devotion:

“I can’t believe you’re taking AP Physics next year,” Violet began.

“Well, I can’t believe you’re not,” Mary answered.

“Please, I barely passed chemistry this semester.”

“Physics is not chemistry. And Mr. West is a great teacher. We’re working on this project—“

“Mmmm hmmm, a ‘project’ you say?” Violet teased, tossing a pillow at her friend’s face.

“Don’t be gross! You know that would never happen. And I don’t make fun of your extended art studio time with Mrs. Greenwald,” Mary said defensively.

“Okay, I’m sorry, ” Violet said, making a frown face.

“You will be when we change the world.”

I think of Mary’s body, lying lifeless in a hospital bed.
When we change the world
. She did not reach that goal, but certainly changed everything in my world. Part of me thinks Violet continues suffering through physics on her best friend’s behalf; she added the class to her schedule at the start of the year, even though she was not required to take a science course. Maybe she hopes some small part of the magic Mary found in science will rub off on her.

I have been engrossed in Mr. West’s lecture on light waves but it does not seem like Violet has caught any of it. Aside from the occasional foot jiggle or elbow bend, she has been very still. The dismissal bell rings, causing all the Shadows to spring to attention. Violet slides her holopane into her backpack, which I can now see was used for sketching, not note taking.

“See ya,” Sam says, slowly rising from her chair. Her Shadow passes through me, and while I expect to hear a quick bit on pantomiming Samantha’s excessive makeup routine, all I hear is a confusing collection of thoughts.

“Can’t… light… blur…”

Odd. I know physics is not for everyone but did not think the subject could cause an actual stupor.

We are just about to go when Mr. West calls Violet to his desk. “Do you have a minute?” he asks.

“Um, sure Mr. West,” Violet replies timidly. I don’t think they’ve ever talked before.

“I don’t want to upset you. But,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck, “I know that you were very close with a former student of mine. Mary Kelly.” Upon hearing her best friend’s name, Violet’s entire body tenses, which I echo against the tile.

“Yes, she was… is… my best friend.”

“I thought so. She mentioned you. Several times, during Science Scholars last year.” He smiles warmly, but continues on, knowing this topic is difficult. His hands move to his desk and start tapping the surface. He seems physically incapable of staying still. “I was going through a box of things from last year’s Scholars to start my prep for this year, and I found a notebook of Mary’s.”

He pulls out a blue leather journal and extends it to Violet. “We were working on some theories and some of her notes are in there. I made copies of the notable pages, but thought you might like to have the original.”

“Oh, thanks.” She takes the book, not knowing whether to open it immediately or continue talking. A journal. How peculiar. For a Person to record her thoughts on paper, rather than glass, is quite uncommon. The biggest allure of holopanes is their ability to record data forever. Even after deletion, nothing is ever truly lost. The microchips inside capture every sentence and fragment for life. Paper is so fragile, so easily lost or destroyed. Violet must suspect, as I now do, that there is something unusual inscribed on those pages. Why would Mary choose to record her experiments that way? It is very old fashioned, especially for someone so devoted to science.

“You’re welcome,” says Mr. West. “See you tomorrow. We’ll discuss the electromagnetic spectrum! Fun!”

Violet gives an uncomfortable laugh and her body relaxes a bit. A slight ease passes through me. She heads to the door as Mr. West adds, “Mary was a very bright student. Her absence is felt every day.”

Violet considers this. Journal clenched tightly in hand, she looks at her teacher, a link to her faraway friend. “I miss her too,” she replies.

As if in a trance, she heads directly to the girls’ restroom. Even though it is a passing period, there is no one else in the room. Violet paces back and forth across the line of stalls, possibly wondering if she needs an extra layer of privacy before opening the journal. Ultimately she leans up against a corner and brings the leather book up to her face. She runs her fingers slowly over the cover, eyebrows tense, before finally peeling it open. Her green eyes are suddenly wild, flitting around the confines of the page. Her mouth opens in anticipation of sound but nothing comes out. I want the light to shift, to swing low so I can jump behind her shoulders and see what is written, but know the static placement of bulbs will keep me chained to the floor.

Violet makes it a few pages further, but finally stops, knees buckling. Her body slides down to the floor, folding her in a ball. The book falls, closing shut as Violet begins to cry.

It’s too much. Even for a Shadow, incapable of feeling true emotion, I know the events of the day have been too great for any Person to handle. The reassuring touch of the boy she loves; the sad eyes of the friend she can never appease; and the handwritten words of a girl she can do nothing to save. Violet is falling apart, and it is all I can do to keep it together at her side.

Just then Samantha walks in the bathroom, and sees Violet balled up in the corner. She walks over slowly, and lowers herself to Violet’s level.

“Need a
Lift!
?” she asks gently.

Unwillingly, I find myself nodding ‘yes.’

* * 6 * *

I
t is night. I am curled around the leg of Violet’s bed frame, hiding under a pile of kicked-off sheets, trying to piece together the events of the day. It is not like me not to remember. I am an observer—it is what I do. Seeing things clearly is the only thing I have to hold on to.

I remember sitting on the bathroom floor. The restroom is the only place in the school that resembles the rest of Talline, with wall-to-wall mirrors. The bright overhead lights helped spread my form long and far across the room, when where I wanted to be was close to my Person. Violet sobbed, deep and drenching tears, releasing a well of pent up pain. Her sobs echoed across the glass-encased room when she reached her hand out for Samantha’s
Lifts!
tin. I had a vision of stopping her, knocking the tiny white capsule to the ground. I pictured myself wrapping my dark extremities around her shaking body, reassuring her things would be okay. Of course, it was a ridiculous fantasy, since breaking from my duty would bring an unspeakable punishment. And even if I were granted a split second to reach out, what would I know about giving comfort? I can’t even feel the cold tile under my form, let alone an all-consuming emotion like grief.

Violet’s hand trembled as she brought the pill to her mouth, but even without her guidance, I would have had a slight tremor. What would happen once the
Lift!
passed her lips? I felt certain it would not be good. As a Shadow, I am intrinsically linked to my Person’s body. I cannot completely read her thoughts or feel her emotions, but when she carries joy, stress, or exhaustion in her limbs, those sensations pass to me, giving me a better sense of how to project her frame. Before Samantha entered, Violet was drowning in distress, aching from her head to her toes. It was awful to witness and even worse to shadow, but once she swallowed the pill, everything went away. Instantly, her pain dissolved but was not replaced by anything else; absolute emptiness washed over her.

It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. As Violet’s body let go of her suffering, it was as if I was no longer part of her, like I could fly away on a breeze. I was floating, but not like the lightness after a kiss, more like drifting, unable to connect to any tangible memory or object. My sight blurred though I tried hard to focus—Violet became a hazy orb above me, a red and cream cloud. She moved and I did my best to follow, but through my foggy perspective it was difficult to tell if I was even close to copying her actions. Hours passed, the sun set, and finally, in the darkness of night, the effects of the
Lift!
released its hold on me.

Now that it is over, I want to both explode into a million tiny pieces and lock myself in a closet of darkness. I have so much pent up energy from a day spent in limbo I could burst out the window and run laps around the neighborhood all night. And yet, I am exhausted. While my form has been immobilized, my thoughts will not stop.

What did Violet feel after taking her pill? Did her mind, along with her body, check out for a day as did mine? How did such a tiny capsule have such a powerful effect? Did she like it? Hate it? Will she do it again?

I am desperate to connect with someone. I want to leave, find another Pentral outside, and unleash all my inner ramblings. I cannot keep letting these questions swirl around with no counterpoint. But I cannot leave. I have no idea how the
Lift!
has affected Violet. Though she appears to be sleeping peacefully, for all I know she could spring to life at any moment. I have no choice but to sit and stew in my psychosis.

Somehow the morning comes. Violet rises early, going through her morning routine. She makes a significant effort to avoid looking in the mirror. Perhaps she is ashamed of her lifting. Good. I don’t want to go through that again.

Rather than heading directly to school, Violet walks the opposite direction. After a few minutes of trailing her determined steps, I am certain we are heading for the hospital.

It’s a long walk to Talline Medical Center. As soon as the sun rises over the rocks, the city assumes its brilliance, creating a dazzling display on every street. The way the morning sun hits the glass facades is so bright, many of the Persons we pass wear sleek, silver sunglasses to help with the glare. The lenses wrap around tight, allowing individuals to see the sights without squinting. But Violet takes no notice of the day’s splendor. I watch her, eyes turned down, arms wrapped around her chest, and I search for signs of lingering
Lift!
damage. Physically, she seems fine. No changes to her body or appearance, other than dark circles under her eyes from fatigue. But anxiety courses through her limbs, trickling down to my form.

When we arrive, Mary lies unchanged in her bed. Eyes closed, hair messily braided off to one side, it would be easy to think she was simply sleeping, were she not hooked up to a collection of beeping, whirring machinery.

Violet takes Mary’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Good morning Mary,” Violet whispers. “How are you today?” The morning light seeping through the windows projects me on the wall, allowing me to catch a glimpse of Mary’s Shadow, Blue, lying motionless at her side. What must she be thinking day after day, attached to a girl who has been drained of life? In essence, Blue has been unjustly reassigned to Class One, a punishment reserved for only the worst offenders of our realm. She lays in the bed, so still, Mary’s lifeless body withholding any chance of exploration or adventure. It is not right. Blue did nothing to deserve this. Not that Mary did; the whole thing is just so unfair.

“Mary, I did something,” Violet continues in a small voice. Even though Mary cannot see, Violet struggles to face her. “Something we said we’d never do.” She looks at her friend’s face, waiting for some sort of confirmation. “I just, I feel so lost right now.” Her voice is shaking. “I hope you aren’t disappointed with me.”

Violet lets go of Mary’s hand, and reaches down for her bag. I am terrified; what if during yesterday’s haze, she purchased her own
Lifts!
tin? It could have happened, how would I know? She could have gone to the moon and back and I would have no way to object.

But no, she pulls out Mary’s blue leather journal and places it on the bed under Mary’s hand.