Full Content:

LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE.

DOES SHE SATISFY YOU?

IS SHE THE BEST VERSION YOU COULD POSSIBLY BE?

ATTEND GLOW & GROW’S FAMOUS 2-WEEK INTENSIVE CAMP.

GLOW UP YOUR ATTITUDE AND GROW UP YOUR CONFIDENCE.

REGISTER NOW: ONLY $2000 FOR A LIMITED TIME!

I don’t mean to judge, but I’m judging.

It’s sad, seeing these twelve girls gathered together in the middle of nowhere because they feel like they’re not enough but this could fix that. We’re at a sleepaway camp surrounded by spindly green pines so long they disappear into the sky. All you can hear are hooting owls and chirping crickets. How could anyone sign up for this?

That doesn’t include me. I’m writing an undercover exposé on Glow & Grow and its “self-growth” programs. It’s disgusting, the way they exploit people’s insecurities. Gabi, our appointed Glow & Grow coach with a bright salesgirl voice and pearly smile plastered onto her face, seems nice enough, and I hate that she’s supporting something like this.

Mandy, Erin, Esmerelda, and I head over to the bathroom to get ready for our first night. As I turn on the faucet to brush my teeth, the yellow fluorescent lights flicker for a moment. Then they’re back, humming like nothing happened.

“Huh,” Erin remarks from beside me. “I wonder, Clarisse, how do they even get power way out–”

She stops midsentence. I turn to her. She’s frozen, green eyes bulging out, pinned on her reflection.

I follow her gaze. In the mirror, staring back at Erin, is… Erin. Only, I realize as I look closer, it’s not. I’m not sure how I can tell – they look the same. But the Erin next to me stands with more of a slouch, like she’s trying to hide from the world. Erin in the mirror has her head lifted.

Erin shrieks. I try my best to stay calm and make sense of it all. Over in the showers, I hear Mandy and Esmerelda scrambling. This must be a trick by Glow & Grow. They’re messing with us, using some sort of crazy technology to show us “better” versions of ourselves.

My sink is still running, so I switch it off. The rest of the girls burst inside and the lights flicker yet again, an ominous sign.

“What’s going on?”

Erin opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. The mirror has reverted back to normal.

What the hell?

“My reflection, it was…” Erin trails off, uncertain.

I start to tell them my hypothesis when another thought strikes me. I walk to the leftmost sink, the one I was using, and turn the cold water knob.

They all watch me, confused. I look straight at my reflection, as the lights flicker once again. I know I’m right.

Sure enough, someone who’s not quite me smiles back playfully. I feel a surge of understanding toward her: she’s a go-getter like me, but she’s relaxed rather than intense. She’s assertive rather than domineering. She knows what she wants and knows she’ll get it.

A silence falls over us. We’re too entranced to speak.

“We need to tell Gabi,” Daniela says just as the door slams open.

“You girls should be in bed, it’s late!” Gabi pauses at our shocked faces. “What?”

“The mirror,” Justine musters. “Look in the mirror. Look at your reflection!”

“I don’t see anything.”

“It’s some sort of trick by you guys, right?” I say, perhaps a bit too accusingly.

She narrows her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Girls, I know you’re excited, but you’ll need rest if you want to get the most out of this. Understood?”

We nod numbly, no one bothering to protest. Either she’s a really good actor, or she actually doesn’t notice.

“Don’t you get it?” Erin says as we shuffle back to the bunks. “The mirror shows us the perfect version of ourselves, the ones we’re trying to be. Gabi doesn’t see anything because she’s already her perfect self.”

“Yeah right,” Esmerelda fires back. “Gabi’s clearly lying.” She nods in my direction. “I bet Clarisse is right.”

“Or maybe we’re all hallucinating,” Lacie sighs.

I don’t sleep well. Every time I close my eyes I see her and her winning smile and I hate how much I love her.

A ringing bell startles me awake. I guess I must have fallen asleep eventually.

“Morning, all!” Gabi chirps when we meet her at the bonfire pit. She dons a fuschia raincoat but the same happy demeanor as yesterday. “Did you have a good night?”

We mumble in response, but she takes it as a yes. “Awesome! Now, I want to do a little team-bonding warm-up.” We take a seat as she explains. “We all have regrets. There’s no time machine that can take you back, but you can’t ignore those past mistakes – they’re what make you you. So we’ll all share our biggest regret, and what we’ve learned since.”

No one volunteers to go first. For some reason, her eyes land on me. “Clarisse, why don’t you start?”

I have many regrets, too many to count. But I tend to avoid dwelling on them because I know if I start, I won’t be able to stop.

“I’m a journalist,” I say slowly. “Once, I was about to crack this story…” There was a corrupt politician, a tale as old as time. I had figured him out: sources exposing him, all the right documents. Then my editor-in-chief red-lit the piece, saying releasing this would be a threat to my safety. I knew the truth. Mayor Wellick had spent quite some money bribing publications. I wasn’t aware of which ones until then.

“...I couldn’t bring myself to do what was right.”

I willingly let an injustice slide. It said something about me as a journalist, as a person. I had spent over half my life believing this was something I was good at – something no one could ever take away. I didn’t know what to do if it turned out I just wasn’t cut out for this.

I didn’t mean to share all that with twelve practical strangers, but I guess it felt nice. Gabi looks very pleased.

Our “character-building activity of the day” is taking turns with an old-school camera, photographing the beauty we see in each other. The woods are cold and muddy from an early morning storm, but it’s actually pretty fun. The second Gabi bids us good night, we rush to the bathroom.

I almost sigh in relief when I see her staring back at me. I’ve kind of missed her, in a sick way. I don’t consider myself a jealous person, but I’ve never wanted to be in someone else’s skin so badly. Well, she is me.

Lacie has formed a new theory. “Everyone knows mirrors are haunted. Have you noticed that your reflection is always watching you, even when you look away?”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Esmerelda snaps. “Clarisse and I already said, it’s a set-up. And Gabi’s been told to act like she doesn’t notice it.”

“So you don’t think we’re real?”

It’s Esmerelda’s voice. Esmerelda’s lips are shut. Basic logic tells me… look at the mirror.

My eyes recognize it before my brain does. The person in the mirror is talking to us.

I scream.

“Oh, calm down already!” I snap. No, I didn’t say that. It sounds like I said that. It’s definitely something I would say. A fresh wave of nausea hits me as I meet my mirror’s eyes. Now her proud smile seems taunting, almost sinister.

“Please. Who are you all?” Mandy is staring wide-eyed at her reflection.

“We are you.” Mirror Mandy gives herself a reassuring smile. She’s as kind as our Mandy, but more of a leader. “But not quite. We’re from an alternate universe. Same person fundamentally, but we made different decisions in our lifetime.”

I make a mental note to research Glow & Grow’s connections to technology companies once I’m back in the city.

Mirror Clarisse nods at me. “You still don’t believe this, do you?” I don’t respond. “I know things only the two of us know. Wellick, for example?”

My blood runs still. No. It can’t be. They must’ve hijacked my brain. I can come up with a million explanations, but in a way, it feels good to believe.

“Wait.” Esmerelda frowns. “If you’re in another universe, why are you all in this same bathroom too?”

“Our world is more advanced than yours,” Mirror Justine replies. “Long ago, scientists realized mirrors allowed parallel universe counterparts to communicate. Our government has been watching your world, and learned you would all gather here. So, they recruited us to help.”

“Why the faucet?” I ask, gesturing to the water continuing to trickle. “Why does that trigger the connection?”

Mirror Clarisse laughs. “How the hell would we know?”

I can’t help but crack a smile too. I’ve never felt more at peace with myself.

“Everyone, come gather now! I have an important announcement to make.”

I open my eyes and realize it’s morning. The rest of the night was a blur. We spent hours chatting with our alternate selves, returning to our cabin before the sun rose so Gabi wouldn’t notice anything. I still don’t trust her, even if Glow & Grow supposedly isn’t involved.

I stumble outside and look for Mandy so I can talk to her, but she’s nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Mandy?” I ask.

Gabi’s face tightens. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you all about.”

I tense.

“Mandy had a family emergency and had to withdraw from the program. Let’s all respect her decision and wish her the best.”

Esmeralda and I lock eyes. We’re thinking the same thing.

Today’s activity is finding something from nature that we think matches the soul of the other campers and gifting it to them. Esmerelda hands me a pretty rose-colored stone.

“Last night spooked her too much, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” I mutter back. From what I remember, Mandy seemed pretty happy. Fascinated, like the rest of us. I have no idea what’s happened to her, but I know for a fact Gabi’s lying.

Like a silent agreement, nobody touches the left sink tonight. Mandy’s absence hangs in the air, but we don’t talk about it. I notice something under my pillow as I head to bed: a page frantically torn from a book, with words scribbled hastily in Sharpie. It’s Mandy’s handwriting.

Clarisse, you’re the only person here who I trust to not say anything. Whatever you do, DON’T go back to the mirror. I went and I barely escaped. Listen to me and leave this place NOW. –Mandy.

I can barely process the words. When did she write this? Why did she write this? Objectively, it seems Mandy’s gone insane, but I have more faith in her than that.

What could be so bad over there?

I feel the cool midnight air on my skin as I make my way toward the bathroom. Above, a million little stars twinkle. I wonder what would happen if they all fell down.

Here’s my chance. I stare at the faucet handle. Just one turn and I can find out the truth. There’s more to this than I could have ever imagined.

I reach into my pocket and take out Mandy’s note, reading it over to myself one more time. She was warning me not to do exactly what I’m about to do. But I have to go, doesn’t Mandy understand that? I have to investigate. I have to prove that I’m just as good as her.

I hold out my hand, letting the cold water wash over me.

“What did you guys do to Mandy?” I demand the second I see my reflection switch.

Her smile flickers. “What?”

“She crossed over, right? She went to your universe.”

“What are you talking about, Clarisse?”

“It’s a lie. Everything you told us is a lie.”

“You’re not making any sense–”

”Are you really even our parallel selves? Or are you monsters? Demons?” Now I’m shouting.

“Listen to yourself. You’re insane! This conversation is over.” She reaches toward the sink. I lunge forward, trying to stop her, and hit the glass instead. The lights flicker once, twice, then go out completely.

A beat passes. They’re back on, the water is off, and she’s gone from the mirror.. I let out a shaky breath and shuffle out the door, freezing when I see what’s outside. Instead of the measly firepit and wood cabin, there are cars and tents.

A middle-aged man with a white beard jogs toward me. “Again, so sorry for waking you at this hour, miss. But our monitors were going off, saying your Other was entering the bathroom.”

“M-my Other?”

He doesn’t seem to hear me. “I hope you’re not angry about this. We just want to maximize all our chances of interaction with the Other World.”

I push past him and break into a run, heading straight for a car. Somehow, I have the right keys and the engine starts. I don’t think twice. I floor the accelerator and steer off into the dark woods.

I instinctively know which way to go, even though I’ve never driven here before. I’m out of the forest and in my apartment before I know it.

It looks and feels the same – the noisy upstairs neighbors, the lavender humidifier, the pictures on the walls. Except one: a faded photograph of me (or her, I don’t really know the difference anymore) posing proudly on a podium with a tall man in a bright blue tux. The guy who was running against Mayor Wellick. He certainly would have won if someone exposed his opponent’s fraud.

I don’t understand. What happened to Mandy when she entered the mirror? Because right now, the last thing I want to do is leave.

I collapse onto the soft memory foam of my bed. When I open my eyes, bright sunlight streams in through the blinds.

My alarm clock tells me it’s seven in the morning, Monday. Work.

I spring up. Strangely, I seem to know where to find everything, like this really is my home. In less than ten minutes, I’m riding the elevator down with an elderly woman I’ve never seen before.

“I’m so glad you’re back, Clarisse sweetie!” She pulls me into a tight hug, her jasmine perfume enveloping me. “You don’t know how much I missed you!”

“I’ve missed you more, Iris. How’s your grandson doing?”

I don’t realize what happened until I’m in my car. I spoke with a woman I don’t know about things I don’t know. And yet, I’ve never had a more natural conversation.

It’s the same at work: when I sit at my desk, I know exactly what I’m writing about and what I need to do. As if all of Mirror Clarisse’s memories are flooding my brain.

Something within me is shifting. I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I know I like it. Interviews are easier. Collaborating with my editors is fun. I laugh louder than ever when I’m with my friends. I can’t remember the last time I felt something negative.

Every day is a good day, though I no longer dream when I sleep except for a few snapshots of a far, distant life. Something’s changing not just the way I act, but the way I think too. Because I’m not thinking at all. That’s it: I can’t hear my thoughts.

When I make a mistake, I don’t second-guess my abilities because I don’t reflect on anything. When I take too long on something, I immediately get back to work instead of wallowing because I simply can’t care.

Every day is a good day, and it’s not enough. I’m tired.

On Saturday, I go to yoga. The instructor, smiling bright like a lotus flower, hands clasped before her in prayer pose, is Gabi.

“Good morning, Clarisse. How are you?”

I freeze.

It’s not my Gabi, I remind myself. She doesn’t know who I really am. She can’t. I’ve been here almost a week now and no one has suspected anything.

Something deep inside me is fighting its way to the surface, triggered by her appearance. I push it down and follow Gabi’s movements.

Youdon’tbelonghereYoudon’tbelonghereYoudon’tbelonghere.

The bright white studio lights flicker.

Youcan’thidemeforeverYoucan’thidemeforeverYoucan’thidemeforever.

My classmates begin to vanish, one by one.

Perfect job, perfect social life, perfect happiness. But are you really happy? Are you feeling anything at all?

It’s just me and Gabi now.

“I’m happy here,” I say to myself. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” My heart is nearly jumping out of my chest. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Gabi’s gone too.

In the mirror, my reflection flashes before me. I have everything I want here. Everything except myself. And I really miss myself.

The part of me that’s been buried ever since I switched into this world finally snaps free. She’s far more awful than she is perfect, and sometimes I really hate being her. But now I know I would rather color outside the lines than have no color at all.

I don’t want to be you anymore.

In a blink, my background changes. I stand before a familiar sink, under familiar yellow lights. I feel truly awake for the first time in days. Something about this place is so still and so calm. It’s beautiful.

Gabi waits for me outside.

“You were there,” I breathe. “In the other place. Did you recognize me? It wasn’t actually real, right? Just some simulation? Is that Glow & Grow’s whole strategy?”

She hums to herself. “For an investigative journalist, Clarisse, you should have listened more closely during our team-bonding warm-ups.”

I shake my head. “I don’t get it.” It’s almost comical, how I just can’t understand. And honestly? That’s okay.

Her eyes twinkle. For the first time, her plastic smile seems genuine. “Write us a good review, won’t you?”

2025 NY Times Teen Tiny Memoirs Runners-up

Full content:

My mother once told me dogs eat grass before it rains. It was a lesson passed down in the countryside of Rugao.

At age six, I accepted it as fact. When you’re that young, everything must be true.

At age thirteen, my mind swam with curiosity. A quick Google search told me no, dogs ate grass to soothe an upset stomach. I wished I could soothe the pebble of disappointment in my stomach.

Yesterday, I watched our neighbor’s Pomeranian rip apart our lawn with his tiny teeth. I felt sorry for him.

This morning, the roses in our garden glistened.

Full content:

Part 1

Rhonda Reverse had been right after all.

As much as Geraldine had talked about her being some “bogus fortune-teller,” and however much I had wanted to believe that, Rhonda had been right.

I kept telling myself that it’s just a coincidence. I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse, but believing in something at least gave me something to do. Some sort of anchor to the world.

Nothing seemed to calm my nerves. I kept having this terrible feeling in my gut, that I jinxed it, that my decision to get our fortune read was directly linked to a terrible fate.

I lay still in my bed, thinking about where my friend was lying, miles and miles away. I looked at my phone, wishing I could just pick it up and text her like before. Like it hadn’t happened. But it did happen. She’d never pick up my call or answer my text again. The unthinkable occurred. And now I’d never get my friend back.

Part 2

I rolled over in my bed. I tried but I still couldn’t sleep after what happened. I remembered the last words Geraldine ever said to me: “You’re not the girl I used to know.” Those words had haunted me for what felt like eternity. I just stood there, blinking back my tears, a fire burning in my heart, ready to snap and let loose at any moment, but I made myself hold it in. So the only thing I let out was a tiny little choked sound.

I’d had a lot of time to think about it, and if I could go back now, I would have said something. I wouldn’t have wallowed in my fury and let her storm off like that. That was the worst decision of my life. At that exact moment, I could have prevented that from being the end of our decades-long friendship. We’d been friends for twenty years, since we were in the same kindergarten class.

It was more than the end of a friendship, I thought to myself. Not saying anything, being so angry and desperate to prove myself “right,” I had ended something more: a life.

Part 3

I got up and tried to read a book, figuring that if I couldn’t sleep, at least maybe I could chip away at that book I’d been telling myself I would read for over a month now. But the second I got up, I felt tired again, and so I laid back down. My eyes drifted closed and suddenly all I could see was Rhonda Reverse. I still remembered what Rhonda Reverse looked like. She seemed dressed for Halloween, wearing black robes with stars and moons on it, and gothic makeup. She was old, older than Millie, older than my great-grandfather who, believe it or not, was still kicking at age one hundred and two!

She was seated at a little stand, with a cartoon witch tablecloth draped over it, making her very hard to take seriously. I had to stifle a laugh when I saw her, and she looked up at me and Geraldine, her lips curving a little, settling into a small, satisfied smile. I bet she was thinking about tourists, and how easy they were to fool. But as we passed by, ready to dismiss her with a wave of a hand, she called out: “Something bad will happen.”

I froze midstep, wondering who she was talking to. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw no one at her stand. There were other people milling about, but I had this feeling, this instinct that she was talking to us.

I turned to face her, and that was my mistake.

She grinned when she saw my face and how taken-aback I was. She laughed and reached out a hand, with sharp black fingernails and voodoo-like charm bracelets clanging together like the ringing of a bell. “My name’s Rhonda Reverse. You could say I’m the local psychic ‘round here.” She put her head back, letting out a high-pitched laugh that somewhat resembled a hyena’s mating call.

I didn’t shake her hand, just stared at her with wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights.

Geraldine tugged at my arm. “Let’s go. I want to check out the bookstore before it closes.”

Rhonda looked up at Geraldine, her eyes curious, scrutinizing Geraldine’s face. She had a playful, almost sinister twinkle in her eyes, and she nodded at my friend. “You,” she rasped. “Don’t dismiss me so quickly, now. You might want to listen up, as this involves you. But if you don’t care, I guess you don’t have to know.” She shrugged and turned to me again, her unnaturally bright green eyes unsettling me (how did she get them that shade? Contacts? Or was she actually born like that?) “You, dearie, will lose a friend.”

Geraldine scoffed, not buying the old woman’s cryptic messages. “Come on.” She kept tugging at my arm.

I didn’t move, me being the worrywart I am. I turned to the woman. “What do you mean?” I demanded, feeling that pounding in my chest, blood rushing to my ears and making the only thing I could hear my heart, the rest of the world fading around me.

The woman smiled, revealing her missing teeth. She pointed to a jar of dollar bills. It was nearly empty, only two twenties inside.

“Twenty dollars to tell yer fortunes, sweetie pies.”

Geraldine started walking away, but I pulled her back and frantically dug in my wallet for some money. I pulled out a crisp bill and threw it in the jar.

Geraldine narrowed her eyes at me, mouthing, “Fine. I’m not the one who’s lost twenty dollars.”

Rhonda shook her head. “No, no, dearie. Twenty dollars just fer you.” She pointed a sharp fingernail at Geraldine. “But the dark cloud I see in yer future involves her.”

Geraldine put her hands up, shrugging. “I’m not paying a cent to this phony.”

“Come on, Geraldine.” I sighed, and tossed another twenty in the jar. “I’m paying for you.”

Rhonda seemed amused. After an intense staring contest, Geraldine had sighed and slid down into the stool beside me facing Rhonda.

Part 4

My thoughts now wandered to the town we’d found Rhonda Reverse in. I forgot the actual name of it, but I remember Geraldine and I had to drive forty minutes upstate to get there. It had an uncanny resemblance to Stars Hollow from Gilmore Girls. It was the perfect town to visit in autumn, with many oak trees all set ablaze, red and orange confetti falling from the sky and crunching beneath our feet. There was a gazebo decorated with for Halloween with spiderwebs and skeletons, a diner named Lucy’s, and many peculiar characters roaming the streets, so strange that Rhonda Reverse didn’t stand out among the crowd: Millie, an old lady with seven cats and a penchant for gossiping, Basil, the uptight author of the local weekly food blog, and Birdie, Basil’s ex-wife, who used to be an acrobat for a traveling circus in Nevada but retired to her hometown after an accident involving fire hoops.

We immediately loved the town.

And it was then, right then, after we spoke with Basil, that I first laid my eyes on Rhonda Reverse, and everything changed.

Back to my bedroom. My eyes were not on Rhonda Reverse, but on the painting beside my bed of a little white cat and a teacup, steam coming out of the cup and a tea bag hanging from the side.

Part 5

Just looking at tea bags reminded me of Rhonda. Well, everything reminded me of Rhonda, so maybe it wasn’t the fault of the tea bags.

I remembered that it took a while for Rhonda to tell us it, and the first thing she brought out were old, dried tea leaves. Then, she lit some candles. Then she did a tarot reading and said some obscure words. All that was fine. It went well, actually.

It was when she was reading our palms that she dropped the bomb.

She was counting and studying the money I gave her, like it might be counterfeit, then fixed her eyes on us. “Give me your left hand.”

I obliged immediately, and after some reluctance and groaning and rolling of the eyes, Geraldine followed.

Rhonda flipped our hands so our palms were facing upward, and she studied the lines there.

A bemused expression flickered on her face as she looked at Geraldine’s palm. Geraldine immediately withdrew her hand. “What?” she teased. “I’m gonna die tomorrow or something?”

Rhonda ignored her, engrossed in her vision. “Something will happen. Two weeks from now.”

“She’s gonna die?” I shrieked, standing up before she could read my palm. I didn’t even care about all the money I’d paid. I hoped she was a phony. “Is that what you meant when you said I was gonna lose a friend?”

Rhonda sighed. “Sit back down, darling. I must give you your money’s worth. And I said nothing of the sort. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Well, you implied it!” I yelled back.

“Calm down!” Geraldine hissed. “I’m not gonna die,” she snorted. “You’re so gullible, you know that right?”

“She says you’re gonna die! Two weeks from now! We have to take that seriously, Geraldine!”

Rhonda just sat there, tapping her fingernails on that stupid cartoon witch tablecloth, and I had to say, she resembled that cartoon witch a lot, with her evil laughter and her toothless smile and her enjoyment of my terror.

Geraldine was rolling her eyes. “Seriously? Don’t tell me you actually believe this crap!” She shook her head. “We’re supposed to enjoy our Saturday girls trip, and you’re freaking out and making a whole scene!”

“It’s true,” Rhonda said, nodding at me. “Lots of people are looking at you.”

I rolled my eyes, although my cheeks did turn a little red. “I don’t care about that if my childhood best friend of twenty years is going to die!”

Rhonda reached out and grabbed my hand, studying my palm. “You. I sense yer a bit of a worrier. Don’t let that take over yer life, alright? I never said anything ‘bout death. That was all in yer head. Calm yerself down.” She released my hand and smiled up at me, her eyes gleaming. “But yer gonna lose her, all right.”

Before I could reply, Geraldine dragged me out of there and into my car, and we drove the thirty minutes back to the city in silence.

I blinked, feeling a lump in my throat after coming back from the memory. My stomach felt unsettled. I put down the cup and tried to go to sleep, but I could not get Rhonda Reverse out of my head.

Part 6

It took me a while to realize where I was. I was in my bed, sunlight streaming in through the windows. I lay there for a few minutes, confused. My cheeks were wet with tears. I’d been crying in my sleep. I must have had a nightmare. The last thing I remembered before I jolted awake was being in the bathroom, getting a phone call, boating with Geraldine… The order was a bit off, but that was the gist. Boating with Geraldine… Geraldine… Tragedy.

I sat up, pressing my hand to my temple, trying to separate the real world from my dream world. No, I had not fallen asleep by the toilet last night. I was in my bed. No, it wasn’t a Saturday out with Geraldine: it was Friday, five in the morning. My shift didn’t start until eleven, so I had plenty of time to get more rest. Friday. Tomorrow I would go out with Geraldine. And no, Geraldine wasn’t dead like she’d been in the dream. Yet. I ignored that last part that my brain unconsciously added.

I opened my blinds and chugged some water, I mostly forgot it. It was all a blur. All I could remember was that it was terrible, and I hoped I would never have that nightmare again.

It was as if that dream was a premonition, a warning to myself that something bad was going to happen.

Well, of course something bad was going to happen. Rhonda Reverse’s words kept echoing in my mind, echoing and echoing and echoing and echoing.

I realized Rhonda never said, explicitly, that Geraldine was going to die. For a second, I felt hopeful.

I wouldn’t feel that kind of hope again for months.

I got to my feet and paced my bedroom, back and forth, picking at my nails anxiously. The world spun around me and I felt a faint buzzing in the back of my head, and it got louder and louder until it became a bulldozer.

I was spiraling. I was panicking. I made myself take a few deep breaths and make myself some tea. I sat back down on my bed and sipped it.

Tomorrow, I repeated to myself. Tomorrow was Saturday. The dream was just a dream. The dream was just a dream…

Part 7

I had felt like I was in a nightmare. Like I had been bound to wake up at any second.

But I had not woken up in time.

I was in my house. Saturday night after a long day of boating with Geraldine. I’d just said bye to her after she dropped me off at my apartment and headed off to hers. We weren’t exactly on the best terms - she was mad at me for freaking out over Rhonda’s words. I was sitting in my bed, scrolling on my phone, when I got a phone call from an unknown number. Usually, I never picked up unknown numbers, but this time, I did.

I spent the rest of that night on the bathroom floor, alternating between fits of screaming and choking on my own tears.

The words of Geraldine’s mom kept bouncing around my head as I sobbed and hit the wall, over and over and over again.

“I’m so sorry,” and, “I know she was your best friend,” and “It was a hit-and-run. The doctors confirmed it. She’s dead.”

I wished I could have said something to cheer up Geraldine’s mother, but I was too consumed in my own grief to say anything beyond a simple “I’m sorry for your loss.” I should’ve done something. I shouldn’t have just let Geraldine go like that, with both of us so broken. I lost a friend, in both possible ways.

I squeezed my eyes shut and continued to sob, as the world around me faded away. When I opened my eyes again, it was morning.

Part 8

I didn’t remember everything Rhonda Reverse said all that well. The only thing that mattered to me was what she had said about Geraldine’s misfortune and how I would lose a friend. But something she said, right when we were leaving, stood out to me.

As Geraldine dragged me away toward my car, Rhonda had gotten to her feet and lunged toward me. She spoke in a hurried whisper, her unnecessarily strong perfume making my nose twitch: “Don’t be so worried, my dear. Yer gonna find that looking at things from a different angle, or maybe, a different order, changes everything.” She winked as she pulled away, and shouted out: “Remember my name!”

It was such a bizarre comment, and it had been ingrained in my head ever since. What in the world did she mean by that? I now knew exactly what she meant when she said I’d lose a friend, but that last comment still puzzled me.

First of all: what did she mean by looking at things from a different angle or a different order? Nothing changed the fact that I lost a friend, and it happened exactly two weeks after my meeting with her.

And second of all, and perhaps strangest of all: what was so important about her name? “Rhonda Reverse,” I repeated to myself, over and over and over again. Rhonda Reverse. Rhonda Reverse. Rhonda Reverse. Rhonda Reverse in reverse: Reverse Rhonda? Rhonda in reverse was Adonhr, which I didn’t think meant anything in particular.

Rhonda Reverse.

I’d remember that name until I took my last breath.

Maybe you’ll figure out the meaning of her name, and if you do, don’t leave me here so sad. Hurry up and tell me what she meant. I’ll be waiting.

Please.

Now read the story in reverse order, from Part 8 to Part 1, and you might finally understand what Rhonda Reverse meant when she said that “looking at things from a different angle, or maybe, a different order, changes everything.”

Full content:

“Every night, when you close your eyes and drift off to the Dream World, he is there. You don’t see him, nor do you hear him or feel him, but he is there. He lurks behind you as you traverse the neverending fields of your mind, and then, in the morning, when your alarm clock rings and you regain consciousness into the Real World, he is gone, because unlike humans, he only exists in the Dream World. He remains in the dimensions of unconsciousness.

“He does not have a body. He does not have a face. He does not have a soul. He is not anyone or anything, he simply is.

“And here at Dream HQ we call him Bob! Everyone give it up for our Dream Catcher of the Month!”

A woman standing to the right of the stage reached back and took out a glass jar. She carefully unscrewed the lid and in a few moments, a dark substance fogged up the air at the front of the auditorium.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. “You rock, Bob!” a woman standing at the very back of the packed room called out.

“Thank you for helping our Nightmare Disorder research department!” a man in glasses near the front agreed. He didn’t have to strain his voice as much for Bob to hear. “You’re helping out the people in the Real World so much.”

Bob seemed to bend and separate into a smiley face.

Before we go on, let me give you a bit more context. You must be confused.

For the longest time, the Real World and the Dream World were separated. The only path between worlds was when you drifted asleep. Only then was your mind free to ascend to the other dimension. But in 1964, legendary American neuroscientist Ron Marshall discovered a way to cross between the two worlds without falling asleep. With a giant team and lots of government funding, Marshall and fellow researchers explored the Dream World. It was a strange place. Your mind had to be unconscious when in the Dream World, in order to see the things you saw. To the conscious mind, it was just empty, unfilled space.

But the most interesting thing Marshall and his team discovered were the creatures that resided in the Dream World. They didn’t look anything like the organisms in the Real World. They were more like gases, and indeed, no one would have thought these black mists to be a form of life if they hadn’t moved and communicated with them.

Marshall learned that these creatures were essential to dreams. With the help of a substance he nicknamed Dream Essence, they took the elements of the dreamer’s mind to create the dreamscape. They then fed on the dreams they created. Once consumed, these dreams would never again occur in anyone’s mind. The dreamscape would be lost, forever. He called them “Dream Catchers” because of that. Basically, Dream Catchers converted thoughts and feelings into food, and the asleep mind experiencing it was just a side effect. It was kind of like photosynthesis, he’d explained to the other scientific minds at the time. Like how plants took in water and carbon dioxide, then used sunlight to produce glucose to feed itself. The oxygen was just a byproduct.

Marshall’s young daughter at the time was suffering from night terrors, and so he built Dream HQ, the first company to have its headquarters located in the Dream World, not the Real World. He had one goal in mind: eradicate nightmares.

The presenter on the dais cleared his throat, and the audience quieted down, the attention back to him. “Bob is just one of our many Dream Catchers. We award this prestigious title of Dream Catcher of the Month to the most hardworking Dream Catcher: the one who has caught the most traumatic dreams and nightmares of our people down in the Real World. And a reminder - this work is perfectly humane. The partnership between humans and Dream Catchers has given this supernatural species a steady food supply, and brought their population to thriving numbers. Besides, Dream Catchers eat what they like, and they usually prefer nightmares. They have more substance and more detail.”

He turned to the screen behind, clicking a button on a remote in his hand. The screen lit up and went into focus, revealing a white slide, completely blank except for “BOB” written in Verdana 84-point font, capitalized just like that. “Bob has traveled over the seven continents, yes, even to the penguins in Antarctica, to catch ten thousand of the worst dreams of humanity and forever exterminate them from the mind of any being in the Real World. Bob here is extraordinary. His numbers are triple that of the previous record for nightmares caught in a month. Past catches include the tornado from the Strawberry Shortcake Wizard of Oz episode, giant anteaters terrorizing the neighborhood, and your hamster growing up to be a chinchilla.” The crowd nodded in sympathy for whoever had dreamed up that last one. It was unpleasant to even think about, really. “Now let’s look at some of Bob’s catches, shall we?”

He looked down at the remote in his hand, clicking another button. The slide on the screen changed. The crowd blinked, staring at the snapshot taken of the “nightmare” Bob had caught.

It was a sunflower field, with the yellow-petaled flowers stretching in a seemingly endless expanse. Golden sunlight shone down on the plants as two little girls ran around in frilly white dresses.

The presenter didn’t seem to notice. He just read what was on his script, barreling on like nothing was wrong. “Running through a sunflower field with your nieces you haven’t seen in three years.”

He paused and did a double take, turning to stare up at the screen. He let out a nervous chuckle, as a murmur rose up from the crowd. Confusion. Skepticism. He coughed into his fist. “This might be odd, since, normally, the dreams are little more… er… traumatic. But we don’t know what this specific dream meant to the dreamer,” he added, saving himself. “What seems perfectly innocuous to us could have had terrifying implications to them.”

The audience nodded in agreement, and he exhaled, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He glanced over at Bob, who was beaming with pride, and even shifted to form a heart. This was strange, but at worst it was just a minor mistake. Even the most hardworking and most able of Dream Catchers had off days sometimes.

He clicked onto the next button. At first glance the image on the screen was dark and the presenter felt a huge weight lift off of his shoulders. This was what it was supposed to be like, finally. This was how all the previous Dream Catcher of the Month award ceremonies had gone. Then he glanced down at this script, then back up at the image, and that was when he really noticed what was going on the image.

“Fostering an adorable black kitten named Anaconda,” he said between gritted teeth, hating every word that exited his mouth.

The crowd fell silent. The silence across the room was suffocating and the presenter forced a nervous chuckle, just to break it. He hit the remote and looked around for some help, any help. “Something must have gone wrong in the processing machine, when it was sorting the dreams Bob caught. It displayed the wrong images and the wrong summaries. It must have. I mean, I can’t think of any other explanation.” He tripped over his words, turning redder and redder by the second.

Bob, meanwhile, showed no signs of concern.

His supervisor in the crowd, in that sleek black suit and a crisp blue-striped tie, standing by the door at the back of the room, gave him a stern look and signaled for him to keep going with the presentation.

The presenter was pretty sure that continuing on with the presentation would just make things worse, but if his supervisor was telling him to do that, then really, he had no choice.

“Don’t worry,” he assured the crowd, “this is either a machine failure or someone’s idea of a practical joke.” He started clicking through the presentation with increasing speed, but it kept getting worse and worse (or better and better? He wasn’t sure which). Every mosquito disappearing from the face of Earth. A honeymoon at a hotel that was, quite literally, on the moon. Going on a backpacking trip in Europe with your grandfather except he was the same age as you. Eventually he gave up on reading out the summaries. He just let the images speak for themselves.

The presenter looked over at Bob. He didn’t seem agitated or confused. Could he… no. No. “It can’t be,” he breathed. “There’s no way…”

He looked back to his supervisor, who was clenching his jaw. His fists were balled and he looked like a balloon about to explode. Oh, no. He was going to lose his job now, wasn’t he? What was wrong with Bob? Why had no one noticed his abnormal catches before now?

He knew why. They operated under the assumption that every Dream Catcher only liked the bad dreams, the gruesome ones, the devastating ones. The nightmares. That’s what Ron Marshall’s research had supported. But that wasn’t true at all, and Bob was living proof.

His supervisor was making his way through the crowd now, definitely to shut down the failed presentation. His face was red and he huffed with every step. The presenter’s breathing was heavy as he watched Bob, so innocent, so oblivious. He had no idea what he had done. What Dream HQ had done.

He could already hear it. “Look at these dreams!” his supervisor would yell into his ear after pulling him backstage. “Animals! Family! Love! Gorgeous views of the world - lost. All lost!”

But the presenter was a changed man. As he watched the other researchers rush Bob back into the jar, about to screw the lid on and retire him to the shelves in the storage unit, to remain there for an eternity, trapped and starved and sedated, he did something unimaginable.

He couldn’t take this anymore. He couldn’t watch them enslave a living, breathing creature, no different than any of them in the room. He had rationalized it in the past, telling himself that the Dream Catchers were monsters who enjoyed human suffering. Who feasted on it. Besides, it was a mutualistic relationship. The Dream Catchers were fed, and the humans could have more peace in their sleep. But it was a slippery slope, and Bob changed everything. It shook everything he thought he knew, everything he’d learned from a young age, first enrolling in the Dream HQ Academy. Because Bob was just like him, and his supervisor, and any other person in this room. He liked the same things as a human being. He took pleasure in the same things as a human being. He knew what love was. He knew what happiness was. So how come he should suffer for that?

The presenter didn’t know what to believe now. All he knew was that this wasn’t right.

He was just one man. He couldn’t save the entire Dream Catcher species. Dream HQ would get rid of him before that: a disappearance under mysterious circumstances and a fat sum of money paid to his wife and kids, so no questions would ever really be asked.

But he could still save someone.

Looking between his red-faced supervisor and the researcher handling Bob, he took his chances, lunging to the side and snatching Bob’s jar away from his coworker before she could take him to the basement. She looked up, startled.

“Security!” she shrieked.

He wasn’t paying attention anymore. His focus was on the window, just a few meters away. He made it, and forced an old man out of his seat. He grabbed the wooden chair with one hand and slammed it against the glass, which shattered and broke into a million pieces.

The jar with Bob was still in the other hand. Carefully, he unscrewed the lid, so that it was still in place, but Bob could also leave anytime he wanted. He reached out, holding Bob over the edge. From this height, Bob would be going at a speed so high by the time he reached the border between the Worlds, that he’d be able to break straight through from the Dream World to the Real World. That was how Marshall and his band of scientists had done it all those years past, although it was the other way around.

And then Bob would be free.

The presenter took a deep breath, mustering up all the courage he’d ever had, and let go.

In just a few moments, the jar and Bob was nothing more than a tiny dot, far, far below.

No Dream Catcher had ever been to the Real World before - had ever made it to wakefulness. The presenter wasn’t sure what he had unleashed. It might have been a curse. It might have been a blessing. It might end up doing nothing at all.

But he thought he had a faint idea, as security officers grabbed him by the arms and shoved him onto his knees, his chin pressed against the floor. Maybe mixing the Real World and the Dream World wouldn’t be so bad after all. Bob might be in the Real World now, but he still carried Dream Essence with him, so he could still create dreamscapes. The kind of dreamscapes he loved. He would consume those dreams, sure, but free from the shackles of Dream HQ, he’d be creating so many dreamscapes every second that it wouldn’t even matter. No one would ever have the same dreamscape by Bob, and that was perfectly fine. Not everyone had to have the same thoughts.

Maybe, instead of nightmares completely out of their control, people could, for the first time, dream about the things they loved, the things Bob loved, all while awake and in the Real World.

Not nightmares, the presenter thought. Daydreams.

The bus lurches to a stop in front of a red light, and I’m pulled out of my thoughts. I look over at the man sitting next to me. He’s staring mindlessly out the window, his eyes blank and his arms resting on his backpack. He’s here, of course, in the Real World, but he’s not really in reality. I glance at everyone else on the bus: the man with the sunglasses, the boy in the leather jacket, the blonde girl with the braids. I wonder if any of them know why their mind can travel somewhere else during the ride, beyond the cramped city bus, beyond this stiflingly chaotic planet.

I wonder if any of them were there the day we began to daydream.

Full content:

The question renowned physicist Ron Marshall always got about his work was the Bootstrap Paradox, where a person or object being sent back in time created an infinite time loop, with no observable origin of the person or object. Like in Robert Heinlein’s story, “By His Bootstraps.” The main character copied something down from an old notebook, but the old notebook was actually his copy the whole time. So where did the original writing on the notebook come from?

This was something he could never make sense of, and he found himself returning to that theme, over and over again in his scientific papers and talks. Plus, it was Mary’s favorite time travel paradox, back when she was a physics student with him in university.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” seventeen-year-old Susanna repeated, head resting on her hands, trying to make sense of it all. Her younger sister Olivia, fourteen and a rebellious teenager, squirmed in her chair, anxious to get on the phone and chat with her friends. The three of them were sitting at the dinner table. Even six years after Mary died, it felt wrong and empty. Ron had to go on endless rants on time travel and physics to prevent the conversation from drifting away into oblivion.

“Time travel never really does make sense, huh?”

“I think it’s stupid,” Olivia interjected, stabbing her green beans with her fork. “Theories are so useless. Like, why don’t you go build a time machine and test it out, huh?”

Ron shrugged. “Huh, you’re right. Why don’t I?”

There was a little gleam in his eye when he said that, like he knew something they didn’t, and he intended on keeping it that way.

The question Ron Marshall always got about his life was his daughter Susanna. What happened to her that night, when she vanished, disappearing without a trace? Did she run away? Was she kidnapped? Was she murdered?

Ron Marshall loved to theorize, but he couldn’t figure this out. Not just because it hurt, losing another family member, but because he had no idea. He always took safety precautions, to the extremes, with a camera by every door and every window. Any possible entrance to the house was monitored. Not a single person could have left or entered that house.

The police went crazy. They tore down every wall, insisting Susanna must be somewhere in the house. But they couldn’t find her. They checked everywhere, but the only lead they had to something being amiss was Olivia’s testimony; her swear that she heard a loud crash, and the voice of an unfamiliar, thirty-something woman. Ron didn’t hear it, so he must have been asleep when it happened. Eventually, the police dismissed it as a teenage girl hearing things, being paranoid, or doing it for attention.

Just thinking about what could have happened to Susanna made Ron sick to his stomach. So he didn’t dwell on it. He let the police do their job. If it came to it, if no one found an answer, he had a backup plan. But seeing Olivia, all fragile and broken-down like that, he could only imagine what would happen if he failed and the plan went haywire like it most likely would. She had already lost two family members. What if she lost him, too? She’d be an orphan, all alone, with no one to hold on to. So he kept quiet and he kept still, praying that one day, everything would click into place and life would be fine again.

The question Olivia Marshall always wondered was, how in the world do you find a girl who’s been missing for over twenty years? Trick question: that’s impossible. Instead, you find your father’s old time machine and travel back in time to save her.

Sometimes the simplest solution is the best one.

The police never figured it out: who did it, where Susanna was, what happened to her. It remained an unsolved case, buried at the bottom of a cabinet. The media never gave up though, with people all over the country playing detective and trying to solve the mystery themselves. They had terrible ideas: that Ron had a fight with Susanna and killed her. That Olivia did it, jealous of the nonstop attention she was getting.

Ron had never tried that hard to investigate, which Olivia would’ve found a little suspicious, if he hadn’t died of heart complications two months ago, induced by stress and grief. They were one tragic family, weren’t they? Dead mother, missing daughter, dead father. And Olivia, the last of the bloodline, wasn’t much either. Never the favorite daughter, not then, not now. Competing with a dead girl was impossible. She felt like a bunch of broken glass shards, barely held together. It was only a matter of time before she fell apart too. And now, at age thirty-four, all she had was a house filled with secrets to explore.

She didn’t remember much about her conversations with her father back in the day, before everything was strained small talk and reminiscing about Susanna. But she recalled him constantly talking about time travel. Oh, and did she forget to mention? He had a time machine. This she knew for a fact. She’d snuck into his study before, as a dare from her friends, since he never let anyone enter, and she saw something, a mysterious cylinder at the very back, buried behind stacks of papers and cardboard boxes.

She didn’t think much of it at the time. She just thought of it as another one of his weird crafts. But now, twenty years later, she remembered small things clearly, like that twinkle in his eyes when she mentioned a time machine at dinner once, many years ago.

That was his secret, wasn’t it? Then why hadn’t he tried to go back and save Susanna?

Obviously, in the back of her head, she knew why. A time machine was unheard of. There was no precedent to follow. To use that time machine, however desperate you were, could be signing a death sentence. And Ron decided he had more to live for: he still had another daughter, friends, things to explore.

But not Olivia. She was unemployed, getting fired from every job for being too unmotivated, too unreliable, too flakey. She was living off of the will and her story, which garnered a few pennies now and then off her GoFundMe page. She was too tragic, too sad, too depressing for her so-called friends to stick around. So, she spent her days alone and cooped-up in her old room. All because Susanna was gone. Funny, wasn’t it? Olivia never thought she’d miss Susanna when she went off to some Ivy League college, but it turned out they were a little more bonded than she thought. Susanna might’ve been the one presumed dead, but Olivia lost her life too, in a different way.

And now she stood in front of a massive black cylinder, plugged into the wall, dusty but other than that, completely the same as when she last saw it. She swung the door open before she could stop herself, revealing the inside: just a cushioned yellow seat and a bunch of exposed wires that looked like a hazard, connected to buttons on a control panel on the inside of the door.

She’d never had any impulse control, ever. Even when she turned twenty-five, the age when your brain was supposed to fully develop, she still made decisions on a whim. Just like now, with nine years of a fully developed brain. Because this was what she’d wanted for years now. Twenty years, and she wasn’t going to back out now.

The question that ran through Olivia Marshall’s head right then, at that exact moment, as she traveled back in time, twenty years into the past, to the exact night when everything was lost, was what was her plan once she made it? Why hadn’t she even planned for this? All she knew was she had to keep Susanna safe and in her sights, without alerting anyone of her presence. And now, she had no choice but to wing it, like she always did, only this was a life or death situation. The stakes were a little higher than some math test.

It felt like a flash. A quick flash, a loud bang in her head, a feeling like she had just been electrocuted, only she wasn’t sure if that was really what it felt like, since she’d never been electrocuted. And, just like that, she sat upright, still in the time machine. She felt dizzy and her head spun at a million miles an hour, and she felt nauseous in a way she never had before. The air felt stifling and wrong, burning her nostrils when she inhaled.

She stayed inside for a bit, regaining her senses. If she’d done it right, it should be late at night, so Ron was already in bed, away from his study, meaning the coast was clear and she could leave the time machine. That is, if it actually worked, and didn’t just electrocute her. She reached out blindly, until she felt the door, and she pushed it open, letting the moonlight outside the windows flood in. She blinked, taking a few moments to register where she was. She was still in Ron’s study, in the same spot, and for a moment, panic rose in her chest, thinking the time machine hadn’t worked. The study was almost identical, but when she looked closer, something had definitely changed. There were fewer papers and fewer things written on the chalkboards. He was less obsessive back then.

She’d made it.

She also knew this was the past because Susanna stood five feet away from her, frozen, eyes wide, the book she was taking from Ron’s bookshelf falling to the ground with a loud crash that shook the whole house. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Ron never let anyone go into his study, ever. Not even his favorite daughter. She was sneaking in to read his books.

“Mom?” the girl croaked out.

Susanna became even more horrified when she realized it wasn’t a hallucination of her dead mother. Rather, it was a woman she had never seen before, standing in her house in front of a strange machine. Olivia stared right back at her, just as terrified. She hadn’t planned for how it would feel to see her sister right in front of her, alive and breathing, just like she’d last seen her.

Susanna snapped out of her shock. She jumped back, opening her mouth to scream. Fear took over Olivia, alarm bells going off in her brain.

“Shut up,” Olivia hissed, lunging forward and putting her hand around Susanna’s mouth. She resisted, but Olivia was bigger, taller, stronger. And somehow, she knew exactly what to do, as if her brain had just finished developing during that trip on the time machine. She was a girl possessed. There was only one place she could put the kicking and screaming girl in without alerting the rest of the house. She punched in random buttons on the door, trying to send Susanna as far away from her, as far away from now, as possible. Fifty years into the future, that sounded nice. She kicked the door closed, Susanna inside, protesting and banging on the door and begging for help, but no one could hear her. Panic rose in Olivia’s chest, and she dropped to her knees, inhaling and exhaling sharply, until the commotion inside went silent.

She didn’t want to move. She wanted to lie here forever, and forget all her worries and everything that had just happened. But she remembered where she was and what could happen if someone found her, so she got up, slowly at first, then quicker and more frantically, her whole body shaking. Her fingers crashed into the buttons, smashing down on them, trying to send her away, away, away. She set it to about thirty years before she collapsed into the seat and swung the door closed, desperate to leave. She felt sick to her stomach.

What had she just done? Who was she?

The question Olivia Marshall would always wonder for the rest of her life was, what happened if your sister disappeared, so you went back in time to save her, and caused her disappearance? But if you only made her disappear because she disappeared in the first place, how would that work? It was like the paradox Ron was always telling them about: the Bootstrap Paradox. She’d always refer to it as the Sister Paradox, from now on.

The media would have a feast tonight. The missing girl finally found in the middle of her family’s old house, fifty years later, the rest of her family gone, only she was the exact same age as when she disappeared. She would tell them what happened, that she was kidnapped by a random woman who forced her into a time machine in her father’s office. Then they’d find the time machine. They’d seize it, do whatever they wanted with it: use it for scientific exploration, or destroy it before it caused any more damage. They’d get someone to do a sketch of the woman’s face and they’d match it to Susanna’s younger sister, Olivia Marshall, but that couldn’t be possible, because she disappeared thirty years ago. But really, she’d been living off the grid in the middle of nowhere in Montana for twenty years, with a new name, new face, and new life, watching from a distance as the world went crazy again over the unsolved mystery of the Marshalls. But this time, she held the keys to the answers.

It was funny, how Olivia, the only one in her family who hated science, was the one who brought a time travel paradox to life. It was funny, how Susanna was benefiting the most from her own disappearance, with a real, happy life to live. It was funny, how Olivia felt okay about it all. Hopeful, even. Because unlike before, she wasn’t alone, even if she felt like it. She had a sister out there, alive, her heart beating. They were still connected, even after everything that happened. She didn’t think she’d ever talk to Susanna again, or let her know she was out there somewhere. She didn’t want to make their lives any worse than she already had. She was sorry, and she regretted it. Every single day, every breath she took, every living minute of her life, she regretted it. But she always took a look at the new life she had built from ashes, and reminded herself that sometimes, you didn’t have free will. Some things were meant to happen, not because it was fate, but because they already did.