The Pentrals Read Free Page B

yacht, and then I spend the rest of the time crushed under everyone’s feet and converging with fellow Pentrals. People always seem to have a lot of fun, though I’ve never understood why, as the day is not much different from most. For a town-wide gathering, I would expect much more than a few food vendors and street performers to entertain the crowd. Still, watching Celestia smiling and enjoying the festivities on the screen makes the event seem so enticing that you wouldn’t want to be left out.
    Then the holopane switches, swallowing up the images of Celestia, and spitting back out a group of ridiculously good-looking teenagers, laughing crazily and floating mid-air as if they’ve just jumped off a trampoline. In dazzling orange and blue letters, the slogan reads:
    “LIFTS! For when life drags you down.”
    I’ve seen variations of this advertisement for years, of course, but only recently has its message made any sort of impact. At school there is a group of kids referred to as lifters, who can use the product once they turn 17. Now that Violet is a senior and herself of age, the presence of Lifts! has become more prevalent than just bouncy holopane teens. Sometimes when I’m lying on the school’s floor, I catch a classmate reaching in her backpack for a small orange tin with LIFTS! imprinted on top. Inside are small, white, circular capsules that dissolve on the tongue.
    I cannot decide whether Lifts! are mints, candy, or caffeine-delivery pills, but there must be a reason why you can only obtain them after age 17. Violet has yet to sample Lifts! despite their popularity, so my knowledge of their effect is limited. All I know is that lifters seem to hang together and whenever I come in contact with a Shadow of one who has just lifted, the thoughts I read are fraught with confusion.
    The school parking lot is brimming with activity, as the student body takes its last few breaths of fresh air before the first bell rings. Violet stops to survey the crowd, as if trying to decide where to jump in. Last year, there would have been no question as to where she belongs, but things are a lot different now. She starts to cross through the mass of students, when suddenly a carpod screeches across the pavement.
    I am not prepared when Violet lets out a scream.
     

* * 4 * *
     
    I keep my gaze focused on Violet, although I desperately want to scan the scene to see what happened. She is unharmed, but visually shaken, pressing her hands over her ears. I echo her quivers across the pavement. The carpod is nowhere near her body; it only squealed as it pulled in a nearby parking space. Several onlookers shoot Violet confused looks, which she doesn’t see through her squeezed eyelids. More and more students put distance between themselves and my shaking Person, all except one.
    Thomas Brandt.
    Slowly, he walks up and places his hands on top of hers. He is several inches taller than Violet, with golden skin and sandy hair. Though he spends a significant amount of time aggressively kicking a soccer ball, right now he is tender. She opens her eyes and stares deeply at his face; for a moment, neither of them moves.
    “Oh,” Violet says finally.
    “Are you okay?” he asks. He squints behind his glasses, searching her face for signs of distress. Thomas pushes aside a stray strand of her red hair and tucks it behind her ear, an act of familiarity. Of course, the two are very familiar with each other, or at least they were. His other hand touches her cheek.
    “Yeah, it’s just, the carpod, it…” She allows his hand to linger, and I watch eagerly from below, trying to soak up the emotion of the moment. What would it feel like to have someone like Thomas trace the curves of your face? From down here, having someone stroke your skin seems nice, a gentle gesture that must come from an affectionate place. I look up at Violet to read her reaction, but she is already pulling away. Her eyes flit down to me, as if she was sensing my