Читать книгу Generation F - Girls Write Now - Страница 45

Mirror Image

JORDAN CHE

When you can’t even turn to the person in the mirror for answers, you end up looking within yourself, instead, in order to figure out what you believe is right despite everyone else saying otherwise.

Calla Reyes sits in front of the full-length mirror on the shaggy carpet, curling her toes as the person wearing her skin curls them back. She breathes in the sweet silence of an empty house on Valentine’s Day. With her parents out making new memories over a candlelit dinner and Melody in a mysterious stranger’s arms after swiping right for an Eros-filled fling, Calla has the pleasure of having the whole house to herself—at least for now. Running a hand through her knotted hair, she inches closer to the mirror until she and her impostor are noses apart. The person in the mirror isn’t me, she thinks to herself for the fifth time today. We share the same drifting eyes, chapped lips, and nervous smiles, but she isn’t me. It’s 5:50 p.m. She glances at the clock, tearing her eyes away from the impostor. Zenia said she would be here at six. Following an intent glare outside her door, Calla dashes to the bathroom as if her feet are on fire, despite the emptiness of the hallway.

Squeezing out a dollop of cleanser and scrubbing at her face until her impostor shares the same frothy white mask, she tries not to think about how she was in the exact same location just a week ago, except for the fact that she wasn’t the only one in the bathroom. She tries to dismiss the memory of her parents barging into the room, interrogating her about the mysterious crewneck sweater hidden poorly under her bed with a bold “Z” on the back. The bathroom walls suffocated her as they argued and screamed until Calla’s lungs shriveled up. Between the vigorous shakes of her head, she stole a glance in the mirror and came face-to-face with a total stranger whose pupils were dilated, afraid, and filled past the brim with tears that rolled down her dry face.

Calla closes her eyes and lets the water run down her face and disappear in a spiral into the sink, along with memories of her impostor that she had sworn to put aside, at least for today. She is not going to let the person in the mirror ruin what would soon to be the best Valentine’s of her life. She waits before swiping the cream-colored concealer wand, and ultimately decides to turn away from the mirror.

It is six o’clock. Calla slips on the crewneck sweater, hidden securely in the nooks and crannies of her underwear drawer. She had definitely learned her lesson. Running her fingers through her freshly brushed hair, she turns to the window’s reflection as a makeshift mirror instead. She had always been fond of how the dual view of her bedroom and the outside world came together at a certain angle in the window, distorting her own face and masking it with shades of the night sky. As she presses her nose against the cool glass, a quick tap on the windowsill shocks her out of her stupor. Looking into the window again, the face she sees isn’t her own, but it isn’t her impostor’s, either. She allows a grin to surface as she opens the window enough for a gloved hand to lift it open, and makes room for Zenia on her bed.

“Hey, you.” Zenia’s light voice, still partially muffled behind the glass, reaches Calla’s ears, already making her feel lightheaded. “Hey, yourself.” They sit on the bed and wordlessly embrace, sharing each other’s warmth without a single sound. Zenia murmurs, focused on Calla’s brushed hair and face masked with concealer, “You dressed up today.” “Yeah, I guess I did,” Calla stammers, caught off guard. Zenia smiles softly, moving closer. “You know you didn’t have to.” “I know.” Calla’s feelings of being scrutinized are short-lived as she moves closer as well, closing the gap between the two. “They’ll be home soon,” she mutters, whispering into Zenia’s neck. “There’s no way your parents can finish a large fettuccini alfredo that quickly. Knowing them, we have at least thirty minutes to ourselves. So might as well make the most out of it.” Zenia beams, radiating confidence and affection. “Already one step ahead of you.” Calla mischievously grins, and before Zenia can even question it, she is ambushed in a bear hug tight enough to break her ribs—not that Zenia is complaining, of course. And as the two lay together, limbs and hearts intertwined, the full-length mirror resting against the opposite wall is finally forgotten.