The Girl Who Could Not Dream (6 page)

E
THAN WAS IN HER LAST-PERIOD CLASS
. S
HE'D BEEN
watching him since the start of the year, and he had all the hallmarks of a kid with nightmares—circles under the eyes, unusual quietness in the mornings, discreet checking-out of shadowy corners when he thought no one was watching. She was betting on classic monster dreams, and she couldn't wait to dump them into the somnium.

Ethan was new this year. His family had moved here from Iowa or Idaho or India. He'd found a batch of friends immediately, due to sports, and seemed to be one of those well-adjusted kids who are never called to the counselor's office . . . except he was. Once a week, after last period, he slipped away from his friends and trotted down the hall to the counselor's office. Sophie knew because she'd followed him, as she intended to today.

Waiting until the teacher's back was turned, Sophie twisted in her seat to check the clock. Ms. Sherman hated it when students paid more attention to the clock than to her. Class ended with the bell, and they were to give Ms. Sherman their full attention until then. Otherwise, she threatened to break into song and interpretive dance, and no one wanted to see that . . . at least not after the first week, when at least half the class had tested the threat. Ms. Sherman was tone deaf, and she loved show tunes.

When the bell rang, Sophie left the classroom slowly, lagging behind Ethan. His friends circled around him, but he waved them off. She couldn't hear what he said, but she imagined he was making some excuse, most likely not involving an appointment with the school counselor. One of his friends laughed, and Ethan flashed a brilliant grin.

Sophie knew that kind of grin. It was a midday grin . . . hours from waking from a nightmare and hours from plunging back into one. He definitely had nightmares. Bad ones. He needed a dreamcatcher.

She trailed behind him, bypassing her own locker. She'd pick up her backpack and the used dreamcatchers later. Keeping her eye on Ethan's blond head, she wove through the crowd in the hallway. The conversations melded into a buzz.

Closer to the offices, the hall emptied out. All the students were back, clustered by the lockers. Ethan paused to drink from a water fountain, and Sophie slowed, pretending to look at the announcements pinned on a bulletin board. She started forward when he finished. Up ahead, he turned a corner into the next hall. She hurried.

Rounding the corner, she skidded to a stop.

He was waiting for her.

“You wouldn't make a very good secret agent,” he told her.

She felt her face flush red.

“Unless you have secret spy gadgets in your pocket, as well as grappling hooks that extend from your belt,” he said. “
That
would impress me.”

“I just . . .”

“You're Sophie, aren't you?” he said. “From the bookstore.”

She didn't remember him ever coming into the bookstore. If he had, it would have been a lot easier to talk to him then. Plus he would have had a dreamcatcher already, simply from being a customer. “I have something to give you.” She pulled out a dreamcatcher with dark blue feathers. She'd planned to lead up to this more, but it threw her that he knew her name. She'd always considered herself somewhat invisible and liked it that way. She wanted this conversation to end as quickly as possible so she could return to her anonymity. “Bring it back next week and I'll give you a new one.” She held it out to him.

“Um . . . thanks?” Gingerly, he took it by the string. The dreamcatcher spun. Crystals caught the light. “You know, it's not really my kind of thing.”

“It will help with the nightmares.”

He froze, and she knew in that instant that she'd guessed right. In a soft voice, he said, “How do you know . . .” He clutched the dreamcatcher to his chest as if it were a secret he wanted to hold tight.

Choosing the easiest explanation, Sophie nodded at the counselor's closed door. “Just a guess. Besides, everyone's supposed to have nightmares in middle school. I'm told it's part of the experience.” She turned away. “Hang it by your bed and try not to touch the strings too much.” She headed back down the hall.

She heard him follow her. “So you really believe this works?”

“Would it hurt to try?” Sophie countered. She'd heard her parents use that argument in the bookstore. It usually worked.

“Guess not,” Ethan said.

She kept walking.

“Hey, why me?”

“Sorry?”

“Lots of people have . . . you know. Sleep problems.” He held up the dreamcatcher. It spun and twinkled. “Why give this to me? You don't even know me.”

She didn't have an answer for that. Maybe because she was curious what his dreams were like? Maybe because he tried so hard to pretend he had no problems? Or maybe it was because some mornings he looked so haunted that she thought someone had to do something. She went with the last option: “Because you need help. And I can help you.”

He shifted from foot to foot. “Look, Sophie . . . you won't, you know . . .”

“Tell anyone?” she finished for him. “I never do.”

He nodded once and then trotted toward the counselor's door. She watched him until he reached it, and then she turned and headed back to her locker. That had been easier than she'd hoped. His nightmares must be really bad. Or else he was just being nice. She wondered what the somnium would show of his dreams.

As she walked through the hall, she felt like smiling. She'd done good here, on her birthday. Ethan would never know, but his nightmare would be sold to someone who needed it. His bad dream could be the perfect distraction for someone who wanted to escape his or her own life for a little while. Or it could give someone a safe way to face their own fears. Or serve as inspiration for an artist. That's what Mom and Dad did in their dream shop: turn something unwanted into something wonderful. It was the best kind of recycling.

She reached her locker. The hall was clear of kids now. Everyone had scrambled for the buses. If she hurried, she could still catch hers. She unlocked her locker and opened it to retrieve the used dreamcatchers . . .

Both of them were gone.

She shot looks up and down the hallway.

She emptied out her backpack.

A red envelope fluttered out. It was unlabeled. She opened it and pulled out a card. On the front, a fluffy black cat held a bouquet of balloons. She opened the card. In neat black handwriting were the words:

Happy birthday, Betty.

It was signed,
from Mr. Nightmare.

H
ER FIRST THOUGHT WAS,
I'
M NOT
B
ETTY.

Her second thought was,
I
am
Betty.
Or at least she was to this morning's buyer. He'd said, “Unusual cat, Betty,” when he'd seen Monster. And now this card . . .

It had to be a joke. A bad, creepy joke. She felt prickles walk up and down her spine, and her hands, holding the birthday card, began to shake. Somehow, he'd put this card in her locker. He could still be here, watching her read his note, waiting for her to laugh. Or scream.

Sophie scooped everything into her backpack, slammed her locker shut, and ran as fast as she could through the hall, out the front door, and toward the school buses.

She threw herself onto her bus. She was the last one on. Panting, she plopped into the first open seat, next to a sixth-grader she didn't know. The sixth-grader hugged her backpack and scooted closer to the window, steadfastly looking outside and not at Sophie, but Sophie didn't care. She'd made it to the bus. She was safe.

“Wow, was that the first time you've ever run?” It was Madison. Her voice was so loud that Sophie felt like someone was biting her ear.

Other kids snickered.

Sophie ignored her and them. Madison wouldn't be laughing if she knew the dreamcatcher was gone—not that she knew it really held her dream.

Looking out the window instead of at the other kids, Sophie tried to remember if she'd locked her locker before her last class. She always did. It was habit. But she didn't have a specific memory of clicking shut the lock today. Maybe she'd forgotten, and that was how Mr. Nightmare had stolen the dreamcatchers. But why had he taken them? You couldn't reuse a dreamcatcher, not without distilling the dream. Maybe it was a mistake, or a misunderstanding. As soon as she was home, she'd ask her parents—there must be a simple, not-creepy explanation for both the card and the missing dreamcatchers.

When she reached her bus stop, Sophie bolted off, brushing past two other kids, who yelped in protest, and ran the entire way down the sidewalk and into the Dreamcatcher Bookshop. The bell over the door tinkled wildly. “Mom?”

Her mother was at the cash register. She waved when she saw Sophie. Beside her was Ms. Lee, the woman who baked the cupcakes for the bookshop. Sophie had liked Ms. Lee from the moment she'd moved in next door. She had a musical voice, a pretty smile, and soft black hair that she wove into intricate braids. Her yard was full of birdfeeders, and in summer, she had flocks of hummingbirds that flitted around her windows. She was known to buy lemonade from every kid who set up a stand, and she volunteered every Saturday at the library. She was the nicest person that Sophie had ever met, but right now Sophie wished she'd leave.

“Look at this!” Mom waved a cupcake in the air. It had a dollop of creamy white frosting and a garnish that looked like cracked leather. “Savory cupcakes. Bits of bacon and . . . What does this one have?”

“Honey bacon cupcake,” Ms. Lee said. “And that one is pesto and pepper jack.” She smiled shyly at Sophie. “I'm experimenting. Would you like to try one, Sophie?”

“Uh, thanks, but . . . Mom, can I talk to you for a minute?” Sophie asked.

Mom pulled Sophie's hand toward her and dropped the honey bacon cupcake onto her palm. “You'll love it. Try it.” Both Mom and Ms. Lee watched her with identical hopeful expressions on their faces, as if their future happiness depended on Sophie's taste buds.

“But I . . .”

Ms. Lee's face fell. “You hate the idea. Pig on a cupcake. You think it sounds disgusting.”

“No, no, I'm sure it's great.” To prove it, Sophie took a huge bite. The frosting smeared on her lips. She chewed, crushing the bacon as fast as she could. Around half-chewed cupcake, she said, “Delicious!”

Ms. Lee brightened again. “Do you mean that?”

Catching crumbs in her hand, Sophie nodded. It actually was good.

Beaming, Ms. Lee spun to face Mom. “Gabriela, do you think they'll sell? The best bakeries have dozens of recipes. If I can perfect a few more, we can expand . . . but I'm getting ahead of myself.”

Mom clasped her hands. “I think you'll sell hundreds, Jia. You're a fantastic baker. Look at all you've achieved already! You need to believe in yourself. Believe in your dreams!”

Sophie tried not to react to that phrase, even though she knew Mom meant daydreams, not sleeping dreams. Sophie wondered if Ms. Lee dreamed about cupcakes, or maybe singing cupcakes and dancing measuring spoons. The two women hugged, and Ms. Lee left, nearly skipping out the door. Sophie swallowed the wad of cupcake in her mouth as her mom asked, “How was school today, sweetie? Did you have the history test?”

Sophie wiped the frosting off her mouth with the back of her hand. “Mom, that buyer—”

“Use a napkin. Here, let me.” Reaching over the counter, Mom dabbed Sophie's face with a stray napkin.

“Mom!”

“I know I baby you, but you're still my baby-waby.” Mom curled her lips into a fishy face and made kissing noises at Sophie. She then turned to the cupcake display to add the new savory cupcakes. Every morning, she or Dad artfully arranged them in a pyramid inside a glass dome. Sophie had helped with pictures of leaves and flowers on the calligraphied sign (
Gourmet Cupcakes $3.00
). “Ms. Lee wants us to add a few tables and chairs. Serve some iced tea in the summer with the cupcakes . . .”

“Mom, he stole my used dreamcatchers and left a note.”

Cupcake in hand, Mom froze. Her eyes widened. The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, like a cartoon coyote about to fall off a cliff. Sophie exhaled. At last she'd gotten Mom's attention. “Who?” Mom asked, her voice calm. She placed the last cupcake on the pyramid and closed the glass dome.

Sophie dug into her backpack and handed her the note with the black cat and balloons.

Mom read it and frowned. “I don't see—”

“I told the buyer this morning that my name's Betty.”

The color drained out of Mom's cheeks. She strode over to the bookshop door, locked the deadbolt, and flipped the sign to
Closed
. “Your father is downstairs. Come, and tell us both everything.”

Sophie followed her. “Where's Monster?”