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That day, Alice hadn’t even wanted to be at the park. She hated staying out after school when Oz wasn’t with her, and Oz had had to stay home today. She hated being places where Oz was not, in general—the fact that they were in different classes in different buildings burned her and burned her and burned her—and today she hadn’t gotten to see him at all, which sucked. Oz was Alice’s property, and she was supposed to be able to do as she pleased with him, but—
And Oz’s friends thought he had the stomach flu, and in all Alice’s life and despite all of her precious Oz’s best efforts she’d never learnt to tell a lie and so she couldn’t try and hang out with them, and Gilbert was too good at reading her to think that there was nothing wrong, which sucked, because on days like this, when Alice was angry and lonely and wanted to cry and break things from the frustration of it all, there was nothing better than going to Gilbert, who would pat her head and buy her nice heavy glass things to shatter and teach her how to throw a bunch so hard you broke a full grown man’s nose—Gilbert’s nose had already been broken enough times it didn’t matter if Alice broke it again, he said—and then pat her hair again and hold her close and tell her what a good girl she was, and it was different when he said that than when Dad did, because Gilbert loved Alice and he loved Oz and he was warm and big and safe and scary to people who would want to hurt Alice and Oz and not to either of them.
Also, he was a crybaby and he was scared of cats and Alice had broken his nose two dozen times and counting and he never got mad at her. He got plenty mad at other people, and they bickered a lot, but—but—
But Alice couldn’t go to the safety of Gilbert today, and she couldn’t go home, because Dad thought school ended at 4:45 PM, and so instead she went to a park, and threw rocks at ducks, and thought about how unfair the world was, that she wasn’t allowed to see Oz today and that she couldn’t go to Gilbert or else he’d worry, that she’d never ever properly learned how to lie. She threw rock after rock after rock, even after all the docks had flown away, until one flew far enough that it hit a white-haired girl in a frilly pink dress, leaving a red muddy mark on her arm, and when the girl turned to face Alice, her fury-filled face was identical to Alice’s own.
Or—it wasn’t identical, not completely. Their features were the same right down to the eye color, but instead of Alice’s long black rat’s nest, the other girl’s hair was white as snow and done up neatly in braids.
Alice drew back in shock. “Who are you?!” she said.
“Why did you throw a rock at me?!” said the other girl. “Who are you ?!”
“—Sharon,” Alice said, because Sharon Rainsworth was the scariest person she knew and she did not like the fact that she was talking to a girl with her face. “Who are you and why do you look at me?!”
“Why did you throw a rock at me?!”
“‘Cause I was throwing rocks at ducks and I missed! If I kill one then I can make my friend cook it for me. Who are—”
“My name is Alyss,” said the other girl, which was just horrible.
“Bullshit it is,” said Alice. “That’s my name.”
“You just said your name is Sharon.”
“Uh, it is,” said Alice. “Definitely. Totally. I have to—go home now.”
“Wait,” said the other girl, looking as though a horrible suspicion was dawning on her, and she grabbed Alice’s wrist as Alice tried to hurry away. “Do you have a brother named Oswald?”
“No,” Alice said, and yanked her arm away and bolted to the one place she knew without a doubt was safe, and it was not until she was at Gilbert’s tarot shop, tucked inside his coat and complaining about how deeply unfair it was that she had to run into someone with her face today, of all days, when Oz was sick and couldn’t go out, that she remembered that his full first name was Oswald Junior.