A face was emerging from the mirror's depths, like a swimmer surfacing through water. Little by little, its features took shape, until Mark's own face has faded away, replaced by this new one. Mark's heart gave a leap of joyful recognition, followed by a stab of fear. The flashlight fell from his hand. Mark swayed, clutching the edge of the sink for balance as the room swung around him. Distantly, as if from miles away, he heard Danny say, "Look at him. What's wrong with him?" Then everything went black.

___________________________

The note landed on Mark Fischbach's desk halfway through English class. It was written on regular lined notebook paper and folded into a tidy, tight little triangle (ILLUMINATI CONFIRMED). Penciled across the front in neat box letters were the words FOR MARK (PRIVATE!)i think we got the message. Mark glanced up at the front of the classroom. His English teacher was busy diagramming a ridiculous sentence about someone named Percival and his pet parakeet, so Mark slid the note into his lap and unfolded it. It read: you have been chosen. meet in the old boys' bathroom behind the gym. 3:10 P.M. Don't be late. The note was unsigned. Mark glanced around the classroom. Other kids were sneaking glances at their cell phones on Twitter, doodling in their notebooks(*cough* scribblenetty *cough*), or staring vacantly into space (Wade). There was no clue where it had come from. Mark carefully refolded the note and was about to slip it into the pocket of his jeans when he saw that Arin Hanson from the Game Grumps was twisted around his seat, looking right at him. When their eyes met, Arin gave a tiny nod.

Then he turned back around and faced the chalkboard as if nothing had happened. Mark felt a rush excitement that went all the way down to the tips of his toes. Arin was one of the coolest guys in the seventh grade at YouTube Junior High. And now he'd chosen Mark. For what, he didn't know yet. But he couldn't wait to find out. At lunchtime, Mark showed the note to his best friend, Sean McLoughlin or Jack. He reasoned that the note hadn't specifically said not to show it to anyone. And besides, he told Jack everything. Jack read it through twice while he ate a giant chocolate chip cookie. When he was done, he set down the sandwich and pushed his glasses up on his nose. Jack wore hipster glasses with thick lenses. They made his blue eyes look huge. "I don't know," Jack said. This was not the response Mark had been expecting. In Marks mind: oh my god, this is awsome! "What do you mean, you don't know?" "I mean, I don't if you should go. It might be a trick," Jack replied. Mark frowned. "A trick?" "Remember at the beginning of the year when Arin and his friends gave Toby Turner a free cherry slushie ---- with ketchup and mustard in it?"

How could Mark forget? Toby had drunk three giant gulps before he'd realized, and then he'd gotten violently sick all over the cafeteria floor(he barfed). Everyone had talked about it for days afterward. "Okay, that was kind of mean," Mark admitted. "But Toby shouldn't eat every single thing that gets put in front of him." He didn't say what he was really thinking, which was, But Toby is a dork, and I'm not. "It says here y'er chosen," Jack said, pointing to the line in the note, "but it doesn't say what for. Don't ye think that's a little weird?" "Well, obviously they want me to join a club or something," Mark said impatiently. He was starting to regret showing it to Jack. "Why would Arin choose you to join a club?" Jack asked. "It's not like y're friends." The question irked Mark. "We're not not friends," he pointed out. "Maybe he just thinks I'm cool." "If ye say so." Jack shrugged and handed the note back, then took another bite of his giant cookie. What do you know about cool, anyway? Mark wanted to snap. You've had the same haircut since third grade. And you have a blob of chocolate on your cheek. Jack was definitely not the final authority on cool.

"Just forget it." Mark folded up the note and put it back in his pocket. Jack absently rubbed his knuckles against his left collarbone. When Jack and Mark were little, Jack had fallen down the stairs at Mark's house and broke his collarbone, and there was still a visible bump where it had grown together unevenly. Jack was in the habit of rubbing this spot when he was thinking hard about something. "Why do ye think he wants to meet you in the old boys' bathroom?" he asked, clearly not ready to forget it. Mark had wondered the same thing. The old boys' bathroom was located in a hallway between the main school building and the new gym. Not many people used it because it was dark and windowless; there were bigger, nicer bathrooms in the boys' locker room. Also, there were weird rumors about the old bathroom. Some kids swore it was haunted. Mark had never heard any proof that the rumors were true, but the bathroom gave him the creeps all the same. He often found himself walking extra fast when he had to go by it. But he didn't want to admit to Jack the he was afraid. "Probably because it's private," he said with a shrug.

"Can we just forget it now?" "Sure, whatever," Jack said. "Hey, so I've been thinking about our Halloween costume, and I've got it: tooth brush and toothpaste." Lame, I know Mark and Jack always made their Halloween costumes together. In fact, Mark couldn't remember a Halloween where he hadn't dressed up with Jack. Over the years they'd been fairy princes, two black panthers, M&M's, and a two-headed monster. But a toothbrush and toothpaste? Mark raised his eyebrows. "Explain?" "I got the idea when I was at the hardware store with me dad, " Jack said. "See, one of us gets a scrub brush and wears it on the side of his head like toothbrush bristles. And the other one can wear a lampshade on his head ---- that's the toothpaste cap. "Jack beamed, clearly pleased with his idea. But Mark just stared at Jack with disbelief. "Jack, we're going to a Halloween dance, remember? Who's going to want to dance with a guy wearing a scrub brush on his head?" "Oh." Jack's face fell. "I didn't think of that (-_-)." Mark sighed to himself. Sometimes it seemed to him that Jack still thought they were in grade school, where you could dress up like a toothbrush and people would think it was cute.

In fact, when it came right down to it, Jack hadn't changed a bit since fourth grade. He still wore his cap, brought cookies for lunch, and talked about the games he played. He still collected game characters, for Pete's sake. Mark often found himself wishing that Jack would make just a little more effort to be cool. what a douchy thing to think Mark glanced over at the table in the center of the cafeteria, where Arin was sitting with his BFF's, Danny and Brian. Arin laughed at something one of them was saying, swiping a short lock of brown hair from his field of vision with a casual gesture that seemed glamorous to Mark. Right from the first day of school, it had been clear that Arin was glamorous. Even though he'd been just as new as every other seventh grader, he had been known where to sit, who to talk to, and how to dress. It was like Arin had been born cool, Mark thought. Mark realized Jack was saying something to him. is marin a thing? "What?" he asked, shifting his gaze back to his friend. "I said, if ye want I can go with you. To meet Arin after school today," Jack replied. "Oh." Mark hesitated.

Arin's note didn't say anything about bring a friend. But he and Jack always did everything together. Maybe this is exactly what Jack needed. But on the other hand, what if Arin decided not to let Mark into the club because of Jack? As Mark went back and forth, the bell rang. He stood up and dumped his lunch tray into the trash while Jack packed up. "Okay." "By the way," Mark added. "You've got something here." He tapped the corner of his mouth. Jack grabbed a napkin and wiped away the offending blob of chocolate. Then he grinned. "Thanks, man." At 3:09 P.M, Mark stood by his locker, nervously combing his fingers through his hair. He had red hair and black on the sides. He dyed his hair for charity so it explains why. He sometimes wished he could be funnier in his videos like Arin. He considered doing smarter comments on his gameplay one time but then realized it wasn't working to well. Mark sighed. His dark brown eyes gazed back at him from the mirror, full of doubt. Someone tapped his shoulder. He jumped, and spun around. "Hey," it was Jack. He had his backpack on, which was packed with homework, and a green windbreaker jacket two sizes too big.

Mark eyed Jack's backpack, he was wearing on both shoulders as usual. Nobody in junior high wore their backpack on both shoulders ---- at least, nobody cool did. Mark opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. He was glad Jack was coming with him, after all. "Ye ready?" he asked. Mark nodded. They made their way down the stairs, then turned toward the gym. YouTube was shaped like a squared-off U, with the cafeteria and the gym forming separate wings off the main building. They stopped in front of the old boys' bathroom. Mark glanced at Jack one more time, took a deep breath, then pulled the door but it turned out to be a push. The room was dark. "Um, hello?" Mark said. "Come in," said a voice from somewhere in the darkness. "Close the door." Mark and Jack did as told and stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind them. Because there were no windows, the room was almost in complete darkness. The only light came from the crack under the door. Mark gave a little yelp as a little light came on, illuminating a frightening face. It took him a second to realize it was Arin.

He was standing against the far wall, holding a flashlight under his chin to light his face in a spooky way. Mark could see two figures standing next to him in both sides. Danny and Brian. Arin swung the beam onto Jack's face like a spotlight. "What's he doing here?" he asked Mark sharply. "He --- he's my friend. I told him he could come," he stuttered. One of the other guys --- Brian, Mark thought --- stepped forward. "He's not supposed to be here ---" Arin cut him off. "That's alright. The more the merrier." Mark thought he heard a smile in his voice. But at once, he became serious again. Swinging the flashlight beam on to Mark's face, he asked, "Do you know why you're here?" The light was blinding. Mark held up his hand as a shield so the flashlight would not burn his eyes. "The note. It said I was chosen. . . ." "That's right" he said. "You have been chosen by me to be part of a secret club. Do you accept?" Mark was about to say hell yes, but before he could, Jack broke in. "What exactly is this club?" There was a pause, as if Arin was figuring out how to answer. "I can't tell you. All member are sworn to secrecy.

You have to join first. Are you in or out?" "In." Mark said promptly. He nudged Jack's shoulder, who, after moment's hesitation echoed, "In." "Good." Arin nodded. "But first you must go through initiation." "Initiation?" Mark asked with a shiver going down his spine. All the darkness and secrecy were starting to get to him. Why couldn't they just turn on the lights? Brian spoke up. "To be in the club, you must past a test. You must face the spirits." "How do you do that?" Mark's voice came out as a squeak. "You have to look into the mirror and call them," Danny said. "If they say so, you can be in the club." He paused dramatically, "But if they say don't like you, they kill you." Mark gulped so loudly he was sure everyone in the room had heard. "This is stupid!" Jack suddenly burst out. Mark turn to his friend with a gasp. Shut up, Jack! he thought in horror. He was going to ruin everything! Arin swung the flashlight beam on Jack's face, which blinded him. "What? Are you afraid?" he asked douchely. "No," Jack snapped. "I think you're playing some dumb game, and I'm not interested. Come on, Mark." He turned to leave. But Mark didn't move. Hadn't he been waiting for something like this --- something exciting, something to make him different from the rest of the Youtubers at YouTube? He wasn't willing to give up too quickly. Jack made a noise in disbelief or frustration, he couldn't tell which. They heard him bump into the door face first. Then it swung open and closed, Jack had left. "Sure you don't want to follow your lame friend?" Arin asked Mark. "No," mark answered. "I'm ready." (EXORCIST CONFIRMED!!!!!) Arin led him over to the mirror and handed him the flashlight. He showed him how to hold it under his chin. Held at a 90 degree angle, light carved Mark's face with eerie shadows. "Now, look into the mirror and say, 'Spirit in the mirror, I call thee, come tell us what is to be.' " "Spirit in the mirror, I call thee . . ." Mark repeated. His voice sounded low and uncertain. Behind him someone giggled. Suddenly Mark felt a flicker of doubt. What if Jack was right? Was all this just a fluke? "Don't stop!" Arin commanded. "Look into the mirror. Keep repeating it!" "Come tell us what is to be." Mark felt movement in the darkness behind him. What are they doing? He didn't have time to wonder . . . because something was happening in the mirror. His reflection was changing. A face was emerging from the depths of the mirror. Mark's heart gave a leap of joyful recognition, followed by a stab of fear. The flashlight fell from his hand. Mark swayed, clutching the edge of the sink for balance as the room swung around him. Distantly, as if from miles away, he heard Danny say, "Look at him. What's wrong with him?" Then everything went black.