Short Story #1

Invisible

The lights went out when she squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps if she didn’t look, her angry reflection wouldn’t stare back so accusingly. With a frustrated sigh, she turned from the long mirror jerking the brush through her hair.

Mousy. Stick straight. Dishwater. Those were a few of the words that her classmate, Lillian Johnson, used to describe her hair yesterday. The whole English composition class had laughed.

“Jolie!” Her mother’s muffled yell came from the kitchen on the other side of the wall. “You’re going to be late for the bus, and you haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”

“Who cares?” she muttered as she jerked her hair into a shoulder-length ponytail and flopped onto her bed. If only she could stay here where no one would look at her.

The lone light bulb above her mirror suddenly flickered, and the rumble of the bus turning the corner down the street forced her to her feet. Swiping at her flat bangs, Jolie finished buttoning her flannel shirt, wishing, as always, that it was a size smaller.

“Jolie, the bus!”

Swinging the overstuffed backpack to her shoulder, Jolie grasped the doorknob and turned to face the mirror.

“I hate you,” she whispered. But her voice seemed to follow her out the door and into the kitchen.

“Mom, my mirror light is acting up.”

“Again?” Tired green eyes glanced up from examining the dirty bowl being scrubbed. “Wasn’t that blinking a few days ago?”

“No, that was the bathroom light,” Jolie said flipping on her iPod to mute the concerned query about breakfast as she let the screen door bang shut behind her.

Her breath escaped in a faint puff as she stepped off the porch and pulled on a gray baseball cap. Stuffing her hands into her worn jeans pockets, the crunching chorus of leaves underfoot hurried her toward the big yellow vehicle of doom.

Ahead, Lillian was boarding the bus. Jolie noted the tall girl’s perfect weight, perfect fashionable coat, perfect skin, perfect hair—the sun that dared to shine today seemed to expose Jolie’s dark thoughts like a spotlight on a cold stage. What she would give to be invisible—then no one at Pike High School would see how much her mood matched her ugly face.

* * *

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Jolie awoke to a dark room. She sniffed. Yup, she must have cried herself to sleep again. Another horrible day at Spite High was over. She rolled, reaching for a tissue before she realized she was still wearing her cap and sneakers.

The light above her mirror flickered again; this time it stayed on. What is wrong with this house? Of course it was lighting up the hated object of her room. Stupid mirror! Wishing for a bowling ball, Jolie threw her hat at it instead.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Jolie sat up as a chill crept up her back—it sounded like glass was being tapped by something tiny and hard. The noise was definitely coming from behind the mirror. Wading through dirty clothes, scattered DVDs, and CDs, she almost tripped over her abandoned backpack before reaching the mirror.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Jolie stared uncertainly at it before she reached up to lift the heavy frame off of the wall. But as soon as her fingers closed over the wooden edges, a warm energy erupted, shooting through her fingers and up her arms. The glassy surface rippled, and her panic-filled face dissolved, suddenly replaced by the image of a white-haired lady. Screaming, Jolie jumped back.

“There, there, dear heart. Don’t be alarmed.” The voice grew louder as a face came into focus.

“This appearing act scares me every time too—it’s definitely my least favorite part of this job."

Jolie’s eyes were riveted to those under matching bright blue eye shadow.

“Finally, you touched the mirror.” She said with a happy sigh. “I had almost run out of tricks to get your attention. But thanks to this piece of magic—” she waved a long fingernail at Jolie, “I can finally break the sound barrier with a tap.”

She was so close to Jolie that tiny silver stars were visible on the periwinkle backdrop of her fingernail. But Jolie’s knees wobbled as she sank onto the edge of her bed and looked around bewildered. This was still her messy room—the fifth one she’d moved into in seven years. A faint sweet odor that tingled with safety and danger wafted toward her. This could not be a dream.

“Wh-who are you?” she asked weakly.

“Oh, don’t you know about mirror fairies?” The lady shook a star-tipped wand at Jolie’s blank stare, and her gentle laughter filled the room with warm light. “I am the Lady of the Mirror, but everyone calls me Miranda.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Several years ago,” Miranda’s said, her face turning serious. “I watched you lose something very important—your smile.”

“Why should you care?” Jolie spluttered in angry surprise. “There’s nothing worth smiling about in my life anyway.”

“That is where you are mistaken, dear heart—which is why I am here.” She leaned out of the mirror toward Jolie. “In truth, I have seen your tears just as I have felt your confusion and sorrows.”

Jolie looked at her doubtfully. “Is this where you wave your glowing wand and spout off some gibberish before I find myself flouncing around in a fat gown?”

“Not quite.” Miranda smiled. “Actually, this old thing is for effect.” She waved it glibly as she spoke, and then tossed the glowing wand over her shoulder where it silently disappeared. “We fairies really don’t have to use them; we just have to speak and the magic does the rest.”

“But life in this world isn’t a fairy tale.” The bitter edge crept back into Jolie’s voice.

“Then who do you think I am?”

Was that a smile that tugged at the corner of Miranda’s pink lips?

“Since you must know everything, tell me what I need help with?” Jolie retorted.

Miranda’s voice grew earnest again. “What happened in the bathroom at school today?”

Jolie’s stomach twisted, and she felt her cheeks grow hot. She glanced at the dresser where an empty package of cookies sat. She was afraid to look into those penetrating eyes.

“You heard that?”

“I know you aren’t sick, Jolie. Just like I know why you stopped wearing short sleeves.”

“You don’t know anything about it!” Jolie snapped. “I’m not even pretty to start with, but even your Cinderella was beautiful in her rags. I’m just big, awkward, ugly—the perfect candidate for a nobody.”

“Oh, Jolie. Just because you think, feel or treat yourself as a nobody doesn’t make you one.”

Jolie unconsciously rubbed her arm blinking rapidly to push the tears away.

“Now I might be tempted to call Sleeping Beauty a nobody, since all she did was sleep!” Miranda said. “But Belle, Belle was beautiful because she sacrificed what was dearest to her—herself.”

“So, are you going to, like, punish me or turn me into a frog or something?” Jolie said, swiping an angry tear from her check. “Isn’t that what fairies from your world do to bad people?”

“I am not here to judge you, Jolie.” Miranda looked like she would continue, but stopped and clapped twice instead. “Our time is running out tonight so I will leave you with two wishes to consider. I will be back in the morning to hear your decision. Are you ready?”

Jolie nodded uncertainly.

“Wish #1. I will grant you the makeover of your dreams so that you will look beautiful according to your own terms.”

“You can actually take my zits away and give me curly hair?” Jolie said incredulously.

Miranda nodded before she added. “But one warning accompanies this wish.”

“And that is…?”

“Your happiness cannot be guaranteed.”

“Do I look happy to you right now?”

“Wish #2." Miranda continued as if she didn't hear the anger in Jolie's voice. “I will teach you how to accept the beauty that you already possess, and—”

Jolie interrupted with a snort. “What beauty?”

“—it will be a long process, but your reward is lifelong happiness.”

“Wait! But that’s not fair! Can’t you make me both beautiful and happy?”

“You are beautiful, Jolie.” There was a sense of urgency in Miranda’s voice. “Can’t you see that you are the only one making yourself miserable?” She abruptly pulled herself back into the mirror. “Until tomorrow, dear heart.”

With that, the light flickered and the glass turned liquid as Jolie watched her own troubled face reappear.

* * *

Her slender fingers pressed hard against the cool glass with a desperation that could have bent it. A pretty face surrounded by curly hair peered at her as she leaned into the smudged mirror.

“Miranda, can you hear me?” she whispered, vainly searching for a glimmer of movement on the silent surface. Had it only been a year since she made that fateful decision?

“Please, come back." Her voice choked as tears dripped off her chin. "You were right."