A Crack in the Girl’s Reflection

Adrianna McKinney '26

Monday. “Wake up, Charlotte,” my mom calls out to me. The early morning comes through my window as I take my time getting up. My cat, who is covered in a fur coat of white and has a rather fitting name of Snowball, lays on my bed. I went downstairs to eat breakfast.

Today I ate cheerios. Before I went to school, I brushed my teeth and used mouthwash. There’s this crack in the middle of the mirror though I don’t know from what. I go to school, go through my classes, and meet up with my friends. I come home and exercise for 30 minutes as my parents say to do. I do my homework and study. I eat dinner, I go to bed. 

Tuesday. I think there’s something wrong with me, an endless loop of life. Wake up, eat, go to school, eat, come home, do homework, eat, study, and go to bed. Today, I looked in the mirror and thought I heard something. Must be the wind, I think. I hope it’s just the wind. 

Wednesday. Should I stop studying and doing my homework? Why am I doing this work, and there’s no reward? “We’re doing the very best for you, this is for you,” my father's voice reminds me. I stare at the mirror in my bathroom as I brush my teeth in circles. As I wash my face, I think I see something in the mirror: a girl trying to smile. I think she is, I hope she is.

Thursday. Why does anyone live? Why should I live? I look it up; what’s the reason to live? Help is available, comes up instead. Should I? No. I don’t need help. I can’t ask for help, now, not before school, nor can I ask after. There’s just no time to do so, there’s just no time for me. Every day, I eat Cheerios, I go to the same classes, I go to bed at nine. I look in the mirror, the girl again looking at me; she’s crying, I think. I really hope she’s not, she shouldn't be. 

Friday. I changed things. I need change, that’s it. I don’t eat in the morning, and I start to feel nauseous as I arrive at school. I can’t stand up for long, in health class we have to stand up, of course we do, today. We’re running and testing out how much or little our heart beats changes for some reason. They never give reasons. I feel nauseous, “Miss C, I feel sick.” “Go to the nurse, then will you? Does someone want to help her?” I walk with my classmate Jake. He just wanted to get out of class, he didn't want to help.

I’m at the nurse who tells me to call my mother. I call her and she says, just eat something, don’t think I’m coming to get you. She doesn’t like me, she wants normalcy, I need something else. There’s a bathroom in the nurse’s office and a mirror too. The girl, again, has bags under her eyes; she doesn’t seem to be smiling now. 

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Saturday. I haven’t slept, I couldn’t sleep, not with my stomach growling. I need to get out of this house, these walls, I feel them enclosing me. I go to the bathroom. I need that reflection, and I see the girl is screaming at the top of her lungs, “LET ME OUT.” I’m screaming, as I scream, I punch the mirror. My mother comes just to yell, “Why are you being so crazy?” “What’s wrong with you?” My father scolds. I don’t know, I think. What’s going on? I think. My hand’s bleeding as the glass pierces my fingers.

My parents look at each other; we’ve been thinking about sending you somewhere, they say. She’s looking at everything in the room but me. Her husband simply nods as he drags me to the car. “WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME!” I yell angrily. “Now don’t make a scene like last time, sweetie,” my mother says, shakily. 

Sunday. I arrived with them at this place. It’s a rather tall building that sort of looks abandoned. I can’t really think of anything, maybe not eating and sleeping wasn’t the best idea. I’m just trying to stay awake. Someone comes to the door; a scientist, I don’t know. “She misbehaved, again, doctor.” The doctor takes me and reassures me that he’s only giving me medicine. “Good night, Charlotte,”

Monday.  “Wake up, Charlotte,” my mom calls out to me. The early morning comes through my window as I take my time getting up. My cat, who is covered in a fur coat of white and has a rather fitting name of Snowball, lies on my bed. I went downstairs to eat breakfast. Today I ate Cheerios. Before I went to school, I brushed my teeth and used mouthwash. There are cracks in the middle of the mirror, though I don’t know from what. I go to school, go through my classes, and meet up with my friends. I come home and exercise for 30 minutes as my parents say to do. I do my homework and study. I eat dinner, I go to bed.