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Reflections . . .
That’s how they find you, Brad had said.
But what had he meant by “they”? And if mirrors really were a link between the dreamworld and reality, then why hadn’t Varen tried to reach her through one before now? And why hadn’t he spoken to her or, at the very least, attempted to convey some kind of message? Why had he only stared at her like that?
“The way he looked at me . . .” Isobel glanced slowly back to Gwen. “It . . . it was as if . . .” She trailed off, suddenly realizing where it was they were standing.
She remembered turning this corner after practice once before. That day she’d found Brad hovering over Varen, threatening him in low tones. And then the way Varen had glared at her, thinking it had been all her doing, that she’d sent Brad after him on purpose.
It seemed like such a faraway moment, but she could never forget the hatred in Varen’s eyes that day. Like two pyres burning in the dark, they had branded themselves into her memory forever. In them, he had shown no fear. Not even anger. Only empty contempt.
Just now, in the locker room . . . why did it feel as though she had relived that moment?
She felt Gwen grab her by the arm, jostling her. “Isobel,” she said, “talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
“The kiss,” Isobel said, the words tumbling out of her mouth in the precise moment they occurred to her.
“Kiss?” Gwen asked. “Whoa, whoa, what kiss? What are you talking about?”
Isobel’s eyes met with Gwen’s, her jaw squaring. “He saw Brad kiss me.”
“SO,” ISOBEL’S DAD SAID AS he reached for the saltshaker. “First day back. How was it?”
Isobel stopped pushing her green beans around on her plate long enough to give her father a cautious glance.
“Okay,” she lied.
Resuming construction on the tepee-shaped pile of beans, she looked at Danny, who sat next to her, preoccupied with his DS, and then at the empty chair across from him, glad that Monday was her mother’s Pilates night.
After dropping Isobel off at home, Gwen had initially invited herself to stay for dinner but then opted out as soon as she discovered that Isobel’s mom wouldn’t be there to act as a buffer between her and Isobel’s dad.
For once, though, Isobel was grateful to be free of Gwen’s company. Aside from wanting to escape the endless barrage of questions she didn’t have answers for, she would need solitude in order to conduct that night’s after-dinner plan of action.
“Glad to hear it,” she heard her dad say as he shook salt onto his mashed potatoes, not bothering to look up. Isobel’s gaze remained downcast as well while she stabbed at the slice of roast beef on her plate.
So far, her father hadn’t brought up hearing from Coach. If she had called, Isobel couldn’t fathom why it wouldn’t have been the first thing out of his mouth as soon as he walked through the door. Since he had yet to mention anything about it, Isobel had to believe that he didn’t know what she’d done in practice and that she was still in the clear regarding Baltimore, at least for the time being. She had to trust that, because right now, there were more immediate things that needed her attention, like her dresser mirror.
Isobel swept the sliver of beef around and around in its pool of thin gravy. If she could just bring herself to take another bite, if she could just down enough food to clear half her plate, then there was a slim chance that she might be able to excuse herself. Then she could go to her room, close the door, and face the mirror without having to worry about being interrupted.
She’d once conducted a similar experiment, in the bathroom at school. There, in desperation, she’d confronted one of the mirrors in an attempt to summon Reynolds, calling out to him by name.
It hadn’t worked.
Yet later that day, when she’d again encountered the mysterious masked figure, she recalled very clearly how he’d chastised her. I am not a dog to be called, he’d said.
In other words, he’d heard her.
“Isobel, did you hear me?”
“Huh?” She looked up. Bringing her fork to her lips, she forced herself to take another bite. Roast beef squished against her tongue like a tough sponge.
“I said, how was practice?”
Isobel coughed. She lifted her glass of lemonade to her lips and, taking a sip, managed to force the food down. She nodded in response while taking another gulp of her drink. “Good,” she said, her voice raspy.
“Really,” he muttered. “That’s not what Coach said.”
Isobel froze. Slowly she lowered her glass.
