Six months ago, the Other Moon congealed in the sky like our moon’s smaller, silvery shadow. It cuts a different path than our moon, sometimes visible at night, sometimes not. Its appearance caused tidal chaos and flooding. Islands and coastal cities disappeared, along with whole populations of people.

 

My sister Poppy and I lived with our parents on a farm near the center of the United States, so we were spared the worst of it. We had our home and high school, where we were both sophomores.

Things might still have gotten worse, though. 

 

Our astronomy teacher, Mrs. Peabody, said that if the moons collide, or if the Other Moon hits the Earth, there would be catastrophic damage and possibly even a mass extinction event, and then, there we’d all go, like the dinosaurs. Until last month, Mrs. Peabody hosted weekend Star Parties. Poppy and I always went, because we liked looking at the boys — and, of course, the stars. After the Other Moon’s appearance, that’s what fascinated us the most, though Mrs. Peabody explained we wouldn’t be able to really see it for some time due to the disc of vaporized rock and dust surrounding it.

 

Our astronomy fun ended when all of the world’s governments issued a ban on telescopes. Officers came door-to-door to collect them. There were surprise raids and arrests. Bounties were offered, and people informed on each other. Offenders languished in jails. In some countries, owning a telescope was punishable by death.

 

The ban made everyone desperate to know what they weren’t supposed to see. People did anything they could to get their hands on a telescope, trading food stamps, jewelry, enormous TVs, laptops, and livestock. Most of the people were turned in, often by their telescope supplier, and hauled to jail, their instruments confiscated.

 

Periodically, like the spinning wheels in Sleeping Beauty’s castle, piles of telescopes are burned in public places where everyone couldn't help but see them. The acrid scent filled the air for days, giving us headaches.

 

Our family had the only telescope we knew of, and it happened to be extraordinarily rare and superpowerful, having been specially commissioned by our astronaut grandmother. No one else knew about it. It had stayed hidden behind hay bales in our livestock barn, where nobody but our Dad goes. Before the ban, Dad was too busy with other chores to bring it out and set it up, and Poppy and I were already going to weekend Star Parties, so we didn’t bug him about it.

 

Since the ban, we’d pretended the telescope was not even there. We knew we could be jailed if it were discovered and reported. Dad said if that happens, he’d say that he alone decided to keep it, for sentimental value. He said he’d be damned if he was ever going to part with a family heirloom — but, since they were illegal, we shouldn’t use it.

 

Poppy and I held off for as long as we could. But last night, the Other Moon was so close, it twinkled like a massive metal bowl.

 

We turned to each other.

 

“We have to,” I said. “Right?”

 

“Grandma would’ve wanted it,” she said.

 

So, earlier today, while I distracted Dad by asking questions, Poppy sneaked into his study before he locked it, and lifted the barn key.

 

At bedtime, we lay in bed fully clothed, while our little dog, Smaug, rolled and wiggled between us, sensing our excitement. When we heard our parents snoring from their room, we picked up Smaug and moved shadow-like to the barn, unlocked the door, and entered.

 

We put Smaug in the pig pen to snuggle with the pigs, then moved hay bales. I wiggled to the telescope and maneuvered it toward Poppy.

 

We carried it up the ladder to the flat part of the barn’s roof and set it up.

 

Poppy squinted through the lens, turned knobs, and looked again. “Fern, it’s at maximum magnification. Fiddle with this, will you?”

 

I put my eye to the telescope lens and adjusted.

 

I screamed.

 

Poppy shushed me.

 

“The moon’s like a mirror now!” I said. “I see the world reflected. And people! Look!”

 

She looked and gasped. “I can’t believe it!” After a while, she said, “I see our town. But, hold on. This can’t be right. It’s daytime there and nighttime here. I see us!”

 

I looked. There we were, in a park, wearing sundresses I didn’t recognize, laughing and flirting at a picnic with two guys. Guys we both knew, but didn’t much like.

 

“What is it?” Poppy's mouth hung open.

 

I shook my head. “No idea. Is that happening somewhere right now? Is the Other Moon’s reflection showing a parallel universe where people we know, including us, are living different lives? Are we older there than we are here and now?”

 

“Yes, I think we’re older there,” she said. “Could it be our futures?”

 

“I guess we’ll find out,” I said.

 

We put the telescope back, restored the hay bales, gathered Smaug, and went to bed.

 

* * *

 

The next night, the Other Moon silently imploded without damaging our planet or our moon. Some experts prophesy that this will somehow accelerate our world’s end. Others say that since we still have our moon, there’s actually hope that things will regain balance someday.

 

Telescopes are legal again. Poppy and I often use Grandmother's to search the night sky, looking for that imperfect reflection of ourselves, yearning to know more about what our lives might have been under the Other Moon.