The Town with No Mirrors


 
 
 
 
 
 
 Copyright © 2023 by Christina Collins
 Cover and internal design © 2023 by Sourcebooks
 Cover design by Maryn Arreguín/Sourcebooks
 Cover illustrations by Tània García
 Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
 The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
 Published by Sourcebooks Young Readers, an imprint of Sourcebooks
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 Contents
 Front Cover
 Title Page
 Copyright
 Part I
 1
 2
 3
 4
 5
 6
 7
 8
 9
 10
 11
 12
 13
 Part II
 14
 15
 16
 17
 18
 19
 20
 21
 22
 23
 Part III
 24
 25
 26
 27
 28
 29
 Epilogue
 Author’s Note
 Acknowledgments
 About the Author
 Back Cover
 
 
 For Aidan
 
 
 Part I
 su·per·fi·cial
 adjective
 1. of, relating to, or located near a surface
 2. external or outward
 3. concerned with or comprehending only what is on the surface or obvious
 4. shallow; not profound or thorough
 
 
 1
 I think I have a staring problem.
 It feels worst here in art class, but also safest. While everyone else’s eyes fix on their projects, mine can roam free. Across from me, Malorie Windleson picks her nose while she draws; it looks pointier than ever today, and a new red spot gleams on its tip. Next to her, Ricky Sanchez grins at whatever he’s drawing, revealing the gap between his front teeth; has it widened since yesterday? Beyond him, Hal Gotwell yawns, and the cinnamon-colored specks on his cheeks stretch and shift; I swear they’ve multiplied since math class this morning.
 My eyes move on, scanning my other classmates: mainly bent heads, but at some angles I can see faces. That’s what fascinates me most—faces.
 I wonder if mine looks like any of theirs.
 “Okay, stop what you’re doing.”
 I jerk my gaze to the front of the room. Did I give myself away somehow? Did I stare too long? I should have known. Mr. Huttle suspects me—senses my Superficial thoughts…
 “Time for partner critiques,” he announces.
 He’s looking at the clock, not at me. My muscles loosen a little. False alarm.
 Still, I need to be more careful.
 “You all know the drill,” he says. “Turn to the person next to you.”
 I look first to my right, where Olive is turning to Jill. That shouldn’t surprise me. She’s been choosing Jill over me for a while now. It’s probably for the best; Olive’s drawing a unicorn again. She has unicorn fever. But to each their own, because this week we can draw any subject we want, as long as it incorporates shading. Well, any subject but one, of course.
 “Looks like you’re stuck with me,” says a voice on my left.
 I turn toward Noah Spinsky. I guess I don’t mind getting him as a partner. Everyone else gives only nice feedback so that they’ll get the same in return, but I can trust Noah to be honest.
 “An apple?” He raises an eyebrow. “Wow. Exciting subject matter.”
 Sometimes too honest.
 “You’re one to talk.” I point at his drawing. “Another sunset? How imaginative.”
 “It’s a sunrise, thank you very much.” 
 “Right.” I grin. “My bad.”
 The truth is it’s fine by me if he thinks I only draw boring, ordinary things. It’s safer if people think that—they won’t suspect me.
 “Anyway.” Noah sighs. “Your apple still looks better than anything I could draw. You could draw a dot and still be the best artist in the class.”
 “I’m not the best.” My cheeks burn. Are they reddening like Alice Flynn’s do when Mr. Huttle calls on her? No—Bad Thought.
 “Then why did Mr. Huttle call you that last week? I heard him telling Principal Gladder.”
 “You did?”
 “Don’t let it get to your head.” Noah leans back in his chair. “Now, should we talk about yours first or mine?”
 “Yours,” I say, wanting to get the attention off me.
 “Yeah, let’s save the best for last.”
 “That’s not what I—”
 “Break it to me gently.” He turns his drawing toward me. “How bad is it?”
 I study the drawing: a basic sunrise, with hills, a little house, a semicircle on the horizon, and lines for sunrays. I try not to cringe at the M-shaped birds in the sky. “It’s good—I like that you included birds,” I say, because I always start with a compliment.
 “But?”
 “But maybe they could be more…lifelike.”
 He slouches a little. “Okay. What else?”
 “Well…” I search for something to praise; I don’t want to make him slouch even more. But I find myself at a loss. “It’s really nice overall,” I say. “If you wanted, you could add some shadow and dark tones to the hills. Give them more dimension…”
 I can’t help noticing he’s staring at me now while I talk. Which is normal, I know—to look at someone when they’re speaking. It’s one of the few times staring is appropriate. But his Pop Eyes are fixed somewhere near my nose, threatening to pop right out of their sockets. That’s what I call them in my head—Pop Eyes—because they seem almost too big for his eyelids. Now especially.
 “More dimension and, um…” I stammer, losing my train of thought. I try to focus on Noah’s sunrise. The hills, the M-shaped birds… But I still feel him staring at me. I can dish it out, but apparently I can’t take it. What does he see that’s so eye-popping?
 “Uh, Zailey?” He shifts in his seat. “Are you okay?”
 My