The Pentrals (15 page)

Mr. West, still clinging my hand, walks to face me. I am a statue, the only thing free to move are my eyes. I search his face, trying to piece together how he could know my secret, what I have done. No one in Violet’s life has detected my presence, or realized that a Shadow is wearing her skin. Yet this man, practically a stranger, spotted me at once. How? It’s impossible! His features, usually atwitter with nervous energy, are painfully focused on me. I don’t know how he detected me, but one thing is clear; he has a plan, and whatever it is, I am sure it will endanger not only myself, but my Person as well.

“I know who you are,” he whispers, his voice as soft as falling snow. “I am a Pentral too.”

* * 19 * *

I
am still frozen after Mr. West releases his grip. The frosty fortress transfixing my body melts and I am free to run, but unwilling to do so.

“You’re…a Pentral?”

“Yes, Class Three to be exact. A liaison between those in the Ether and those down below,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Class Three. In all my years, I have never even considered this Pentral level. But of course, it had to exist. What could it mean? How does one get assigned to Class Three?

“So you’re…?”

“Temporarily in a human body. Much like yourself,” he winks. It is unreal. The idea of speaking so openly with another of my kind has me spinning. I have so many questions. What did he say earlier—the Ether? It must be where the Class Fours reside. I can’t believe it. To talk to another Pentral like this—to actually learn something about who I am, where I come from—I never thought the opportunity would present itself.

I open my mouth to speak but he presses a finger to his lips. “We can’t talk here. My next class will be here any minute. But I have important matters to discuss with you.”

Suddenly my stomach drops. The excitement at connecting to someone from my realm fades. He is not here for a friendly chat. He is here on business. A liaison? More like a henchman, sent from the Class Fours to recalculate my fate. He is here to deliver my punishment.

He must see the worry on my face. I always thought of myself as a performance artist, but clearly I am lacking as an actress. “Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble.” He pauses. “Not yet, anyway. Meet me back here at the end of day, alright?”

I nod, but feel as if I just consented to my death sentence. There is no point in trying to escape now—the other Pentrals know about me. All I can do is go along with their plan and hope my cooperation will grant me some leniency.

I start for the door as Mr. West calls me back.

“Before you go, what do you call yourself? Since you’re obviously not Violet, I’d like to call you by your chosen name,” he asks.

“Antares,” I answer, knowing it could be one of the last times I heard it uttered.

“Antares,” he repeats, letting it simmer like he’s sampling a new flavor. “An exotic flower that only blooms at night. How poetic.” He smiles, giving me a look of appreciation and adds, “See you at four o’clock then.”

The day flies by. I hardly notice my surroundings. I am a robot, mindlessly roaming the halls, fulfilling my duties—haven’t I always been? All I have ever done, whether outlined in black or within a body, is follow orders. Directives of the Pentral world, rules of the physical world: I have had no say in my journey. Isn’t that what a robot is? A machine wielded to execute the wishes of others? Now my usefulness has come to an end, and I wait to be powered off when the clock strikes four.

Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble. Not yet, anyway.

I think about reaching down to touch Violet, to say goodbye. She was present for the whole exchange and must know what is coming. Even if she does not fully understand, she must sense the stress in my core. But I cannot bring myself to talk to her. I have failed her, and cannot honestly say whether or not she will be spared in the Pentrals’ judgment. The thought of her being punished for my actions is unbearable. This girl, my Person, whom I have watched grow from a tiny baby to a brilliant young woman… what will the Class Fours do with her? Surely they will return her to her rightful place, her body, and leave the insanity of Class One for myself. Right? Yes, this has to be the only option. I refuse to picture anything else.

There is only one Person I feel the need to speak with before heading off to my fate. When the final bell rings, I hurry down to the gym, where I know all the athletes will be getting ready for afternoon practice. I see Thomas emerge from the locker room, but duck behind the bleachers until he is well out onto the soccer field. There is nothing I need to say to him. I have played my girlfriend role to the best of my abilities. Soon he will be reunited with his real love, and the two of them will spend the rest of their lives appreciating each other. No, I only have a few minutes. I need to save them for Benjamin Kelly.

He is the last one out, dressed in grass-stained shorts and a well-worn t-shirt. He stops to lace his shoe and I scurry over to him.

“Hey,” I call out.

Ben looks up, surprised to see the voice has come from me. He looks around to see if my call was meant for anyone else. “Oh, you’re talking to me now?”

“Yes.” I look down at my feet in embarrassment. It has been days since the anniversary party, and any words we shared have been brief on my account. I left him with nothing—no explanation for the spark, no effort in uncovering the mystery. There has been nothing for him to go on but a bruise on his skull and burn on his wrist. “I owe you an apology.”

He stands up, and steps close to me, arms crossed. Guarded as usual, his athletic frame very close to mine. “I’m listening.”

I hadn’t planned a speech but feel I owe him some explanation before I am sentenced to lose my sanity.

“I shouldn’t have blown you off all week. It wasn’t right. The thing with the glass, it was weird, and I didn’t know what to say. But I shouldn’t have said nothing.” I am talking fast, trying to expunge every last thing I can think of before it’s too late. Luckily, he doesn’t shut me down and seems to be absorbing every word. “I didn’t like it when you froze me out before, so, I’m sorry to have done it to you.”

“Hmm,” he mulls it over, uncrossing his arms. Maybe what I said got through to him. “Well, apology accepted.” I look up at him for what will probably be the last time, and think about Violet’s speculations. How the energy between Ben and I could have meant something good. If I had more time, maybe I would be able to determine what the spark between us means, positive or negative. I automatically assumed the worst, thinking it was some sort of warning to stay away. But standing before him now, he’s not giving me any reason to think he’s dangerous. In fact, he’s actually quite nice to be around. Those chocolate eyes gaze down at me, and I think of all the time I spent on the pavement, silently laughing at his jokes and feeling thankful that Violet had him in her life. It was wrong to be scared, and now I’ve wasted the chance to get to know him better. “I’d say we could engage in a friendly handshake or something, but I don’t want to chance any charred limbs right before practice,” he says.

We both laugh, and I am sad knowing it will be our last shared experience.

He nods to the row of boys doing sprints in the field. “I gotta run—literally—so, I’ll see you later, okay?” he says.

Not likely
, I think, my heart sinking. But I answer, “Okay.”

As I trudge back to the school building, I think about all I’ve wished for myself over the years. I’ve imagined many things—feeling the wind through my hair, creating colorful art, falling in love. I spent 17 years living vicariously through Violet, trying to steal bits of her happiness to make them my own, but going through the motions is not the same as actually experiencing them. When we switched bodies, I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d get a taste of what it’s like to live for yourself, to have free will and experience the consequences, good and bad. It was a foolish dream.

Wanting something for myself is how I got here in the first place. I am a Shadow, meant to follow, not to act. And now I’ll never know what could have been. I’ll spend the rest of my days zoned out, tied to some chair or flower bush, slowly losing any connection to who I am or what I care about. I’ll be a drone, forgetting about my dreams, my Person—nothing will matter except for the patterns of the sun.

When I reach Mr. West’s classroom, he is finishing up with another student. I stand outside the door until she exits the room, then enter. “Violet. Wonderful. Let’s get down to work,” he says within earshot of the other student. Mr. West types in a message on the door’s holopane.
Private Tutoring in Session: Do Not Disturb
—projects out. He locks it from inside.

He takes a seat at his desk, legs crossed and foot tapping in the air. I sit across from him in the front row. I wonder how many minutes I have left.

“You must have a lot of questions,” Mr. West begins.

“I… I just want to say that none of this was Violet’s fault. She’s been trying so hard to be a Shadow and I think it would be unfair to punish her—“

“Why would the Pentrals punish Violet?” he interrupts. I look down at her, outlining my shape even in my final hour. “Antares, that’s not why I asked you here.”

“Right. You’ve come to reassign me.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “This is not a disciplinary meeting.”

I stop, dumbfounded. I don’t know what to think. I’ve been waiting all day for a deathblow, and he just asked me here to, what, talk?

“I know as Class Two, you do not have much, or any, contact with the higher Pentral ranks. You are… rather isolated. And that is frustrating. Believe me, I understand. Until my recent reassignment, I worked in your same class.”

He gives me what I’m sure he assumes is a reassuring grin, but I don’t reciprocate. I wish he would just cut to the chase already. My nerves have gotten the best of me and I need answers.

“But there is no need to fear me or other Pentrals. The Class Fours are not some all-knowing gods out to smite for simple mistakes. They allowed you to be a Shadow because they want you to have a chance at redemption from your human life. They are your allies.”

His assessment is in direct opposition of what I have pictured all these years. I always thought the Class Fours were watching every move, waiting for me to slip up. Someone has to Shadow stationary objects—surely they must always be on the lookout for new victims. Why else have I been living on edge, pushing myself to be the best Shadow I can be? If they are not looking for mistakes, why even bother?

“But, what about Class One? The insanity sentence?” I stammer.

Mr. West gives a nod of agreement. “Well, yes, Class One is undesirable. But that is reserved for extreme cases. Pentrals who have no respect for their Persons. Complete disregard for their assignments. Unfortunately, those who are in most need of a second chance are the ones likely to squander it.” He gets up from his desk and takes the seat next to me.

“Antares, not every Pentral works as hard as you do. And that is why I’m coming to you. I need your help.”

* * 20 * *

I
take a breath to let this sink in. Did I just hear correctly? Not only is Mr. West not here to rip away my rank, but he’s actually praising me and in need of my assistance? All day I have been so wound up that upon hearing these words I feel I could burst. Everything has been flipped on its head in a matter of minutes, and it’s a lot to keep up with. But I try to keep it together. I need to hear what else this Class Three has to say.

He stands up and begins pacing the room, his lanky frame picking up the animated movements he exhibits during class.

“Over a year ago I was sent here. To monitor suspected disorder amongst Class Two Pentrals. My first assignment in this rank.” He stops and smiles, taking in a moment of pride. “At first, I didn’t find anything outside the ordinary. All the Shadows were exceeding expectation. But then I looked in the mirror.”

Wait, what is he saying? I take a quick look at the mirrored wall to my left to take stock of his Reflection. He looks normal to me, his image the same in glass as in flesh. There is nothing there to cause alarm. But does he see something different? When Mr. West looks in the mirror, do strange horrors greet him? Am I not alone in my company of monsters?

My heart skips a beat. The thought is instantly gratifying, like a drop of water after days of thirst. “Yes!” I burst out unintentionally. Mr. West stops, cocking his head to the side, looking at me as if I just had a fit. But I don’t care if he thinks I’m crazy. I am too worked up and cannot contain my excitement—if his Reflection has betrayed him, shown him something other than what’s true, then I need to know. If my Reflection is not a solo huntress out for my destruction, I need that confirmation. “Sorry, I just… I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

“No, you are not. Like you, at first I assumed the Reflection was correct. Frightening, but accurate. I had no reason to doubt it. My first time in a human body; perhaps Class Four sent me back in some altered form. After all, Talline is a town covered in glass, and when I observed the Reflections of others, they appeared correctly.

“By then I had also become immersed in my teaching job. I started the Science Scholars team, which is how I met Mary, who was so bright, so talented—I appreciated her right away. But a few months after working together, there was a distinct shift in her personality. Right after January, I believe.”

“Her birthday,” I interject. I remember the party. The Alliance programmed pulsating light into all the holopanes of the Kellys’ mansion, turning their home into a dance club. Half the school was there, partying the night away. Mr. Kelly was less than thrilled, but everyone had an amazing time.

“Precisely. Turning 17 seemed to… unravel her. One day after school we were working with a light reflecting experiment. After staring in the mirror, she broke down.” He looks down at the floor, obviously pained by the memory. I think of beautiful Mary, with her lovely features, and shudder at how a Reflection could twist them into something awful.