3:59

SIXTEEN

3:59 A.M.

JOSIE WAS WIDE AWAKE, STANDING IN FRONT OF the mirror at the exact moment its surface undulated like the ebbing tide, opening the door between her world and Jo’s. There wasn’t any note gripped in her hand. This time, she planned to answer Jo’s letter in person.

She hadn’t slept at all that night. Not that she really needed to on a Friday night, but she’d tried nonetheless, setting her alarm for 3:30 again, just in case she drifted off, but the adrenaline that coursed through her body made her antsy and impatient, and as the minutes slowly crept toward the awaited hour, Josie actually got less tired, more alert, more eager to see what would happen.

But as the rippling waters of the mirror gave way to the room on the other side, Josie’s heart sank. Empty. No Jo.

Two things were immediately apparent, though. First, even though all the overhead lights were on, the late afternoon sun streamed through the open windows on the west side of Jo’s room. 3:59, but the wrong 3:59. Where Josie’s timeline put her in the wee hours of the morning, eastern Maryland still swathed in a heavy blanket of darkness, in Jo’s world, it was the afternoon. Their universes were twelve hours apart.

No wonder Josie’s dreams had always taken place at the end of Jo’s school day. No wonder Jo had been wearing her pajamas earlier that afternoon. And when she saw Jo sleeping with all the lights on, wearing a sleep mask, it must have been the middle of the night. Kind of weird that she slept with the lights on, but whatever.

Josie continued to stare into Jo’s room, Jo’s world. The space was the same: the room, the dimensions, the window and closet and bed all in the same exact place. But Jo’s room was clearly that of a wealthier girl. Instead of Josie’s mismatched bedroom furniture of hand-me-downs, roadside pickups, and craigslist purchases, Jo’s room had been decorated. The bed frame was brushed chrome, low to the ground, and piled with a giant pillow-top mattress, a far cry from Josie’s rickety wooden four-poster—missing a post and propped up at one corner by an old footstool. Jo’s dresser and bookcases were arranged with an almost meticulous precision. Where Josie’s bookcases looked as if someone had dumped their contents on the floor, then quickly shoved them back on the shelves, the books on Jo’s were neatly lined up, spines out, grouped by size. Perfume bottles stood sharply at attention, again in height order, and an array of silver jewelry stands flanked the dresser, each holding a specific bounty: earrings, bracelets, necklaces.

The entire room sparkled and gleamed under the harsh recessed lighting, like an ultrasleek hotel room that had just been visited by the housekeeping crew. Josie found it hard to believe that anyone lived in such a clean, controlled environment, let alone a sixteen-year-old high-school student. They looked so much alike, but clearly, she and Jo were very, very different.

Josie leaned closer to the mirror, trying to get a glimpse of the door to Jo’s room and perhaps down the hallway of her house. Forgetting that the glass pane of the mirror had dematerialized, Josie’s head went right through into the thick goo of the portal.

“Shit,” Josie said out loud, but her voice was muffled and distorted. She lost her balance, stumbled forward trying to right herself, and tripped on the bottom edge of the mirror’s frame, which sent her flailing through the mirror into Jo’s room.

She fell in slow motion through the portal, right up until the moment she broke the plane into Jo’s room. Then her momentum sped up and her shoulder slammed into plush carpet, momentarily sucking the breath out of her lungs. She squinted her eyes closed against the full force of the electric lighting as she sat up, rubbing the arm that had broken her fall. Through the mirror she could see her room: dimly lit by her bedside lamp, her cluttered belongings looked so little-girlish in comparison to Jo’s sophisticated décor. It was a whole different world.

Universe, more exactly. She was in a parallel universe, the existence of which science had been trying to prove for decades.

And which Josie had proven in one clumsy moment. Awesome.

Josie’s eyes rested on Jo’s desk, where a pen and paper stood neatly lined up beside a framed, smiley photo of Jo and her parents. Perfect. Jo might not have been there, but Josie could prove that she had been.

She dashed across the room and wrote a quick note.

I’m real. And I walked through the mirror. Meet me tonight?

—Josie

Josie smiled, hoping the note wouldn’t freak Jo out too much. That’s when she saw it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the image in the mirror distort as the surface began to ripple. The image of her own bedroom came in and out of focus. The portal was starting to close.

Josie threw herself toward the mirror. As she passed through, she could almost feel the mirror beginning to solidify. The gooey interior felt more like hardening concrete. Her bedroom was pulling away from her, racing down a long hallway. Josie pumped her legs, desperately trying to step into her own world before the portal closed for good. Instead of the split second it had taken her to fall through into Jo’s room, Josie felt as if she’d been in the portal forever. What happened if it closed before she reached her room? Where would she be?

The weight of the portal grew heavier and denser, and for one sick moment Josie felt as if the space around her was going to crush the life from her body. Her lungs burned, and Josie gasped for air. She could still see her room, distant, dark. She had to get there. Had to. With all the strength left in her, Josie leaped forward, arms outstretched, desperate to catch hold of the mirror’s frame. It seemed too far away. Too far to reach. Her eyes closed; her mind went blank.

Then her hand felt the edge of the frame. She clawed at it and pulled her body through. As soon as she rolled onto the hardwood floor of her bedroom, her lungs worked and Josie gulped in huge mouthfuls of air.

She glanced back and saw her own reflection in the mirror. She’d just made it.

4:00 A.M.

Josie stood up, her back creaking in protest. She’d fallen through the mirror. She’d been to the other side, and she’d almost gotten trapped there. Passing back through the mirror, just at the moment the portal started to close, reminded her of the theoretical descriptions of passing the event horizon into a black hole. Time elongated. Physical matter stretched. And your body felt like it was being pulled apart.

Note to self: don’t get caught in the portal.

Still, she’d done it. She’d been to the other side.

Jo’s room had been so clean, so rich. The photo on Jo’s bureau showed a happy family, not one ripped apart by divorce. Then Josie thought of Nick, Jo’s Nick. Nick, who met Jo for picnics in the park. Nick, who gave Jo a necklace of two entwined hearts. In Jo’s world, Nick still loved her. In Jo’s world, Josie could make up for what happened between herself and Nick. . . .

Josie stared at the mirror, which currently reflected just the cluttered, spastic mess that was her room. But there, just on the other side, was a place where all of Josie’s woes didn’t exist.

All she had to do was walk through the mirror.