That was the second time Zoe had that question posed to her. A traveler or a wanderer? As she thought about the question, she also contemplated making a run for the door.

Smoking Girl

I think you're a wanderer, doomsday goddess. That means you owe us aurishas tribute.

Zoe

I'd better get to class.

Zoe turned towards the door.

Smoking Girl

Wait, wanderer!

Against her better judgment, Zoe turned around.

She saw two versions of the girl. The one in front of her looked normal. But the one reflected in the bathroom mirror was not. In fact, the girl's reflection in the mirror was as far from normal as anything Zoe had ever seen.

Smoking Girl

Don't look so surprised. I told you I was an aurisha.

And with that, two wings sprouted from the girl's back. The wings were made of tendrils of black smoke. As Zoe turned to run, a smoky tendril flailed out towards her leg.

Zoe

You're going to think I'm crazy. But okay. I just tried to talk to my best friend, and he acted like he didn't even know who I was. Right before that, I tried to open my locker. Even though I'm sure I had the right combination, it wouldn't open.

Smoking Girl

That happens.

Zoe

No, not like this. Things were weird before I came to school too. My dad was home—that's a long story too—but also, at the bus stop, there was this weird kid who asked me these weird questions.

Smoking Girl

Did you know the answers?

Zoe

No. They didn't make any sense. Nothing makes any sense, nothing since last night. This is going to sound completely crazy, but—I found this glass thing on a beach. And when I looked through it, I think I had a religious experience or something—

Smoking Girl

So you are new here.

Zoe stopped and looked more closely at the girl. She took a long, slow drag from her black cigarette. Weirdly, the girl didn't exhale any smoke.

Zoe

What do you mean new here? That's what the kid at the bus stop asked.

The girl took another long drag from her cigarette. She closed her dark eyes as she sucked in the smoke, and the whole cigarette fell away in ashes.

Zoe

Who are you, exactly?

Smoking Girl

Do you have a cigarette?

Zoe

No, I don't smoke. You know. It's bad for you.

Zoe laughed faintly, to break up the sudden chill in the conversation.

Smoking Girl

I know it's bad for you, but obviously that's not the case for me. You really don't have one?

Zoe started to slowly back away from the girl. For some reason, her eyes started to water, as if the bathroom was filled with smoke.

Zoe

No, I don't. Who are you? Are you ... human?

Smoking Girl

No. Duh! I'm an aurisha. And what are you—a traveler or a wanderer?

The source of a voice was a tall, pale girl dressed in black with black ribbons in her hair. Zoe hadn't seen her when she went in the bathroom. She was leaning against the sink and held a smoldering black cigarette lightly between her third and fourth finger. The girl smiled casually as they made eye contact.

Zoe

Yeah. Kind of.

Smoking Girl

I don't mean to pry. I just noticed you sounded a little upset.

Zoe blushed a little. Was it that obvious? She put on her expressionless face to hide the fact that she was crying.

Zoe

No, it's okay. It's just been a really weird morning, that's all.

Smoking Girl

Howso?

Zoe

It's kind of a long story....

Smoking Girl

I don't mind. Now I'm curious.

Zoe studied the girl. She had never seen her before. And try as she might, Zoe couldn't exactly place her in any of the school's conveniently stereotypical cliques. Her black get-up indicated she might be a goth, but her lack of makeup made that a stretch. She seemed friendly and genuinely curious, but at the same time, emotionless. In a strange way, thought Zoe, the girl reminded her of herself, especially herself right at this moment—a curious outsider with a mask on her face. Was she a kindred spirit?

Zoe stared at the boy. Her eyes felt glassy. She quickly looked away because she realized they had teared over.

Zoe

W-what?

Robert

Um ... I mean, I don't think I've ever really talked to you before. I think I had a class with you once but—is this some kind of joke?

Zoe ran to the bathroom.

In the stall, she wiped away a tear.

She forced herself to stop crying. As soon as the initial shock wore off, she could think rationally about the situation. Robert was a terrible liar, and he clearly wasn't lying when he told Zoe he had never talked to her before. He seemed as confused as she was.

So he wasn't trying to be mean to her. His reaction was symptomatic of a greater problem. Again, reality was not working right for Zoe. As she walked out of the stall, she wondered if she should even stay at school.

Girl's voice

Having a rough day?

Robert

Ow!

Zoe gasped. In her mind, she had prepared for an awkward, gradual reconciliation with Robert, not this.

Zoe

Hi Robert. Sorry.

Robert

That's okay.

Robert had dropped his books on the floor. He blushed brightly as he picked them up. Zoe stood, keeping her distance.

Zoe

Really?

Robert

Huh?

Zoe

I mean ... you're really okay? You're not mad? Because I really am sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said.

Robert

Um ... what did you say?

Zoe turned away. She didn't want to repeat it.

Zoe

You know, last night at your house. Anyway, if you're really not mad at me—oh, Robert, you don't know how happy I am that you're not mad at me. I really need to talk to you!

She hugged him, lightly at first. When he didn't hug her back, she squeezed him harder and then pushed him away playfully.

Robert

Okay....

Zoe

I'm sorry if that was weird to do. It's just, you have no idea what happened to me last night after I left....

Robert

Listen—I don't really know how to say this, but I'm not exactly sure what you're talking about.

She walked quickly down the halls towards Robert's locker. If he wasn't there, she would wait for him.

There was no doubt in Zoe's mind that both the weird Asian boy and her locker had something to do with her experience last night. Something supernatural had happened to her, and now reality was not working the right way. She supposed that she shouldn't be surprised, but she suddenly felt very alone, and she needed help figuring out exactly what had happened to her when she looked through the glass.

Zoe rounded the corner and bumped right into Robert.

It didn't open.

She tried it again. 32-24-32. She tried it more slowly this time, carefully lining up each number with the topmost notch.

But it still didn't open.

She spun the dial around and started over, 322432 really quickly, trying not to think about it, because maybe she had thought too hard about it last time and messed up.

It didn't click open.

Zoe

Thirty-two, twenty-four, thirty-two.

She tried it five more times, alternating fast and slow, and she double- and triple-checked her locker number.

Had she remembered the numbers wrong? She usually didn't even think about opening her locker. Maybe, by thinking about the numbers, she somehow misremembered them, and now the entire process was doomed. Or maybe the earliness was throwing her off.

But she was sure that was her locker combination. And the more she thought about it, the more something seemed completely wrong.

She looked around her. Some of the other students were opening their lockers. She noticed a few of them were looking at her, with puzzled expressions.

She shivered suddenly. She changed her mind: she needed to talk to Robert, right now.

Zoe followed the kids on the bus as they trickled out down the narrow aisle. It was a wet, grey morning with little particles of sunshine coming down through the clouds like a mist. Zoe followed the line of students into the main entrance.

She had never been to school this early. The halls looked empty. Zoe was used to arriving just minutes before class, when the halls were lined with throngs of students clumped around popular kids' lockers. But this early, the halls were free and clear. The glossy tile floors of the hallway reflected the glare of white florescents above. Aside from some squeaky steps and locker slams and snatches of muted conversation, the school was dead quiet.

She arrived at her locker and twisted the lock by rote. 32-24-32.

Imaginary Zoe

Hi Robert. I'm really sorry about last night.

Imaginary Robert

Oh, Zoe. That's okay. I'm sorry too. I feel like a jerk.

Imaginary Zoe

So we're friends?

Imaginary Robert

Of course!

Imaginary Zoe

That's good, because I have something amazing to tell you.

Zoe sighed. She wasn't being realistic at all.

Imaginary Zoe

Hi Robert. Robert! Don't turn away! I'm really sorry, listen to me!

Imaginary Robert

...

Imaginary Zoe

I know you're feeling hurt right now, but I have something to tell you that's so important and amazing you're not even going to care.

Imaginary Robert

...Are you screwing with me?

Imaginary Zoe

Never!

Imaginary Robert

Whatever. I don't want to talk to you.

Zoe sighed again. The girl with headphones next to her shot her a dirty look.

Zoe sat in the back of the bus, next to a girl and across from two more girls, so that the Asian boy would not be encouraged to continue his interrogation by sitting next to her. Zoe watched him out the window. He continued to stare at her, up through the bus window and past her oblivious, iPod-listening seatmate.

Then, the bus jerked into motion. The Asian boy didn't come on. But his head swiveled to track her as Zoe and the bus skipped down the road.

Zoe wondered what the boy's problem could possibly be. Maybe he was a dork, like Robert, and that exchange was some weird way of flirting with her. But why didn't he get on the bus?

Zoe sighed. She didn't want to remind herself about Robert, but now all she could think about was how much she needed to talk to him. He was the only one she could tell about the magical glass she found.

She spent the bus ride practicing ways to initiate the conversation in her mind.

After a while, though, she decided she didn't want to talk to Robert at all. At least not yet. He probably needed some space. For that matter, so did she.

Zoe hadn't taken the bus since last year. She sees some new faces at the old bus stop, younger kids mostly, wide-eyed and gossiping. After a few minutes, a small Asian boy with glasses she had never seen before joins them from a bend around the block.

He unapologetically stares at her. He walks back and forth, taking her in from different angles. He never takes his eyes off her. Zoe looks down at the ground and across the street to avoid eye contact.

Asian Boy

Pardon me.

He keeps his distance as he speaks. Zoe looks at him.

Asian Boy

Are you a traveller, or a wanderer?

Zoe

Huh?

He walks back and forth again, still staring at her. The three other kids at the bus stop are oblivious to this exchange.

Asian Boy

Are you new here or something?

He seems incredibly confused.

Zoe

No. I usually ride my bike to school.

Asian Boy

Your bike? What?

Zoe doesn't know how to respond, so she doesn't.

Asian Boy

P'tah! You can't fool me! I know what you are. You're a thousand-headed doomsday goddess!

The hum of a bus's engine saves Zoe from any further awkward conversation. The yellow log opened its door jerkily and Zoe was the first to climb up the ridged metal steps.

Zoe's father looks up at her. When had he come home? He wears a ratty bathrobe, but he is clean-shaven for a change.

Father

What do you want, kiddo? Surprised to see me?

Zoe

Well....

Zoe doesn't press the point. Stranger things had happened, after all.

Her mother is completely ignoring her. It is for the best, Zoe decided. Her father doesn't give any indication that he cares about his missing gin, or Zoe's cruel words towards her mother—predictably. He never confronted Zoe about anything.

Father

Do you have school today?

What a stupid question, Zoe thinks. Of course she did, it was Wednesday.

Zoe

Yeah. I have to catch the bus. So—bye.

Father

Bye.

Zoe wakes up the next morning and knows instantly that the events of the last night were not a dream. She never remembers her dreams, but she clearly remembers everything that had happened to her, right up until she put down the glass and crawled into bed, dumbstruck.

She had always wondered how crazy people must feel. Now she knows. It is actually quite exhilirating. She can't decide who to tell—the only person who she would ordinarily tell, Robert, is probably not talking to her—but she is so confident that she isn't dreaming, that something truly extraordinarily had happened, that the mundane details of who would believe her seem trivial. She doesn't yet feel confident enough to deal with the glass object, safely hidden under her shirt on her desk. But she at least feels confident enough in her apparent insanity to face the world.

She gets dressed and skips down the stairs. Halfway down she remembers that her bike is no more. She'd have to catch the bus to school.

Zoe

Oh well.

She could handle it.

Downstairs, her mother is cooking breakfast. Upon further examination, she is cooking breakfast for someone sitting in the breakfast nook, drinking coffee and reading the paper. It is her father.

Zoe

Dad?

She sits down on her bed, breathing heavily. She holds her hand to her cheek, to make sure she still exists.

When she realizes she is still gripping the glass tube, she throws it on her bed as if it is burning her hand. She stares at it from a safe distance for a few moments. Then she lifts it up with just two fingers and gingerly places it on her desk.

When she was little, she used to have nightmares about monsters in the closet, their outlines barely visible through the closet doors to her half-closed sleepy eyes, so she always closed the closet door. Now she worries she is having a very different sort of nightmare. She throws one of her shirts on top of the glass so she doesn't have to see its weird shape as she sleeps, which she knows she must do now, even though she doesn't feel particularly tired.

It takes a few minutes of lying on her bed in thought, but Zoe finally arrives at what frightens her so much about the glass:

She is not sure who pulled the glass away from her eye—her, or the girl she had seen in the glass's vision.

She sleeps.

...a girl in pajamas hunched over her desk, holding a strange glass object to her eye.

At that moment, she pulls the glass away from her face.

Then she saw a blue planet orbiting the yellow star. She knew that the blue planet was Earth, even before she saw the familiar jigsaw puzzle outlines of continents. Her vision swooped down into the planet's atmosphere. It zoomed towards North America like a hawk diving steadily, until Zoe saw the great lake, the city, then the forested streets, her house, and through her open window....

Through clouds of nebulas, and against a background of millions of stars, her vision focused on a single, yellow-white star....

The smaller lights were not merely pinpricks either. Each one looked like a galaxy. Some were cloud-shaped. Others had wispy, spiraling arms.

And again, she felt as though her vision was being drawn by some dreamlike undercurrent into the arm of one particular galaxy, a spiral-armed galaxy. For a fraction of a split second she thought about tearing the glass away from her eye—if she even could at this point—but then she saw where her vision was being pulled into the galaxy's arm....

The pinpricks became brighter. Zoe saw that it was a night sky, full of stars. At first it was a familiar sight, though she wondered how she could see a starry sky in her glass tube.

But then she looked more closely—or was something pulling her vision more strongly?

The pinpricks of light were not stars. Each point of light was an amorphous cluster of smaller lights.

She had the sensation of zooming in, like on a camera, on one particular cluster of lights.

Everything that had happened to her so far that night, Zoe reflected, could be explained by natural causes. She would never have guessed that her mother would slap her, or that Robert would choose tonight of all nights to kiss her. And the sudden thunderstorm and her near death experiences were even more improbable. But what happened next was different.

Through the sand-glass, Zoe saw what at first appeared to be nothing. Even though the tip of the glass and much of its interior was quite clear, she just saw blackness when she looked into it.

Then she twisted it slightly, and the nothingness became edged with faint rainbows.

At first Zoe thought the glass was a sort of natural kaleidescope. She squinted and focused. The rainbows seemed to blend into the nothing and expand and swirl around, but they remained on the periphery of her vision, even as she attempted to look directly at them.

Then Zoe realized that she was not supposed to look at the rainbows—she was supposed to look through them. They were the frame of a picture. And as she realized this, the picture inside the rainbow frame began to take shape and swell, enveloping her consciousness.

At first Zoe was a startled, because she felt like she was losing control of herself. But she was sure she could see something within the rainbow-framed nothingness—little pinpricks of light. She was too curious to stop looking now. If she just looked a little closer, through the rainbows....

They were still warm. Zoe mulled over the penny first, but it was just an ordinary, slightly molten penny—it wasn't as interesting as the glass.

Parts of the glass were as clear as a window. Other sections looked like dried, caked-on sand. And still others had a sort of rainbow luminescence. Most parts felt grainy and rough, but some felt smooth. Zoe wondered if its root-like shape was the same as the shape of the lightning bolt that made it. She also wondered how transparent it was.

Zoe had to see the penny and the glass again before she went to sleep. Otherwise, she worried they'd evaporate into unreality.

She tumbled out of bed and limped to her bag on the floor and rifled through it. It was still a wet from the rain. Her heart leapt to her chest as she searched—what if it had all just been a dream?—but then she found the shirt with the penny and the weird glass.

Zoe felt a tinge of embarrassment—there they were, proof of her whole escapade. It all seemed seemed overly dramatic now that she was back in her bedroom, and she never liked dramatic people.

She laid them on her desk and took a long look at them.

Then she held the glass up to her eye, like a kaleidescope.

It took her an hour and a half to get home. She walked slow, and a few times she dove into foliage to avoid the headlights of an oncoming car. But she had so much to think about that the walk seemed to take no time at all. The two lightning strikes replayed over and over in her mind's eye. She mulled over the different angles and interpretations.

So it was only when she walked into her lawn that she fully realized that she had failed to run away, and that she was, in fact, returning home in a dreamlike state. If she got caught, Zoe thought, it might not be a lie to attribute the entire incident to sleepwalking.

But her mother wasn't awake, and with some difficulty Zoe climbed up the siding back into her bedroom window. She quickly changed into dry pajamas—she had forgotten how freezing cold she was—and climbed into her warm bed. Her body's lower half felt numb, whether it was from cold or from overexertion she couldn't tell. She had never felt so tired in her life.

But then she remembered her treasures.

The crater looked like molten quicksand that had re-solidified into a crusty shell. Zoe decided against digging around in it with her bare hands, so she found a long piece of driftwood and started poking.

Yes—there was something in the middle of the crater, buried underneath the charred sand. She dug at it, tracing around its shape, and pried it out of the ground.

And out came a chunk of something. At first it just looked like a chunk of sand, but it wasn't—there was something glassy underneath. Zoe could feel its warmth even down the length of her stick. She scraped at it, and dirt and sand came off in layers, baring more shinyness.

She took off her sweater and wrung it out over the object. A small gout of steam shot back up at her. That cleared it up a little. She scraped more dirt and sand away, and poured more water on top.

It was a glass tube, shaped vaguely like a ginger root. There was still plenty of sand caked around its edges, but there was no denying that the thing was solid glass.

Zoe

No way....

She looked back at the crater. There, directly below where she had dug out the glass, was a charred, half-melted penny.

The lightning must have shot towards the penny and melted the sand in its path into glass. Zoe laughed again. The penny was the luckiest penny ever.

When they were cool enough to handle, Zoe bundled the glass and the penny into her sweatshirt and put them in her bag. She left her bike where it was and started walking.

Zoe pinched herself. What had just happened was impossible.

It made sense that a bolt of lightning would strike her bike. Her bike was made of metal and it was standing up on a flat beach. She was lucky to survive it—if she had been a little closer to her bike, that would have been it.

But the second lightning bolt should have killed her.

Why did it strike empty sand—not five feet away from her body? It made absolutely no sense. There was no logical reason why she was alive.

She imagined herself encased in glowing electricity, hair sticking straight up in spikes, with her skeleton flashing through her skin every now and then. She wondered if that was what people really looked like when they got struck by lightning.

Zoe snickered as she crouched in the sand. She hadn't had a good laugh in a while. It felt good, so she didn't stop laughing until she started gasping.

She wiped the tears away from her eyes and rolled over on her stomach and took a long look at the sky. The storm was finally dead. A wet breeze blew over her wet nose, but she heard no thunder and saw no lightning.

She pushed herself up and wiped the sand off of her hoodie. Then she walked over to the smoking crater in the sand, where the lightning had struck.

There had to be some explanation. An investigation was in order.

Another bolt of lightning, this time not five feet in front of her.

Once again, she was thrown backward. Her hair stood up and crackled, and her ears felt like they would explode.

She had seen the bolt of lightning arc out of the sky and slash into the air, in front of her eyes.

This time, Zoe stayed on the ground.

She blinked her eyes for a full minute. When the residual flash from her vision cleared, she looked closely in front of her. There was a smoking crater in the sand, in the middle of the beach, not five feet from her.

—Another blinding explosion.

A pillar of light—

After a few minutes, the rain stopped.

The front of Zoe's hoodie was covered in wet, muddy sand. She breathed in and out slowly for a full minute, then pushed herself up to a low crouch. Her clothes were heavy with water and caked on sand. There were no arcs of lightning in the sky now, but every now and then a patch of clouds lit up white-grey, along with its double in the lake's surface.

If this wasn't the worst night ever before she fell asleep, Zoe thought, it certainly qualified as the worst night ever now. Her mom, Robert—and now her bike! And maybe her hearing too. She had only been to one concert, but it was loud and her ears sounded much worse now.

She had managed to crawl a few yards away from her bike. The way home would be even longer.

She slowly started walking across the beach—

She heard her own voice faintly. So she wasn't deaf.

More lightnings grumbled and flashed in the distance. She pushed herself away from the sizzling metal of her bike and dug herself into the sand. She kept as low as she could, remembering something about lightning striking the tallest objects in a field.

But she needed to put as much distance between her and her bike as possible. The melted metal bike was death. She winced at every crack of thunder, recalling the static coursing over her skin just a few moments earlier. The lights in the sky and in the water battled on, slashing in the darkness and cutting open the bloated clouds.

Zoe forced her body to crawl. The rain pounded down on her. Her eardrums wailed. She felt numb and half-alive, but she crawled on through the sand.

Zoe was thrown back several feet. Her ears rang like telephones. Even though she was soaked, all of the hair on her body felt tinged with static. Her wet hoodie felt hot against her skin.

She clawed the sand—she had landed on her stomach—and looked up at her bike, or the remains thereof. It took a while for her vision to look past the pale Z-shaped flash that had engraved itself into her eyeball.

Zoe

H e l l o...?

The ruins of her bike smoldered and steamed as rain hissed against the hot metal. Blue tongues of electricity raced up and down the bike and then flickered out of existence. The seat and handlebars had completely melted and were dripping onto the sand in black splotches.

She cursed herself in her mind. What kind of moron was she, running towards a metal bike in a thunderstorm?

—A huge explosion of light.

A bolt of white lightning—

Zoe

Ack!

Zoe woke up. She was dripping wet. Water had just soaked through her hoodie and hair and touched her skin.

Her first thought was that the tide had swallowed her. But she quickly felt the patter of rain. She looked up at the sky through squinty wet eyes, and then and only then did it start to pour.

Grey and white lightnings flashed in the distance, twin forks in the sky and in the lake's black mirror. The lake whorled and gurgled as it digested the shower. Thunder cracked hollowly through the howling wind, which Zoe heard faintly through her wet hoodie, as if she was underwater.

She was freezing cold. She ransacked her backpack for another layer, anything to ward off the wetness. But her clothes in her bag were soaked too. She felt like she was drowning.

How long had she slept?

She located her bike in the blackness. Lightning glinted off its wet metal handles. There was nothing to do now but to go home to shelter. She pulled her hoodie as tight as she could around her head, even though it didn't make a difference anymore, and began to walk towards her bike—

.................

............

......

...

Zoe rode her bike straight down the dune's sandy slope and onto the beach. She had to skid to a stop in the soft sand—she realized that she had been riding as fast as she could ever since she left Robert's house.

She let her bike fall over and then she fell over too. She was exhausted. Her legs were shaking with exertion. Why had she rode so fast? The sand was cold, but it was soft and comfortable. A few feet ahead of her, the soft black water lapped against the wet sand.

Zoe pulled her hood up around her head and lay down on her back. The moon was almost completely hidden behind clouds now. Aside from its residual silvery light, the entire world seemed to be varying shades of black and textures of sound. The beach seemed so much vaster to Zoe now than when she came here during the day. It was like how she imagined the open ocean must look. Or outer space.

Zoe

I wonder what will happen to me now....

Then, after a moment of consideration:

Zoe

Who cares....

In the end, she thought, her and her problems were almost spectacularly unimportant. Somewhere in Iraq, a starving 14 year old girl would find her whole family dead under the smoking debris of her house. Zoe wondered if this girl would feel sorry for herself. I should be thankful, Zoe told herself.

Although, she thought, the Iraqi girl would still probably feel lost if her friend and her mother hated her.

Zoe closed her eyes, opened them, and closed them again. There was so little difference between the two states. Both were vast black spaces, and the droning, shushed voice of the water was the same as the white noise inside her head.

Zoe didn't want to think about her situation anymore. She was too tired now, and her body was too sore to think. And she didn't want to feel sorry for herself either. She wanted things with Robert to return to normal, and she wanted to take back what she said to her mom. But more than anything, she wanted to go to sleep. She curled up tight on the sand....

It had gotten colder, and the through the treetops sky looked blotted and puffy with clouds. The road was pitch black now, but somehow her body knew how to guide her. She had been to the beach before, but never alone or at night.

She knew she couldn't go home. At least not yet. She had lost her relationship with her mother, and now she had lost her relationship with her best friend. And in both cases it was her fault. She could see that as clearly as she could see Robert's little silhoutte in front of the TV in her memory. Zoe did not think she was a dramatic person, but right now she needed some place to clear her head. The lake seemed as good of a place as any.

The wind picked up and blew Zoe's hood back, so her frizzy hair flew out in the wind. The tree trunks all around her were vertical black lines set against an even darker blackness. But soon they lines faded into a uniform shade of blackness, and Zoe heard the sighing of waves.

There was a little ticket booth, dark grey in the night light, that led to the parking lot. Ordinarily they charged parking for cars, but of course nobody was there this late at night on this cold of a night. Zoe rode around the ticket booth and straight through the empty lot. Her tires scraped against sand strewn on the black asphalt. Finally, she felt dunes under her tires and saw the black and grey expanse of water.

Platonic affection?

No, Zoe thought, gritting her teeth. The flow of her anger seemed to dislodge something inside her, a realization. She wasn't physically attracted to Robert, but when he played with her hair and gave her backrubs, she felt sexy. Tonight was not a sudden revelation of Robert's true feelings, or even a confirmation of her sneaking suspicions. Deep down, she always knew for a fact he was attracted to her, because she went out of her way to make him feel that way. What she did realize tonight was that she had been using Robert for their whole friendship to make herself feel loved.

She felt like a tease—a whore.

Zoe

Idiot! You're such an idiot!

Zoe whispered this to herself, about herself, as she rode down the black roads. She felt mad at Robert for what happened, but then almost instantly her anger at Robert seemed to splash against a wall in her mind and reverse direction, rushing straight towards herself.

Of course she should have known that he would fall for her from the start. She should have known as soon as she first met him and saw him hold out his hand and flick his wrist as he approached a pair of automatic sliding doors, pretending to open them like a Jedi.

Zoe did not think she was pretty—she thought she had a plain face and hair and she hated her huge legs. But she knew she was the right level of prettiness to attract boys like Robert—boys who were too awkward and scared to approach prettier or more popular girls. She couldn't blame him for falling in love with her, for mistaking her platonic affection for something more. He just picked the worst possible night to make a move.

Her legs were tired from peddling uphill, but they seemed to know where they were going.

Bananas, nuts, chocolate chips: what was not to like? Zoe took it out of the freezer greedily.

But then she opened the lid: there was only a spoonful or two left at the bottom of the pint.

Zoe liked the packaging, but realized it had a ribbon of marshmallow.

Zoe

Yuck.

Upon closer inspection, this one turned out to be frozen yogurt.

Robert was tall and skinny and awkward and wore glasses with shockingly blue frames. Zoe thought he looked better in pajamas than he did in regular clothes. All of his clothes were, without exception, two sizes too big for his body. But his pajamas fit him snugly. This was probably because his mother had bought them for him in elementary school. They were dark purple with lots of little yellow stars and crescent moons, sort of like a robe a wizard might wear. Zoe looked him over.

She heard the doorbell ring through the thick oak front doors. The doorbell's melody sounded like a question and an answer.

Doorbell

Ding, dong, ding, dong?
Ding, dong, ding, dong.

She stood there for a full minute, and wondered what kind of question a doorbell would ask to itself and actually know the answer. Then she became frustrated. Where was Robert? It was obvious that he was home and awake—there was light coming from the house. Zoe wondered what she was interrupting as she stood there on the deck.

And then he kissed her.

Or tried to. Zoe should have seen it coming from the lull in his fingers moving through her hair. It was a bad proposition from the beginning—the angle was all wrong, Robert had to double over to face Zoe's face—and he ended up just bumping his chin against her nose.

His breath smelled overly sweet, like caramel. She pushed him away and sat up off of his lap.

Zoe

Robert—

They were facing each other for only a second before Robert dove at her again. This time his lips touched hers, and she was so surprised that he would attempt it a second time that she squeaked like a mouse.

Then she pushed him off. She pushed him so roughly that he tumbled off of the couch. She stood up, and he just sat there on the floor, facing the TV. Even in the weird glow of the screen, Zoe could see his face was bright red.

Robert

I'm sorry....

Zoe

It's okay, Robert. I just—you know. You're like my little brother.

Robert had no response to this, except to look down at the floor.

Zoe

I'm sorry ... that was a horrible thing to say. That's not how I think of you. I'm just messed up right now. You know? You're my best friend. I can't make out with my best friend.

Robert

It's okay. I'm sorry too.

Zoe

Okay. No hard feelings?

Robert

Okay.

He didn't sit up or look at her as he talked. He just stared at the floor, a thin, blank sillhoute against the TV. Neither of them said anything. Zoe sat back down on the couch gingerly. But after waiting for Robert to move for a full minute, she stood back up.

Zoe

Um. I think I'm going to go back home now....

Robert

Okay.

Zoe slowly put on her sweatshirt. Even though she felt suffocatingly awkward in his house now, part of her wanted to stay, to make sure that Robert was alright. But she could see that he didn't want her to be there.

Zoe

I mean—you're probably right. About my mom calling the cops if I'm not there in the morning.

Her shoes squeaked softly across the hardwood floor towards the foyer. At the front door, she stood there and looked back at the darkened room with the light from the TV. She stood there for a while, staring at the color of the light. Was he still sitting there?

Screaming voices

Can I play with madness?
He said you're blind! Too blind to see!

Robert had turned on VH1. The heavy metal song throbbed with the light from the TV. Zoe figured he was okay—or at least, okay enough for her to leave. She opened the door and walked out to the night.

Zoe didn't want to tell him what happened, but she felt like she owed him an explanation.

Zoe

My mom found out me and Elise drank my dad's gin. She flipped out. She took away my computer and grounded me for a year.

Zoe let that hang in the air while she wondered whether to tell him the rest of the story. She decided against it.

Robert

Your mom sucks.

Zoe

Yeah.

She leaned her head on his bony shoulder and looked at the TV. Now the robot and the cat girl were fighting as friends against a common enemy: a group of mutants or demons. It was hard to tell what they were. One had tentacles for arms.

Zoe

Can you play with my hair?

Robert obeyed. Zoe loved it when he played with her hair. She had dated two boys, but neither of them knew how to do it. Her hair was thick and had a lot of knots in it, but Robert could somehow unravel the knots as he stroked her hair without pulling on her scalp.

Robert

Why were you drinking with Elise though?

Zoe

I don't know. We were bored. She is boring, you know.

Robert

I thought you said you weren't going to drink anymore, though.

Zoe

I know, I know. I didn't even have fun.

Robert hit a snag in Zoe's hair. He twirled the strand around his finger gently and spent a moment working it out.

Robert

But if it's not fun, why do you keep doing it?

Zoe

Because all the cool kids are doing it.

Robert

Hey. Don't be sarcastic.

Zoe set the ice cream on the end table and lay her head down on Robert's lap, facing the TV. This afforded him a better position for his hair-playing.

Zoe

I don't know why I did it. We were bored.

Robert

Don't you think it's weird that you drink when you're bored?

Zoe

I've only drank twice.

Robert

Yeah, but—

Zoe waited for him to finish his thought. But he continued to twist her hair in silence.

Zoe

But what?

Robert

Aren't you worried that you're, like, susceptible to alcoholism? Because of your dad?

Zoe

I don't know. I've never really thought about it. I'm pretty sure you have to drink more than twice in your life to become an alcoholic, Robert.

Robert

Alright, I'll drop it.

The cartoon, whatever it was, was over. It had ended in the middle of a battle. The demons were about to summon an even bigger demon to the battlefield, and then the credits rolled to the tune of a sacharrine Japanese pop song.

Robert

It's just that I worry about you, you know. I mean—I care about you.

Zoe

I know. I worry about you too, Bobby boy.

Robert nudged her with his knee. He hated being called Bobby. Zoe grinned at the TV.

Robert

What do you mean you worry about me? What about?

Zoe

Well. Why do you think I always try to go shopping with you? You're never going to get a girlfriend if you let your mom buy your clothes.

Robert

Zoe....

Chocolate chocolate chip ice cream, caramel-flavored ice cream, and a caramel core. And it was full? Jackpot.

Zoe

Can I have some ice cream?

She heard more roaring and operatic music from the living room, but no answer. She took that as a yes. Spoon in hand, she took her treasure back to the couch.

Robert

Ooh, give me some.

Zoe fed him like a baby so he didn't have to put down the controller.

Robert

More caramel!

Zoe

Are you almost done killing that thing?

Robert

Well, sort of ... alright, I'll pause it.

The music and action stopped and once again the room was lit by the static pause screen.

Zoe

You don't have to. I like watching.

Robert

It's alright. I want to hear what's up with you.

Zoe leaned back against her cushion. In actuality, she didn't feel like telling Robert her story. She couldn't think of a way to tell him without mentioning that she had been drinking. And Robert was vehemently against drinking.

Zoe

I just needed to get away from my mom.

Robert

Did you guys fight again?

Zoe

Yeah.

Robert

I'm sorry....

Zoe

Do you think it would be okay if I slept here tonight?

Robert

Yeah, sure. But isn't your mom going to notice that you're gone tomorrow morning?

Zoe

Who cares.

Robert

Zoe—what if she calls the cops?

Zoe put more ice cream in her mouth and shrugged her shoulders

Robert

Whatever. What were you fighting about anyway?

Zoe

I don't know. Can we watch something?

Robert slunked off the couch and hit a switch on the TV. The Cartoon Network came on. A girl with cat ears and a tail was screaming at what looked like an indifferent robot. Robert sat back down next to her.

Robert

Come on, tell me what's wrong.

Robert's kitchen was huge, and its dark wood paneling was sort of foreboding in the middle of the night, but Zoe knew her way around it pretty well. She was over at Robert's house so often that it felt like a second home to her. Zoe certainly liked Robert's mother a lot more than her own.

The freezer had not one, not two, not three, but four kinds of Ben and Jerry's ice cream: Phish Food, Cherry Garcia, Chunky Monkey, and Karamel Sutra.

Zoe took her shoes off in the foyer and closed the door behind her. She could see the blue glow from the big TV in the family room.

Robert

Is everything okay?

Zoe

I didn't wake you up?

Robert

Nah.

Zoe

What were you doing in there? Watching porn?

Robert

Shutup. I just got a new game.

Zoe

Dork. Can I watch?

Robert

Yeah, sure. I was in the middle of it.

Robert led Zoe into the darkened living room. It was illuminated only by the glowing pause screen on the big TV. Robert's video game system and all its wires were sprawled out on the floor like a mess of black snakes. They both plopped down on his parents' exceedingly plush sofa.

Robert

Let me finish this part and save, and then I'll talk to you.

Zoe

Okay.

Robert took hold of his controller and unpaused the game. Zoe watched on the TV. A small boy with a glowing sword was climbing up the body of a gigantic monster made out of stone and fur. The boy was trying to stab the monster in its forehead, but the monster kept on shaking and twisting, so the boy couldn't get a good enough hold.

Zoe

Which one are you, the monster or the little boy?

Robert

I'm the dude with the sword.

Zoe

Why are you trying to stab that monster in its head?

Robert

I'm trying to save my girlfriend.

The boy on the TV finally landed a hit. He plunged his sword straight down into the creature's furry head. The monster screamed and roared, and its eyes lit up in shock.

Zoe

You're hurting it!

Robert

Well, yeah.

Zoe

Don't you feel bad?

Robert

Grrrr! Be quiet! This part is really hard!

Zoe

Do you have any food?

Robert

Yeah, help yourself.

Zoe knew exactly where to go: her best friend Robert's house. His lived with his mom, and she was away on business for the whole week. It was only ten minutes away, and it was secluded, so she wouldn't have to worry about cops on the roads looking for truant teenagers.

Zoe pedaled her bike carefully down the street. It was almost pitch-black. The main roads had white lines that shimmered faintly with moonlight. Eventually these gave way to narrow, black roads curving through woodland. Somehow, Zoe remembered the path to her friends house, the dips and bends and twists of the roads.

Robert's house was a huge two-story wooden affair situated in a clearing in the woods. Most of the house was dark. The few lights on glowed amber through the windows, casting shadows from the thin trees that surrounded the house. The clearing was close to the dunes that bordered the lake, and the wind from the water streamed through the gaps in the trees.

Zoe parked her bike against Robert's front deck and rang the doorbell.

One of the thick double-doors swung open. Robert stood there in his pajamas.

Robert

Zoe?

Zoe

Hi Robert. Can I come in?

Zoe

Robert....

Zoe winced as she said the name.

Robert was Zoe's best friend and she loved him more than anyone she knew. He was skinny and awkward and wore glasses with blue frames, and whenever he approached an automatic sliding door, he extended his hand and flicked his wrist, forcing the door open like a Jedi.

Robert was Zoe's only friend who knew about her dad's drinking problem and he was her only friend who disapproved of drinking altogether—although he was especially disapproving of Zoe's drinking. She got flustered as she wondered how she was going to tell Robert the reason she was going to run away, because he was so judgmental.

Zoe

You're such an idiot. You're such an idiot!

She was speaking to herself, about herself. She realized in a flash that talking to Robert about her problem wasn't even an option right now, because just two days ago, Robert had kissed her—or tried to kiss her. They were draped over each other on Robert's couch after trading backrubs, watching late night cartoons, just as they always did when they hung out. The kiss was a botched attempt from the start—a bad angle of approach—and they only ended up bumping chins before Zoe pushed him away. And just like that, their friendship dissolved. She didn't even have to try to avoid him the next two days at school, because he was doing such a good job of avoiding her.

Zoe's mind raced. She could go over there. She could use this night as the catalyst to renew their friendship. She would even tell Robert the truth about her drinking and would take whatever judgment he hammered out.

But she couldn't. She felt too terrible about what happened that the prospect of seeing Robert's sad face was frightening. She should have known that he would fall for her from the start. Zoe did not think she was pretty—she thought she had a plain face and hair and she hated her huge legs—but she knew she was the right level of prettiness to attract boys like Robert—boys who were too awkward and scared to approach prettier or more popular girls. And she should have known that, in Robert's mind, her touching him and hugging him and wrestling with him always held a promise of something more than platonic friendship. When she thought of seeing Robert, she saw a side of herself that she hated, and she felt like a tease, a whore. She knew she would have to face it eventually, because the thought of losing Robert's friendship forever was much more terrible than facing him. But tonight was not the night.

An explosion threw Zoe to the ground. She was blinded and deafened, and her entire body echoed with the sizzling white flash.

Her ears buzzed as she drew herself to her feet. Even though her hair was soaked, it crackled with static.

Zoe

Hello....

She heard her own voice faintly—she wasn't deaf.

She opened and closed her eyes. At first all she could see was the cloudy afterimage of a streak of white lightning.

It had happened so suddenly, she had to remind herself to breath as she gulped in her surroundings—

The screaming wind....
The bellicose sky....
Her bike....

As she considered this philosophical question, it started raining. Then it started pouring, and lightning flashed and thundered in the distance over the lake, reflecting off its surface in bright streaks. Before Zoe could even push herself off the ground she was soaked from head to toe.

Had she fallen asleep? The sky hadn't been cloudy when she rode here.

She felt like she was drowning and freezing at the same time. She hoisted her bookbag and ran to her bike. Her metal bike—

Zoe's first instinct was to ride to her friend Robert's house. But this plan was no good.

The backroads by her house, on the other hand, were far less travelled. And so that is where Zoe went. She struggled up the hills and zoomed down the slopes. Zoe lived near the dunes bordering the lake, and most of the backroads eventually led to the beach. Good, she thought. The lake was as good a place as any to run away and clear her head.

It was almost pitch-black. The main roads had white lines that faintly reflected the moonlight, but eventually these gave way to narrow, black roads curving through woodland. Somehow, Zoe remembered the path to the beach, the dips and bends of the roads. The sillhouttes of the trees gave way to a huge, sighing expanse of blackness. The road ended and a sand dune sloped down towards the water, black and grey in the moonlight.

She rode her bike straight down the sandy slope. Her hoodie flipped back in the lake's wind, and her exposed hair whipped around her face. She skidded a few yards from the water's edge. It was even colder here, but luckily she packed many layers of sweaters and sweatshirts. She had never been to the beach alone, or at night. It seemed so much vaster to her now, like how she imagined the ocean must look. Or outer space.

Zoe

I wonder what will happen to me...

Zoe spoke to herself aloud as she lay on the sand. Then, after considering for a moment:

Zoe

Who cares.

In the end, she thought, her and her problems were amazingly unimportant. Somewhere in Iraq a starving 14 year old girl would find her whole family dead under the smoking debris of her house. Zoe wondered if this girl would feel sorry for herself or feel the need to complain to her friends.

Zoe closed her eyes, opened them, and closed them again. There was so little difference between the two states. Both were vast black spaces, and the droning sound of the water was the same as the white noise inside her head. Was she drifting off to sleep? Or was she becoming one with the outside world?

Zoe obeyed. Back in her room, she closed her door, sat on her bed and rubbed her face.

It took a while to register how much trouble she was in. She wished she could go online and find her friends for some support. She winced when the impossibility of this ran into her like a brick wall. How could she have been so stupid to trust Elise's idea about the water? She was mad at her mother, but she was mad at herself too, for her carelessness.

And there was that tinge of guilt. She had never spoke so openly about her father, not even to her friends, let alone to the poor woman married to him. She hadn't even known for sure if her father was cheating on her mother, but it seemed to be a lucky guess in retrospect, judging from the shattered expression on her mother's face. When she was younger, Zoe thought that nothing she could say or do could hurt her parents. She knew this was not the case now, but she never had any idea how much she had the power to harm them. All it took was a little bit of truth.

Zoe found herself throwing clothes into her bookbag even before she consciously decided to run away. Looking at her bag half-stuffed with sweaters and hoodies, she decided that it was, in fact, a good idea. She needed some time, some space, to work out her conflicting emotions. She was trapped here in her room, with no computer and no phone. She was trapped in this house, in this relationship with her mother that she had just now irrevocably ruined. She needed some place to breathe.

An hour had already passed since the encounter. When she was sure her mother was fast asleep, Zoe opened her window and climbed out. The aluminum siding stung her fingers with cold. Her house was a split-level, and she had climbed out her window a few times before, but she never remembered it being this cold. She rubbed her hands together when she touched ground and pulled her hoodie tightly around her head.

She tiptoed onto the front porch, grabbed her red bike, and rode off into the night.

Zoe thought that the YMCA part of her punishment was funny for being so random and vague. But she was smirking more at the previous comment about her father.

Mother

What do you think is funny?

Zoe

I don't think it's funny—

Zoe should have stopped right there, but then she continued knowing full well that she shouldn't, that she was treading dangerous waters already and that this would be taking the plunge—

Zoe

—I just think it's kind of sad ... that you expect him to come home anytime soon. Or sober enough to take apart my computer. Isn't he cheating on you, anyway?

Slap.

It was a vicious, backhanded, very loud slap. Her mother swung so hard that she missed Zoe's cheek, landing squarely on her jaw instead. It surprised Zoe more than it hurt her, though after a few moments it started to smart horribly and her lip felt numb. The girl stood there with her mouth open.

Mother

Get out of my sight.

Zoe considered her answer for a while.

Zoe

I guess ... I wouldn't.

Mother

What kind of smart-aleck answer is that?

Zoe

Your question didn't make sense. I didn't do anything, Mom! Why would I want to punish myself if I didn't do anything to deserve it?

Her mother started walking. She marched up the stairs towards Zoe's room. Zoe followed her, keeping her distance and wondering if she should even bother maintaining her innocence at this point.

Mother

I'm not sure what is worse, Zoe—the thought of you drinking alcohol, or the thought of you lying through your teeth about it. I didn't raise my daughter to be a deceitful little drunk.

Zoe

But Mom—

Her mother ignored her. She went straight to Zoe's desk and began unhooking her computer. The woman had no idea what she was doing and it was almost painful for Zoe to watch. With a stray elbow, her mother knocked over a stack of papers onto the floor. She didn't seem to notice. Finally, she managed to unplug the monitor and lift it off of the desk, nearly falling backwards over a pile of Zoe's dirty clothes. It was not a large monitor, but her mother was so frail that she had to limp to carry it out of the room.

Zoe

I need that for homework.

Mother

You can write it longhand.

Her mother wasn't stopping, so Zoe had to trail after her down the hall towards her parents' bedroom.

Zoe

You don't understand. I need the internet, and something to type on.

Mother

You can stay after school and use the computer room there.

There was no use telling her mother that the computer room wasn't open after school.

Her mother heaved the monitor onto her immaculately-made king-sized bed. It bounced and flipped over on its side.

Mother

Your father will be in later to take the rest of your computer. Meanwhile, you can forget about going out, for a year. And starting next week, you're going to go to the YMCA after school for a special program.

Zoe couldn't help but smirk.

Mother

I'm sorry, Zoe, but do you find something funny about all this? Please tell me.

Zoe recognized the bottle as soon as she looked at it. It was a bottle of gin.

She immediately looked at the linoleum floor and said nothing.

Mother

Well?

Her mother had noticed Zoe looking at the bottle, and she had to struggle to maintain her placid face. She had set the trap and was clearly expecting some satisfaction.

Zoe

Well what?

Mother

Were you drinking your father's gin last weekend, when Elise was over?

Zoe

Of course not.

Mother

Then why is that bottle filled with water?

Zoe shuffled her feet. It had seemed like a good idea at the time—water and gin looked the same, after all—but she should have known her father would notice the switcheroo eventually.

Mother

Are you going to answer my question?

Zoe

Mom, I don't even know what you're talking about. We weren't drinking.

Mother

Well, your father is the one who called it to my attention. Are you suggesting your father filled his own gin bottle up with water?

Zoe shrugged her shoulders.

Mother

Why in the world would your father do that?

Zoe

I don't know ... don't a lot of alcoholics try to cover it up?

Mother

Your father is not an alcoholic.

Zoe had to stifle a laugh.

Mother

You think this is funny?

Zoe

No.

Mother

What are we going to do about this, Zoe?

Zoe

I don't know.

Mother

If you were in my position, how would you punish yourself?

Were they letters from school? Zoe ransacked her memory. She was confident she hadn't done anything wrong. She had cheated on a history test, but that was months ago. Had her teacher just found out about it? Zoe doubted that her teacher would send a letter, even if he did found out. She kept on looking around the kitchen for clues, all the while careful not to betray any signs of guiltiness.

The bowl was crusted over with bright orange Velveeta sauce—the kind of crustiness that you couldn't just put in the dishwasher and hope for the best. Someone would have to scrub that off. Zoe wondered if she was in trouble for failing to put her dishes away.

She looked at her mother for a clue. But she could tell from her mother's face that her trouble was of a more epic nature. She continued looking around the kitchen.

The Adventures of a Girl Named Zoe, Who Saw Herself Seeing Herself In a Fulgurite, In a Fulgurite

Mother's Voice

Zoe?

Zoe, who was in her room talking to her friends on the internet, knew right away that she was in trouble. It was all in the inflection. If her mother had screamed her name, that meant she was just calling her. But the forced, calm pronunciation spelled uncertain doom.

Zoe put on her best blank face and walked down the stairs, one by one, taking her time. Her mother was standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing a similar blank face.

Zoe

Yes?

Mother

Is there something you'd like to tell me, Zoe?

Zoe did a quick scan of the kitchen. There was a bowl of overripe fruit on the counter, along with a bowl of half-eaten macaroni and cheese. On the counter behind her mother, she could make out some opened letters, a bottle, a glass, and a book.

Zoe woke up and knew instantly that the events of the last night were not a dream. She never remembered her dreams, but she clearly remembered everything that had happened to her, right up until she put down the glass and crawled into bed, dumbstruck.

She had always wondered how crazy people must feel. Now she knew. It was actually quite exhilirating. She hadn't decided who to tell (if anyone) but she was so confident that she wasn't dreaming, that something truly extraordinarily happened, that the mundane details of who would believe her seemed trivial. She didn't yet feel confident enough to deal with the glass object, safely hidden under her shirt on her desk. But she at least felt confident enough in her apparent insanity to face the world.

She got dressed and skipped down the stairs. Halfway down she remembered that she lost her bike. She'd have to catch the bus to school. Oh well, she thought. She could handle it.

Downstairs, her mother was cooking breakfast. Upon further examination, she was cooking breakfast for someone sitting in the breakfast nook, drinking coffee and reading the paper. It was her father.

Zoe

Dad?

He looked up. When had he come home? He wore a ratty bathrobe, but he was clean-shaven for a change.

Dad

What do you want, kiddo? Surprised to see me?

Zoe

Well....

Zoe didn't press the point. Stranger things had happened, after all.

Her mother was completely ignoring her. It was for the best, Zoe decided. Her father didn't give any indication that he cared about her stealing his gin, or talking back to her mother—predictably. He never confronted Zoe about anything.

Dad

Do you have school today?

What a stupid question, Zoe thought. Of course she did, it was Wednesday.

Zoe

Yeah. I have to catch the bus. So—bye.

Dad

Bye.

The woods were quiet. The only sounds came from the bubbling creek and a few birds chirping. There were no butterflies, no sounds of battle, no police sirens. In fact, the subdivision wasn't even there anymore. Beyond the stand of trees was an empty field.

Zoe sat down. The dirt was soft and cold. Where was she now? The creek looked the same—or so she thought. She hadn't gotten a good look at it.

Grey had said she was supposed to catch a train. Where was this train supposed to be? The closest train station in her town—if that was even where she was—was downtown, a long ways away.

That couldn't be what Grey had meant. He would have mentioned having to walk to a train station. And what sort of train station would have a train that led to an Amethyst Castle?

A red fox regarded her from a distance. It held its bushy tail up in the air and sniffed. Suddenly Zoe felt very vulnerable. She had done something wrong, she was sure of it. She wasn't supposed to be here, she was supposed to be near a train track. She was lost. And that fox looked suspicious—was it an aurisha too? Was she being hunted?

Envision yourself near a winding track... Zoe held up her fulgurite to the light. The last two times she had looked through it, she felt as though her vision was being pulled. She had went along with it; she was too surprised to try to tug at the current. But now she thought it might be possible to push her vision another way, to paddle against the current and look for something in particular—like a train track. Could that be what Grey meant?

She held the fulgurite up to her eye again, determined not to take the path of least resistance. She breathed in and out, concentrating. For a third time she saw the pattern of nothingness and being. She pushed her consciousness as it was pulled, and felt the momentum of the vision give a little. Train tracks she thought. And then something locked in her mind, and the vision was off again—galaxies, stars, planets, a blue planet, like earth, with the same continents. And yet somehow she knew this planet was very different from her own. She was looking for something—a train track, in the shape of the creek—and then she saw it, zooming through the clouds. A curve of glimmering train tracks in a forest, and a girl standing next to them, looking through a fulgurite.

Zoe pulled the fulgurite away from her eye and looked around her. The trees were larger than before, with greener, thicker leaves. The forest stretched out in all directions. The train tracks, she noticed, were not the usual rusty iron and rough wood. Each crossbar was made out of polished hardwood. The rails were gleaming steel with flowery engraving that flowed down their entire length. There was no wind, and even though the tracks rested on a loamy forest floor, neither the wooden planks nor the rails had a speck of dirt on them.

It occured to her that she was not at a train station. How was she supposed to get on the train—if it ever came? The track wound through the forest and quickly disappeared on either side in the thick trees. There was no station in sight.

Zoe

Left or right?

It was a dog. A furry, smiling golden retriever. It was slowly waddling down the aisle. It had a vest of sorts strapped to its back. The vest was lined with pockets that were filled with what looked like chunks of shiny, clear marbles.

The dog stopped at Zoe's booth and looked at her expectantly. Its pink tongue lolled out of its mouth as it panted. It looked so friendly that she almost reached out a hand to pet it.

Mysterious Voice

Hello. Ticket, please?

She jerked her hand away. Did the dog say that? No—it was still looking at her with its mouth open. And the voice seemed to come from all over the place.

Mysterious Voice

Why don't you have a mask?

This time, the disembodied voice had a more suspicious tone. The mirrors on either side of her booth were completely fogged up now.

Zoe

I—I lost it.

Mysterious Voice

Hm. Well, please give your ticket to the conductor.

Zoe looked around.

Zoe

Who is the conductor?

Mysterious Voice

Why, you're looking at her.

The dog in front of Zoe shook its head slightly, as if to acknowledge its position, and continued panting.

Mysterious Voice

Where are you going?

Zoe

The Amethyst Castle.

Mysterious Voice

The Amethyst Castle? Never heard of it.

The dog looked from side to side, and then sat down on its haunches.

Zoe

Umm.

Mysterious Voice

Are you a traveller, or a wanderer?

Zoe

I'm a traveller. I'm travelling to the Amythest Castle.

Moisture dripped from the mirrors. Zoe wiped her forehead.

Mysterious Voice

Is that right?

The voice was more localized now. It seemed to be coming from next to the dog. In fact, Zoe thought she saw a cloud of steam forming there.

Zoe

Yes sir.

The cloud of steam grew larger and larger until it had the vague shape of a person. The train seemed to slow down as the steam coalesced.

Man-shaped Cloud of Steam

Well, I suppose there are lots of places I've never heard of. Perhaps you've gotten on the wrong train?

Zoe

No. I don't think so.

Man-shaped Cloud of Steam

Are you sure? It happens more often then you'd think.

Zoe just shook her head. The train continued to slow down. It was nearing a full stop.

Man-shaped Cloud of Steam

Now look what you've done. Made me manifest and got me distracted from powering the train. That's why I have my dog do the conducting. Now, you'd better decide where you want to go double-quick. Though, if you've got no ticket and no destination, then we'll be stopping anyways, if you catch my meaning.

The creature waved a wispy tendril in the direction of the door.

Man-shaped Cloud of Steam

And my meaning is that you'll be getting off.

Zoe looked around for any sign of what she was expected to do at this point. In the mirrors' reflection, she noticed the masked man with the fez was still looking at her.

Zoe

I don't understand.

She looked at the dog, whose face was more comforting than a human-shaped cloud of steam.

Zoe

I did everything I was told to do. I'm just a harmless traveller—

Masked Man wearing Fez

Excuse me.

The man stood up and walked towards Zoe's booth. He looked at the steam-man.

Masked Man wearing Fez

I apologize, great and noble aurisha, for interupting. But it sounds as if this poor girl is hopelessly stranded. If there is anything I can do to help her, please, let me know.

"Hm," said the aurisha. "Can you can pay for her?"

The masked man shook his head. "I gave your conductor my one and only steam crystal."

"Then perhaps a toy for my dog?"

Again, the masked man shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't have anything like that."

Zoe looked at the dog, who looked back at her expectantly. Then she got an idea.

She picked left. That was the direction her house lay, if her house even existed in this world. She started walking. The leaves crunched noisily under her feet—there was absolutely no other sound in the empty woods.

No sound, that is, except for a faint humming. And then, a faint chugging.

It sounded like a train, coming from the direction that Zoe was walking towards. Zoe supposed that she shouldn't be surprised. But there was no station! She ran in the direction of the train. If she ran fast enough, she hoped, she could find a station before the train passed her.

She turned behind her and looked. There was a golden flash of light, and a trail of smoke was floating through the canopy. She continued to run. How was she running so fast? She would have been winded if she ran this fast in gym class.

The train was gaining ground behind her. It glided along the tracks as if they were made out of ice. It was an old-fashioned steam engine, painted deep black and covered in baroque gold and silver filigree. The train had five cars, each one painted perfect black and covered in gold and silver filligree, like the engine. She waved her arms at it as the train began to pass her.

Then there was a screeching sound, and orange and blue sparks shot out from the beautifully engraved wheels. The train jerked to a stop. Its last car was only a few yards ahead of Zoe.

All the doors to every car opened at once.

Zoe waited for some sign to approach, for a person to step out of the door and yell all aboard! But none came. The train stood still, its doors wide open. Small clusters of leaves, disturbed by the train's passing, fluttered gently to the ground.

She walked cautiously towards the last car. Its interior was covered in hardwood and more gold and silver patterns. The train had no windows, but through the door she could see that the walls were lined with mirrors.

There were no steps, so she had to pull herself up to get inside the door. She looked around her. She saw thousands of Zoes looking around in the mirrors' infinite reflections; the inside of the carraige looked far vaster than the outside suggested. A crystal chandelier lit the room from above, its light reflecting a thousand versions of itself. Below the mirrors were rows of booths, forward-facing like schoolbus seats. Except these booths looked to be made entirely out of gold and silver, the metals alternating in diagonal bands on each booth in a pattern that evoked zebras, or circus tents.

There was only one other person in this car, someone with wavy black hair wearing a small purple fez. Zoe could only see the top of his head above the back of his gold and silver booth.

The doors closed and the train jerked into motion. Zoe staggered backward and braced herself against one of the booths. She was surprised at how cold and heavy it felt.

She picked a booth on the opposite end of the car from the fez-wearing person to sit in. The seat was incredibly uncomfortable, and there was not very much leg room, even for her.

Was this better than being stranded in a forest? The hall-of-mirrors effect was beginning to disturb her. She looked straight ahead at the back of the booth. There was an elaborate mural engraved into the shiny alternating stripes of gold and silver. The mural pictured what looked like a queen, or perhaps an efeminate king, surrounded by winged angels, sitting on a huge throne made out of all sorts of apparently random things—trees, strange animals and monsters, flame, a meteor, a torn scroll. It was dizzying to look at.

Zoe put her bag against the mirrored wall and lay down sideways. She looked down at her lap so she wouldn't have to look at herself in the opposite mirror.

She noticed she was still holding the glass fulgurite. She turned it around in her hand. Unlike the perfectly smooth mirrors lining the walls, the fulgurite's glass was rough and flecked with sand and dirt. Zoe tried to scrape some off with her fingernail, but apparently the glass had melted around the particles. She decided not to fool around with the fulgurite—maybe those flecks of sand needed to be in their exact positions for the thing to work its magic. Magic? Could that explain what was happening to her? Zoe wondered.

Zoe carefully wrapped the fulgurite in one of her sweatshirts and put it in her backpack. As she did so, she noticed a new reflection in the mirrors. She was so on edge that she instinctively ducked down. Calming herself, she peeked out from behind her seat.

The man with the fez was looking back at her. But she couldn't see his face, because he was wearing a creepy-looking mask. The mask had three eyes, one in the middle of the forehead. Zoe could not tell if whoever was staring at her through mask had three eyes to fit. She shuddered.

The door to car opened. Zoe ducked back around her seat. She didn't see anyone enter the car. The door closed with a hiss and a click. She heard pattering footsteps down the isle, followed by a jangling sound.

Zoe wiped her forehead. The temperature in the car seemed to rise suddenly. Or—was it just getting more humid? The mirrors closest to the door were slightly foggy, and as the footsteps continued, the fogginess spread further down the car.

Zoe's stomatch sank. She felt even more vulnerable than before now. She had nowhere to run or hide. Why did she trust Grey? Was she insane?

She risked peeking out from behind her booth down the isle, and she saw the source of the footsteps.