The Pentrals by Crystal Mack Read Free Book Online Page A

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” She slides her hand under my arm, and I feel pressure as she attempts to peel me off the ground. I am so unprepared for this kind of interaction, my instincts tell me to just go with it—it is my job to willingly participate in extreme situations even if I find them objectionable. And this is certainly an extreme situation. Somehow, this teacher has accomplished something I have never known to happen: she is physically touching a Shadow.
    Mrs. Greenwald pulls me up off the ground and I stand upward. It is the first time I have ever been completely vertical. The change in perspective catches me off guard, and I stumble back.
    “Careful dear, you must have hit your head,” the teacher says. She places a careful hand on my back, and guides me toward a chair. Getting there is surprisingly difficult. I feel unbearably heavy, like a crushing weight is on my shoulders. The fall seems to have robbed me of any sense of balance. She helps me sit, and I tense up at feeling the cool metal back of the seat. But what is most remarkable is that I feel at all. Where are these sensations coming from? Why has my form suddenly become responsive to touch? Mrs. Greenwald bends down and takes a long look at me. It must be a strange sight to see, a Shadow with no Person attached. Only, that does not make sense. Without Violet, I should not be here. Shadows are not visible without their Person nearby. How can she even see me?
    I stare back at her, unsure of how to act in such an unprecedented scenario, and realize it is the first time I have ever looked at a Person straight on. Even though I have stretched my Shadow self in many configurations, I do not get the chance to be evenly in line with Persons. I am always at least a little off to the side, causing me to see the world from a skewed point of view. I spend so much time looking up or down at Persons, it is fascinating to get this unobstructed, level view.
    So many details of a Person’s face are not as visible when you are five feet below them. Mrs. Greenwald is a familiar presence, as Violet has logged years in the studio, but I have not spent much time cataloging her features. She is older, with soft gray hair framing her round face. Small wrinkles crinkle around her kind eyes as she examines me—a detail I never would have noticed before.
    “How did you fall, Violet?” Mrs. Greenwald asks. Upon hearing my Person’s name, I whip myself around, eager to resume my post by her side. But Violet is nowhere to be seen. Where is she? Who is this lady talking to? It makes my head hurt. Actual hurt, as in real physical pain. There is a throbbing coming from the back of my head that is growing in intensity every second.
    “Violet?” she repeats with concern in her voice. Her direct stare is too much, making me uncomfortable. I have never been paid this much attention. I look down, and almost fall off the chair when I see hands caked with charcoal resting gently on freckle-speckled legs. A pair of sneakers dangles just inches off the floor, and below them sits an unmoving mass of darkness. Hovering silently on the ground, it seems almost foreign to look at, yet I would know it anywhere. There is no mistaking it: I have a Shadow beneath me.
    I look back at the hands, so familiar with their pale coloration, and see if I can will them to move. Without hesitation, the right hand reaches up and I touch where my face should be. I feel the chalky residue transfer from the fingers to my cheek, and suddenly understand what has happened.
    I am inside Violet’s body.
    “Honey, do I need to call an ambulance?” My heart is racing, thoughts flying as I try to decide how to react. Violet would probably stay calm, and reassure her teacher everything is okay. I have never spoken aloud, but know I must communicate with this woman so she doesn’t send a squad of medical professionals to examine me.
    I clear my throat, and stammer out, “No, I’m fine.” The thoughts are