The Looking Glass by Janet McNally

Author:Janet McNally
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

Track 6:

I Know I’m Not Wrong

THE MOON HAS RISEN OVER Rose’s house, a round white pearl in the near-black sky. I’m still sitting out here on a bench with the moonflowers, several of them splayed open against their heart-shaped leaves. The air is full of cricket-song.

I hear flip-flop footsteps behind me that I know are Rose’s, but I don’t turn around. She stands next to me for a moment. I can hear her breathing, and my own heart in my ears.

“Sylvie.” She lays her fingertips lightly on my shoulder. “What are you really doing here?”

“I already told you.”

“I know what you told me.” Rose sighs. “Listen—”

Rose is one of the most capable people I’ve ever met. She’s always known what she wants to do: become an urban planner so she can help make cities a better place to live, and help make life easier for the people with the least power and money. She literally wants to keep people safe. So it’s no surprise: here comes a lecture about leaving this Julia thing alone, or why I shouldn’t have run out on Fancy Dance Camp in the first place. But honestly, I don’t want to hear it.

“Rose,” I say. “Please. Just let me sit here.” I look up at her. “Or sit here with me.”

I expect her to say no, or to sigh theatrically, but she doesn’t. She just sits down next to me, so close our shoulders are touching.

“Okay,” she says.

Rose was in New York visiting us the day Julia tore her hip flexor, what we call “the accident.” She’d had surgery on her knee before, of course, but that was a wear-and-tear injury, not one terrible day.

Rose wasn’t at the studio, though. I was, in technique class, sweaty and dirty from floor stretches. Julia’s friend Henry appeared in the doorway, his mouth drawn into a line. Miss Charlotte stopped the class, and we all stood there at the bar, staring at Henry. He said my name.

“Sylvie,” he said. “Come with me.”

His voice was like an ice cube pressed against my temple. I blinked, and the studio lights turned into flashbulbs, flashing dizzyingly.

When I got to the doorway, Henry took my hand. That’s how I knew it was bad. When we got closer to Julia I could hear her crying, her voice a thin wail. We were nearly running by then, Henry and I, and I was crying too, but silently. I couldn’t make myself peek at Henry to see how his face looked. What I’d seen in the studio was enough.

When we burst through the doorway I stopped. Miss Diana was kneeling next to Julia stroking her hair. Her face was completely drained of color.

“We called an ambulance,” she said, and I walked toward them without even trying to move my legs. It just happened, like they were magnetic north and I was a compass needle. Miss Diana had answered a question I didn’t know I was asking. I saw it in her eyes: the certainty. She knew Julia wouldn’t dance again.

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