The boardwalk had been condemned since before any of us were born, but the dare never died: six kids, one flashlight, the Hall of Mirrors at the dead end of the pier. Salt wind rattled the boarded ticket booth as we squeezed inside. The air went still and warm, like breath. Then our six reflections stepped in beside us, perfectly in time. "Okay," Maya whispered. "Now what?"

"We split up," Jay said. "Cover more ground, find the exit faster." Nobody loved it, but he was already walking. We broke into pairs, the flashlight beam slicing between glass walls. Within seconds I couldn't hear the others anymore, just my own footsteps and my reflection matching them.

I followed the wall with my hand, counting turns to find my way back. But the glass got warm under my fingers, then soft, like skin. My reflection pressed its palm flat against mine from the other side and pushed. The mirror gave a little. "Stop it," I said out loud, voice shaking.

I pushed back against my reflection instead of pulling away. The mirror bent like a sheet, and for one second we were nose to nose, two of me. Then it stopped resisting and I fell forward through, into a cold backwards version of the hall. I turned around. The glass was solid again. I was on the wrong side now.