Whisper (Riley Bloom 4)

Her feet padding softly against the floor as she moved to wrestle with something in a corner—her sudden return announced by the hum of her murmuring voice at my ear, saying, “Now, I want you to think very hard. I want you to concentrate not on the image you’re convinced that you’ll see, but rather on the one you desire to see.”

“You mean, like … manifesing?” My entire being drooped in frustration, sure it would never work.

While I was well used to manifesting—well used to imagining whatever it is that I wanted—things like clothes, and books, and iPods, and new furniture for my room—and then seeing it appear right before me like the magic it was—I knew for a fact that it would never work on myself. I mean, it’s not like I hadn’t already thought of that—it’s not like I hadn’t already tried.

But, for whatever reason, Messalina was convinced, and she was more than determined to convince me as well. “Yes, it’s exactly like manifesting,” she said. “And in order for it to work, I need you to clear your mind of any lingering doubt. Remember Riley, you’re in my world now.”

To be honest, I felt a little silly standing there with my body swallowed whole by that baggy blue dress, and my eyes all squinched shut as I tried to envision a version of me that would never, ever be.

And yet, part of me figured, what the heck? It’s not like I had much to lose. I mean, hadn’t Bodhi told me that if I wanted to be a teen then I had to see myself as a teen? That I had to learn how to act as if I already had it? If it worked, well, then I’d finally realize my dream—and the thought of that alone made it well worth the risk of looking any dumber than I already did.

I squeezed my lids tighter, tempted to really dive in, go all out, and imagine myself looking like a movie star, a supermodel, or maybe even a hybrid of both. But before the image could begin to take shape, I quickly erased it and started again. Figuring it would be far more interesting to see a version of me that truly lived up to my full (and far more probable) potential, as opposed to an image my own mom wouldn’t recognize.

“Can you see her?” Messalina’s voice was tinged with excitement. “Can you see the new you blossom like a flower in your mind?”

She brushed a cool finger across my brow as I continued to concentrate as hard as I could. Focusing on a version of me that wasn’t so entirely different from how I actually was—only better—taller. One where the baby fat that once padded my face had made way for a nice pair of cheekbones that somehow, miraculously, made my semi-stubby nose appear … well … not quite so semi-stubby.

Oh, and of course I gave myself hair that was thicker, and wavier, and a whole lot glossier too—the kind of hair you see in shampoo ads. And when it came time for imaginings below the neck, well, let’s just say that I was quick to transform my stick figure into one with just the right amount of swoops and curves that would serve the dress well.

With the image firmly fixed in my mind, I gave a quick nod so Messalina would know it was done. And when she clapped her hands together and said, “Look!”—I did.

Gazing into the full-length mirror she’d propped up before me, I gasped in delight at a vision of me that looked a lot like my beautiful, older sister Ever, while also managing to stay true to me—albeit, a much better, prettier, more mature version of me.

I looked exactly like the image I’d conjured in my head.

“So, what do you think? Do you like what you see? I was right about the dress, wasn’t I?” Messalina’s voice was as anxious as the expression she wore on her face.

My fingers grazed first over the mirror, and then over myself—hardly able to grasp the enormous change that had just taken place. My face broke into a smile as I glanced her way, my eyes shiny, my cheeks beaming, my voice gone hoarse but still bearing the full extent of my gratitude when I said, “Oh yes, I like it very much. I look at least …” I turned back toward my image, scrutinized it closely. Starting to say: I look thirteen—the age I’ve always wanted to be!—but soon realizing I’d managed to pass thirteen right by.

Maybe even fourteen as well.

And quite possibly fifteen too.

“How old are you?” I asked, looking her over again, hoping to gauge my own progress against hers, since she still appeared older than me.

But Messalina just shrugged. Her shoulders rising and falling in that graceful, delicate way that she had. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess no one ever thought to keep track.”

My eyes bugged in a way that wasn’t one bit pretty, but I couldn’t help it. I’d never heard of such a thing. It was so outrageous, so unthinkable, I immediately suspected her of lying.

“My parents died when I was quite young,” she continued, her voice steady, the words matter of fact, with no hint of the emotion she might’ve felt at that long-ago time. “I lived with a series of reluctant relatives until I landed here. The ludus belonged to my uncle, my aunt was unable to conceive and found herself so desperate for a child, she settled for me. And while I’ve spent many years in this place, I can’t say exactly how many. All I know is I was a child when I arrived, and when I died, I looked like this.” She ran a hand down her side.

“So you never had a birthday party?” I tried my best to quash my surprise, but still, it really was unthinkable, an outrage for sure. I couldn’t even imagine such a thing. Birthdays had always been extremely important to me.

She squinted, tilted her head to the side, acting as though my reaction was completely unfathomable, as though she couldn’t understand why I’d place such importance on something that to her was just as easily forgotten, if not ignored.

Her reaction prompting me to wave it away, end it right there. We were products of different times, different cultures—there was no point in getting sidetracked by things that couldn’t possibly help me with the job I came to do.

Returning to my own glorious transformation, the newly grown-up version of me, I moved closer to the mirror, ran a hand over my shiny, springy curls that cascaded all the way down to my waist, taking in the pale green shimmer that glowed all around me—remembering how it used to glow a little bit darker, a little bit deeper, until things didn’t go so well on my last unassigned Soul Catch and all of my progress fa

ded away. Pretty much the opposite of Bodhi’s glow, which continued to shine brighter—the green edged out by blue until it became a beautiful, vibrant aqua—the same shade as the dress I was wearing.

My guide had left me in the dust. Effortlessly moving onto fifteen while I was stuck at twelve. And yet, if he could see how quickly I’d just progressed, I was sure he’d be as awestruck as I was. The only thing that marred the transformation was that stupid, barely there glimmer of mine.

“Is everything okay?” Messalina peered at me, her face clouded with concern. “Are you not happy with the new you?”

I glanced between our reflections, unable to see my dismal green glow as anything other than what it truly was—a constant reminder of what I’d done wrong. A painful memory of what I’d already learned. And it’s not like lugging it around was doing me the least bit of good.

Messalina didn’t glow. Neither did any of the other ghosts I’d seen around the ludus. And if the goal was for me to find a way to fit in as best as I could, well, then it was clear that my glow-on needed to move on.