Daffodil scowled and scrubbed harder at the glass. It was one tiny little dark spot, right under her left — right? — eye. How could one tiny spot be this resistant to this much Windex?
She sat back on her heels and glared at the mirror. Hopefully her mom wouldn’t notice. It was just a tiny spot.
Daffodil gave the spot one last halfhearted swipe.
Wait.
She wiped the mirror again, more carefully this time. Her reflection wasn’t following her movement. There was no paper towel pressed against hers. Her arms were still at her sides and her scowl was gone.
Daffodil leaned closer to the mirror. Her reflection leaned with her. Daffodil smiled triumphantly. It was just a Windex-induced hallucination.
Her reflection touched the tiny spot on her cheek. A small smile danced on her lips. Daffodil mirrored her.
Now that she looked at her reflection, it wasn’t really a . . . reflection. Her eyes, instead of gray-blue, were a little closer to green. Her hair was a bit more brown than dirty blonde, and her skin was the color of Daffodil’s freckles.
“Sorry.” The voice was quiet and unsteady. Her not-a-reflection’s lips were slightly parted and she looked worried. “I just . . . I mean, you noticed.”
“Yeah. . . . ” Daffodil felt like backing away at very fast speeds. Had she hit her head? Was this all a dream? Would she have to clean everything all over again?
“I’m your reflection,” her obviously-not-a-reflection said.
“What’s your name?” Daffodil tried for something normal, as if that would disguise the fact that this was literally impossible. People couldn’t talk to their reflections, nor did their reflections look less like them with every passing second.
“Oh.” The girl in the mirror looked surprised. “Reflections don’t really have names.”
“Okay. Then choose one.”
“Amaryllis, then,” she said, confidence creeping into her voice. Amaryllis nodded once, decisively.
Daffodil wasn’t dreaming. Every time she passed a mirror, or window, or highly polished surface, Amaryllis would be there, smiling softly back at her with her chin cupped in her hands. She never said anything first, but sometimes Daffodil would start a conversation with her, just for something to do.
Amaryllis would never linger on what she was doing. She insisted that the world through the mirror was boring, that Daffodil was the most exciting thing she ever got to see. Daffodil would still press her for details, though. Who wouldn’t want to know more about a whole other world that had always been there, just out of sight?
Daffodil ached to see it. She ached to be with Amaryllis and see what it was like on the other side.
“Do you think we could be friends?” Amaryllis asked her one night, long after Daffodil was supposed to be in bed. Her voice had gained confidence over the past month and a half, and her laugh made a golden flower of warmth bloom in Daffodil’s chest every time she heard it. Even with that, asking the question made Amaryllis look at her shyly, as though they’d just met.
“Yeah.” Daffodil’s face softened into a smile. “I think I’d like that.” Amaryllis smiled back, her face lighting up in a way it hadn’t done before. Daffodil rested her fingertips on the cool surface of the mirror, and Amaryllis brought her own fingers up. She could almost feel the warmth of her touch.
Had the mirror always moved like that?
The surface of the mirror rippled away from her fingertips like water, and Daffodil’s fingers slid through it.
“Huh,” was all she could muster. It was late. The mirror would be solid tomorrow.
It wasn’t. Or the day after that, or after that. No reflective surface was completely solid anymore, because every time Daffodil saw Amaryllis and her dreamy smile, she’d want to reach out to fix her hair or hold her hand. The mirror would dissolve around her fingers and cling to her, like it didn’t want to let go. Or maybe it was Daffodil who didn’t want to let go. She wasn’t sure. More of her hand disappeared every time, and she could feel Amaryllis waiting for her.
“Do you think I could come back?” Daffodil finally asked her. “If I went all the way through?”
Amaryllis shrugged. “I don’t know. You don’t have to cross.”
“No, I want to,” Daffodil said.
“It’s pretty boring over here.”
“But you’re over there. That’s enough.”
Amaryllis just looked at her. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look exactly sad, either.
Daffodil took a deep breath before plunging her arm into the mirror, all the way up to her elbow.
“Oh!” Amaryllis said, surprised. Daffodil felt a warm hand slide into hers.
“Pull me through?” she asked. Amaryllis smiled.
The mirror parted around her, and Daffodil was drawn through into Amaryllis’s arms.
She sat back on her heels and glared at the mirror. Hopefully her mom wouldn’t notice. It was just a tiny spot.
Daffodil gave the spot one last halfhearted swipe.
Wait.
She wiped the mirror again, more carefully this time. Her reflection wasn’t following her movement. There was no paper towel pressed against hers. Her arms were still at her sides and her scowl was gone.
Daffodil leaned closer to the mirror. Her reflection leaned with her. Daffodil smiled triumphantly. It was just a Windex-induced hallucination.
Her reflection touched the tiny spot on her cheek. A small smile danced on her lips. Daffodil mirrored her.
Now that she looked at her reflection, it wasn’t really a . . . reflection. Her eyes, instead of gray-blue, were a little closer to green. Her hair was a bit more brown than dirty blonde, and her skin was the color of Daffodil’s freckles.
“Sorry.” The voice was quiet and unsteady. Her not-a-reflection’s lips were slightly parted and she looked worried. “I just . . . I mean, you noticed.”
“Yeah. . . . ” Daffodil felt like backing away at very fast speeds. Had she hit her head? Was this all a dream? Would she have to clean everything all over again?
“I’m your reflection,” her obviously-not-a-reflection said.
“What’s your name?” Daffodil tried for something normal, as if that would disguise the fact that this was literally impossible. People couldn’t talk to their reflections, nor did their reflections look less like them with every passing second.
“Oh.” The girl in the mirror looked surprised. “Reflections don’t really have names.”
“Okay. Then choose one.”
“Amaryllis, then,” she said, confidence creeping into her voice. Amaryllis nodded once, decisively.
Daffodil wasn’t dreaming. Every time she passed a mirror, or window, or highly polished surface, Amaryllis would be there, smiling softly back at her with her chin cupped in her hands. She never said anything first, but sometimes Daffodil would start a conversation with her, just for something to do.
Amaryllis would never linger on what she was doing. She insisted that the world through the mirror was boring, that Daffodil was the most exciting thing she ever got to see. Daffodil would still press her for details, though. Who wouldn’t want to know more about a whole other world that had always been there, just out of sight?
Daffodil ached to see it. She ached to be with Amaryllis and see what it was like on the other side.
“Do you think we could be friends?” Amaryllis asked her one night, long after Daffodil was supposed to be in bed. Her voice had gained confidence over the past month and a half, and her laugh made a golden flower of warmth bloom in Daffodil’s chest every time she heard it. Even with that, asking the question made Amaryllis look at her shyly, as though they’d just met.
“Yeah.” Daffodil’s face softened into a smile. “I think I’d like that.” Amaryllis smiled back, her face lighting up in a way it hadn’t done before. Daffodil rested her fingertips on the cool surface of the mirror, and Amaryllis brought her own fingers up. She could almost feel the warmth of her touch.
Had the mirror always moved like that?
The surface of the mirror rippled away from her fingertips like water, and Daffodil’s fingers slid through it.
“Huh,” was all she could muster. It was late. The mirror would be solid tomorrow.
It wasn’t. Or the day after that, or after that. No reflective surface was completely solid anymore, because every time Daffodil saw Amaryllis and her dreamy smile, she’d want to reach out to fix her hair or hold her hand. The mirror would dissolve around her fingers and cling to her, like it didn’t want to let go. Or maybe it was Daffodil who didn’t want to let go. She wasn’t sure. More of her hand disappeared every time, and she could feel Amaryllis waiting for her.
“Do you think I could come back?” Daffodil finally asked her. “If I went all the way through?”
Amaryllis shrugged. “I don’t know. You don’t have to cross.”
“No, I want to,” Daffodil said.
“It’s pretty boring over here.”
“But you’re over there. That’s enough.”
Amaryllis just looked at her. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t look exactly sad, either.
Daffodil took a deep breath before plunging her arm into the mirror, all the way up to her elbow.
“Oh!” Amaryllis said, surprised. Daffodil felt a warm hand slide into hers.
“Pull me through?” she asked. Amaryllis smiled.
The mirror parted around her, and Daffodil was drawn through into Amaryllis’s arms.