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Cleo’s first approach to handling the puddle of water on the kitchen floor involved a great deal of swearing at the broken pipe of the kitchen sink. The second tactic started with apologizing for the first tactic and then begging the sink for mercy. When Cleo was still unsuccessful after that, they chose a more logical route and began to mop up the ever-expanding pool, wrapping a towel around the pipe to stifle the water flow. Water still shot through the towel like darts--cool on their skin but sure to inflame their mom’s temper. Cleo’s younger brother lingered on the sidelines, resentfully feeding Cleo more rags as they were needed. 

Beside the rags sloppily thrown on the countertop were a glove and baseball. Cleo winced at the memory of their mother sternly warning them not to play ball inside the house before heading off to the second of her two jobs. 

They deemed the advice sensible. After all, Cleo and their brother broke a vase that month already, and they didn’t want the, “you have a lot of explaining to do” talk again.

So Cleo and their brother had nodded earnestly and sulked off to their rooms, only to emerge ten minutes after their mother left, fully suited up. It was only then that Cleo dared retrieve the sacred baseball--the last of a six pack purchased for $9.99 using a combination of chore money, change found under the couch, and a few trade offs with kids from school. And after all that, Cleo’s brother had still managed to lose five of their baseballs. They had bickered about whose fault it had been for the past two weeks. Obviously, Cleo’s brother was the one in the wrong. The state of his room was evidence enough to convince any jury. The nicest way to describe Cleo’s brother’s room would be “biodiverse.” So biodiverse, in fact, that Cleo would bet good money that all the scientists devoted to protecting the rainforest would abandon it after a single, fleeting glimpse at Cleo’s brother’s room. The first of the four main “layers” of his room was the dust layer. It coated everything displayed in the open. The second was the miscellaneous layer; including everything from dirty underwear, half-empty boxes of matches, and Pokemon cards scattered all around. The third layer was basically just rotting stuff, some of it identifiable, most not so much. And the fourth layer… well no one had ever made it to the fourth layer. But it was presumably the source of the foul stench permeating every breathable inch of the space, distinguishable because not even rot could sadden a room to the extent that the mystery fourth layer had. The only thing Cleo’s brother did not do incorrectly regarding his room was pin a sign on the door to the effect of, “toxic sludge present, stay out of Caleb’s room!”. 

And sure, Cleo’s room wasn’t perfect, but by comparison it was pristine. The furniture was a carefully-selected blend of oak, metal, and white-painted wood. The walls were teal to make the orange bedspread pop. There was a magenta lava lamp on the bedside table, an oil diffuser, and even a bubble-maker. Perhaps there was a sock or two lying about, but few other criticisms could be made. So, yes, Caleb, Cleo’s brother, was most certainly the culprit.  

With a sigh, Cleo rose from their kneeling position on the floor and sauntered to their bathroom, alarmed to find water already creeping inside. Not wanting to risk getting trapped in the bathroom if more water pooled in, Cleo dragged themself to their mom’s bathroom instead, thinking up a series of outlandish excuses they could use to explain the pipe situation along the way. They would surely need them, as their mom would be home in two hours. At least their mom’s bathroom was still dry, a small comfort. It was the finest room in the apartment, after all. The bathtub was a grand thing. Mounted atop its four golden legs was a tub colored creme, but Cleo prefered to think of it as an opal-carved basin. A table beside it was littered with jars of bath salts and various soaps that made the air smell like shea butter and lavender. Little vintage treasures were scattered about: a sink bowl shaped like a clam shell, a necklace beaded with pearls, and a small cosmetic mirror. The mirror was by far Cleo’s favorite. It wasn’t as flashy at first sight as the others, but there was something truly regal about it close up. It seemed unnaturally clear, as if it showed not just the outer appearance of things but the souls lying beneath. Cleo’s mother would have never allowed them to get so close. Cleo leaned in. It seemed to whisper words of encouragement back at them. Cleo lifted the sleeve of their oversized yellow hoodie, weighted with the water it had absorbed. For a moment, all was still. Then the sleeve drifted towards the mirror, snared in phantom fish hooks. Cleo recoiled and threw themself against the wall. Their toes curled in their shoes and their hands shifted into fists. They slowly leaned towards the mirror once more, squinting at it from different angles. They lifted a single finger and touched it to the mirror. Or tried to, at least. Because Cleo’s finger drifted right through. Cleo jerked back their hand, ran out of the bathroom, and screamed incomprehensible proclamations of terror at their brother. 

Caleb, who was opening the linen closet to grab beach towels now that he was out of rags, darted over to demand answers from Cleo. They shook their head, trembling a little. The hallway to get to their mother’s bathroom suddenly looked dimmer than it had a few minutes ago. Cleo explained, “I was in the bathroom and I--you won’t believe this--I touched mom’s mirror. But it’s not a mirror. I mean, I touched the mirror, and found out that it’s not one.”

There was an awkward pause as Caleb digested the words and looked Cleo up and down, blinking. He shot them a wary glance and declared, “you’re crazy,” and began to inch down the hall to see whatever Cleo was describing for himself. 

“Caleb!” Cleo hissed.  

Caleb ignored them. 

“Caleb,” Cleo repeated.

There was no answer, and Cleo knew their brother’s mind was set. They grabbed a baseball bat and hurried after their brother. 

Caleb was already in the bathroom, experimenting with pulling a pencil in and out of the mirror, a look of wonderment displayed on his face. Slowly, Caleb turned to Cleo and said, “I have an idea.”

“How unusual.” 

***

Sure enough, the mirror, unlike the siblings, was thrilled to clean up all the water. It slurped, and slurped, and slurped until the floor was dry. It worked well enough to make Cleo second guess Caleb’s stupidity. They positioned the mirror in front of the pipe, threw the rags and their clothes in the dryer, and called it a job well done. After that, they plopped down on the couch and discussed whether or not they had both gone mad, and then sat in silence for a while to do some soul-searching. They contemplated ancient prophecies and aliens and the will of gods being responsible for such an occurrence. This went on for an hour until they finally decided that the apple juice they’d had earlier that day must have been drugged, and everything would be back to normal soon. In the meantime they resumed their game of ball. 

The first few throws were friendly, casual tosses from one sibling to another. But as the game progressed so did the intensity. With a wicked grin, Caleb tossed the ball into the air, sending it sailing over the kitchen island. Cleo dashed after it, using their socks to their advantage to glide across the squeaky dry wooden floor, glove hand outstretched and ready to make the catch. But with such focus on the positionment of Cleo’s hands in the air, they forgot to check the positioning of their feet on the ground. They tripped over a forgotten towel, slamming face first into the floor. Caleb dashed over to Cleo. But just as Cleo was about to extend a thank you to their brother for taking the time to help them up for once, Caleb looked right past them at the shattered mirror. Cleo stumbled upwards, shaking off the shattered fragments of the mirror. “What--what happened?”

“The ball went through the mirror-thing but it broke it in the process. I’m not sure what--”

“Shhhhh!”

“What?”

“Shut up already,” Cleo snapped.

Caleb obeyed and then he heard it too. Through the mirror there came the sounds of a ball bouncing off of several walls in the distance and then finally coming to a halt. Then there was a terrible rumble. Cleo and Caleb glanced at each other in dismay. Cleo whispered, “I don’t like the sound of that.”

The rumbling got louder. Cleo and Caleb began to run away just as a swimming pool’s worth of water shot out of the mirror and into the kitchen, sweeping Cleo and Caleb into its icy cold grasp. They both shrieked and feebly attempted to doggy-paddle towards the door of the apartment. But the current was too strong and they were swept down the dark hall. They joined hands as the current swept them underwater. Cleo converted to every religion they ever heard of, just in case. Their lungs burned, and just when they thought they would surely die, the two of them were smoothly deposited in their mom’s room, where there was only a foot of water so far but more gushing in every second. Cleo gripped the door frame and planted their feet solid on the ground. “Caleb, I need your help.”

With a grunt, Caleb grabbed the door handle then let the current yank him backwards, slamming the door shut. They both collapsed on the floor of the dark room, coughing and shivering. “Mom….” Cleo paused to shudder. “Mom will be so mad.” 

Caleb didn’t respond. He only gaped at the water around them. 

Cleo followed his stare and with a start spotted six baseballs in the same puddle as them.

Cleo looked at Caleb. Caleb looked at Cleo. Caleb said, “well, that explains a lot.”

“Do you think that mom…”

“Oh, mom definitely is responsible for the baseballs.”

They sat in silence for a minute. The irony was plenty to occupy their thoughts.   

Cleo took out their phone, which miraculously still worked. They called their mom, who picked up on the fifth ring. “Hey mom… how’s it going?”

Caleb snickered nervously.

“Honey, what is it? I have to work.”

The water was up to their knees when Cleo explained, “well you know that small mirror in your bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know how you told us not to play ball?”

There was a long pause.

Their mom sighed. Cleo could almost see her run a hand through her graying black hair. “I’m leaving work. See you at home.”   

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” Cleo informed her sweetly, and hung up the phone.