Dreamer

by L. E. DeLano

  “Come on, St. Clair,” he says, swiping up the empty plate and his cup. “Let’s blow this taco stand. It’s a school night and I don’t want your mom yelling at me.”

  “She would never,” I say, following him out. “She adores you.”

  “I’m adorable,” he agrees as we climb into the truck.

  Ben blasts the vents and they throw icy air right in my face, making me shriek. He laughs unrepentantly as we drive to my house, and, like usual in his truck, it’s barely—just barely—getting warm as we pull up in front of the house.

  He reaches across the seat to take my hand. “I had fun tonight,” he says.

  “Me too. Nobody brings the snark like we do,” I admit. “That’s what’s so great about us.”

  He squeezes my hand. “There’s a lot that’s great about us, St. Clair. I just don’t want you to forget that.”

  And a heartbeat later, his body is turning and his other arm is around me. His mouth comes down on mine, warm and more familiar now as our lips move together. I slide my hands up around his neck and let myself relax into him.

  “Getting better?” he asks when we pull apart.

  “I think you’ve got it down now. And for the record, I’ve never complained.”

  “No, I guess you haven’t.”

  “Thanks again for tonight. It’s nice to have some normal for a change.”

  “Normal can be a good thing,” he tells me. “I know what you’re dealing with, and I am fully prepared to be your personal safe haven. Your port in the storm.”

  I pull away, reaching for my purse, and he gives a nervous little laugh.

  “That was a nautical reference,” he says. “Maybe not the best idea for comparison.”

  I let out a huff of air. “Maybe not.”

  “I’m here, St. Clair. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just reminding you that I’ve been here, while he’s been sailing around in his own little worlds.”

  I can’t help my frown. “He’s had a lot to deal with. He’s lost someone, too.”

  “And now you’re just the easy substitute, right?”

  I suck in my breath, and he knows he’s pushed it too far. “Sorry. It just—I don’t think he’s healthy for you to be around. And I know that’s biased, but it’s how I feel.”

  “I know it is. And I’m being careful, I promise. Good night, Ben.” I open the door and hop out.

  “St. Clair—I’m sorry,” he says, and for a moment, we just stand there looking at each other until I finally nod.

  “See ya tomorrow,” I mumble.

  I walk to the door, and then I shut it behind me and let out an exaggerated breath.

  “Rough evening?”

  My eyes find him, sitting in the front room. Danny is playing Minecraft, and he’s so engrossed I doubt he even knows Finn and I are here. But we know it.

  “I’m going upstairs,” I say, feeling the color rise to my face. “I know it’s early but I’m really tired.”

  Finn isn’t even looking at the game. He’s looking at me, and it’s unnerving. Finally, he stands up.

  “Danny, I’m retiring for the evening, all right?”

  “Okay, Finn,” Danny says, still focused on his game. “See you tomorrow?”

  “I have no doubt,” Finn says, and still, his eyes are on me. He walks over to the door and I step aside so he can pass me. His eyes are searching my face like he’s reading every ounce of whatever this is that’s making me feel so off-balance around him.

  “Sweet dreams, love,” he finally says, and the door closes behind him. I push my hands through my hair, and I can still smell Ben’s cologne on them, from where my hands were on his neck.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  20

  A Little Girl Time

  The problem with guys is that I know nothing about them. I mean, I’ve had boyfriends before—a week or two here and there, never anybody longer than that. Most of the time we’re just texting and not really hanging out. Ben was the first guy I ever really wanted to hang with, and he sort of snuck up on me.

  Then again, Finn is the master of the surprise entrance. And hanging with him is getting to me. I have to admit it. He’s witty and smart and that accent just does something funny to me inside. I don’t feel as comfortable around him as I do around Ben, and I don’t mean that in a bad way.

  I don’t look at Ben and wonder if he’s going to reach out and touch me. But I do that with Finn—and I mean all the time. And I hate that I do it, too.

  Nights like this remind me that I am in serious need of some female friends to hang out with. I’ve never made much of an effort in that area—and not because I’m excluding females. I’m just such an introvert that I spend all my time with my journal. Or hanging with Danny and Mom. Ben is the first person I’ve really hung with since middle school.

  Right now, I need a female perspective, and I don’t have one. I suppose I could talk to my mom, but that’s awkward because … she’s my mom. The last thing I want to do is talk about my love life with my mom. Besides, I know who she’d probably root for. I need somebody unbiased.

  I can hear Danny watching a movie in the living room now, and I walk over toward my door, contemplating going down there instead of hiding in my bedroom the rest of the night.

  Maybe the actuaries had it right, I think. Take all the choice out of your hands and pick the most suitable guy for you based on tons of data and established criteria. The geek in me sees the logic in it. No muss, no fuss, no wondering.

  “Right,” I say, looking at myself in the mirror on the wall of my bedroom. “I don’t suppose you feel like coming over and figuring out my love life for me?”

  I don’t look amused. But as I pay closer attention, the scene behind me starts to shift, and I’m looking at a different bedroom. One with a visitor. A visitor I can use.

  I put my hand to the glass.

  “Do you mind?” I ask. I really need a buddy. One who’s not a guy.

  She gives me a tiny shrug, as if to say, knock yourself out, then she puts her hand to the glass, and I’m through.

  * * *

  “So then Ashlynn said that Mackenzie told Mr. Hunter to get stuffed, if you can believe that,” Olivia says as she swipes her toes with polish. “The girl finally grows a backbone and now she’s just making waves. He told the whole class he’d be taking off points for any lapses in critical reasoning—and you know how the man lives for his critical reasoning.”

  She leans forward, shaking her dark, curly hair carefully out of the way and pushing her face—which is slathered with a face mask—toward me.

  “Scratch my nose, will you? My nails are still wet.”

  I give her nose a dutiful but gentle scratch. “So listen, Liv … I, um … I’m here for a favor.”

  She looks at me in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—I just transferred over. I’m not your Jessa.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes pop open wide. “Oh! Wow. That was fast! When was this decided?”

  “Just now. She’s helping me out.”

  She points a wet nail at me. “Are you the circus girl? Or are you from the house by the rock quarry?”

  I look at her in confusion. “Neither. I live in Upstate New York. I’m nothing special.”

  “Except you can step through mirrors and shift into alternate realities just like everybody else, right?” she scoffs. “Don’t be so humble. You got it going on.”

  “Thanks. Wait—I’m in the circus?”

  “Haven’t met her yet, but I’ve heard about her,” Olivia says, settling back and taking another swipe at her nail with the brush. “Trapeze artist—your whole family performs. Crazy stuff.”

  I make a mental note to check that out sometime. “And the rock quarry?”

  She waves her hand to dry it. “You don’t even want to know. That one, I’ve met, and if you think we’ve got it bad here…” She trails off, and ends with a low whistle. “The quarry is owned by the state, and you have to g
ive them more than half of your profits. You don’t even get to go to school over there. You just work hammering rock all day. Jess says she’s got biceps as big as my thighs over in that reality.”

  I blink owlishly. “Well. That’s something.”

  “Uh-huh,” she says, putting the cap back on the polish and bringing her bare foot up onto the bed.

  “I can do your toes if you want,” I offer.

  “Are you kidding? You can’t stay inside the lines and you know it.”

  I smile at the knowledge that I really am the same in some ways, wherever I go. I never paint my nails because I suck at it.

  “What is it you need, Ms. New York?” she asks, shaking the polish once more before unscrewing the cap and starting on her big toe.

  “It’s a hypothetical situation,” I say to her as I sit carefully on the other end of the bed. “What if you’ve got two guys—both in your peer group, I mean—who are good matches for you, but in two really different ways?”

  “That’s a question for an actuary,” she says, dabbing at her toes. “I mean, it’s not like there’s only one fish in the sea, right? It’s like you’re charting your own course through this ocean of fish, and you know some will try to attack you and some will make you sick and some will be just fine and keep you fed, but part of you wants the tastiest, most beautifully colored one. Know what I mean?”

  I stuff my fist under my chin. “You had to make a nautical analogy.”

  “I’m just sayin’ that options can be a confusing thing for most of us. Not everyone is a born rebel like you. That’s why we leave it to the professionals over here. Oh God, get my nose again. The left side this time.”

  “My left, or your left?”

  “Mine. Watch the face mask.”

  “Why do you even use this stuff?” I ask as I scratch again. Olivia has this amazing, glowing caramel skin that perfectly complements her big brown eyes. “You don’t need to work to look gorgeous.”

  “I make gorgeous look like it’s not work,” she agrees. “And it starts with an avocado-and-Dead-Sea-salt mask. One more scratch, please.”

  I scratch again, and Olivia lets out a sigh. “Better. Now, as your stand-in actuary, the way I see it, you need to take your time with this. If you don’t have the benefit of an actual actuary—”

  “I don’t. And I wouldn’t use one anyway.”

  “Rebels. All of y’all.” She shakes her head and then points at my compact mirror, which is lying on the bed next to her.

  “Open,” she says. I open it up and hold it out as she leans in to look at herself. “That’s a zit, isn’t it? On my nose.”

  “Might be a bug bite, the way you were scratching.” I shrug. “It’s hard to tell.”

  “Great,” she says, checking her fingernails again. “Anyway. Love is not something to be trifled with. If it’s real, you’ll feel it.”

  “That’s just it,” I complain. “I mean, with one, I think I feel—”

  She holds up a hand. “You either feel it or you don’t. If you only think you feel it, you are so obviously not there. But that’s not to say you’ll never get there with time. Hypothetically.” She smirks.

  Just like Liv, calling me on my own nonsense. “Thanks,” I say, getting up from the bed.

  “Did that answer your question?”

  “Not really. But it helped. I really just needed an ear.”

  “You can borrow my ear anytime,” Olivia says, smiling. “You know I’m just an expert on love. Even though I can’t even say his damn name.”

  “Who?”

  She gives me a disgruntled look. “Shoulders. We were talking about him earlier today. You were trying to get his name out of me, but until he makes a move I am keeping my big mouth shut. I don’t need any group gossip wrecking this for me.”

  “Now you know why I have to jump reality to find a friend,” I say with a grimace. “People love to gossip, don’t they?”

  “Do you have a reality where that doesn’t happen?”

  “Probably not. Human nature, I guess.”

  “I guess.”

  Olivia leans off the bed, almost falling as she reaches gingerly for a shopping bag on the floor. “Hey, I got a ridiculous high school horror movie. It has singing zombies. We could watch it together. It’s somewhere in here.…”

  She gets up and walks duck-footed across the room to preserve her pedicure and carefully picks up another bag by the door.

  “Liv,” I say, “you are exactly my kind of friend. But I’d better get back. Enjoy your movie.”

  “Oh, I will,” she assures me, then she looks up from her bag. “Hey, what am I like over there? With you?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “My dad didn’t remarry, so I’ve never met you.”

  “Would I fit in with your other friends?”

  I shrug.

  “You do have other friends, right?”

  “I’ve got a friend. Or two.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Let me guess. We were just talking about them.”

  The look of chagrin on my face is confirmation enough. She shakes her head and makes a tsking sound. “You need to get out more.”

  “So I’ve been told. It’s just not easy for me. I’m a writer. I’m a lot more comfortable having conversations with people I made up.”

  “You’re talking to me, aren’t you?”

  “It’s just—I’ve been through a lot lately. I lost somebody and…” I take a breath. “It’s just not easy. That’s all.”

  She walks awkwardly over and puts an arm around my shoulders. “Listen. When I lost my dad, I wanted to curl up in a hole somewhere. I wanted to sit in bed all day with the covers over my head and the lights out. I didn’t want to go to school, or hang out, or even have to talk to anybody. When you get a hole like that ripped in your life, the last thing you want to do is stuff it with all that other junk.”

  I nod. “That’s it exactly.”

  “I know how it is. But the thing is, life doesn’t work that way. It keeps moving forward, and you’re going to have to start moving with it. Sitting home alone and living your life through other people—even if the other people are all you—is no way to find your own life. You can’t hide forever.”

  “Maybe I could break rocks for a living,” I say with a half smile. “Nice and peaceful with nobody to bother me.”

  “With arms the size of legs, I guarantee no one will bother you,” she points out.

  “Thanks, Liv.” I give her a hug. “You’re just what I needed.”

  “And now you’ve got avocado on the side of your face,” she says. “Have a nice trip!”

  I turn back to the mirror to let my other self know I’m done, and I’m still thinking about Olivia’s words when I get back to my side. I start to turn away, but I realize I have a pen in my hand. My journal stands on the dresser in front of me, and my other self has decided to chime in with her thoughts.

  I don’t know Ben well and I don’t know Finn at all, but I can feel what you’re feeling, and this is incredibly confusing for you. I don’t have anything to compare it to from my life, but here’s my advice, for what it’s worth to you:

  It’s not about who you love more, or who you can see yourself with, or who you can’t live without, because they both meet all that criteria. So I think the question is, if you don’t end up with one of them, which one would make you ask “What if?”

  I think that’s the saddest question anyone could ever have in their life. It’s a question that can reduce you and all you could be or want to be. So ask it.

  Those are my thoughts, for whatever they mean to you. And I think you know that answer already.

  J

  Girlfriends are a good thing to have, I think. Especially when one of them is yourself.

  21

  Friends with Connections

  The classroom shimmers to life around me, and Mario is sitting at his desk, looking through a stack of papers.

  “Isn’t that a little old-fashione
d?” I ask. “Can’t you just materialize an iPad or something?”

  He looks up from the papers, and his face is a mask of irritation. “I can do it any way that works for me,” he reminds me. “I’m in charge.”

  “Sorry,” I say sheepishly.

  He waves a hand and gets up from behind the desk. “Didn’t mean to bite your head off. Things are just really hectic at the moment.”

  “Still no Rudy?”

  He grimaces. “We’re working on it.”

  “You do that. I’ll just keep dodging Eversor. She tried to kill Finn on Sunday.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to call me in,” I say, more than a little irked by the lack of focus.

  “How did I miss that?” he asks, running his hand through his hair. “Hold on, let me pull Finn in.”

  The words are barely out of his mouth and I sense Finn instantly, sitting in the chair next to me.

  “Hi,” I say.

  Finn glances around. “Where the devil are we?”

  “It’s a classroom. Like in school,” I tell him. “Mario wants a debrief about Eversor.”

  “Jessa’s told you that she tried to run us down?”

  “She was aiming for you,” I say. “I think it’s important to her that I suffer before she goes after me—she blames me and Mario for the way the Dreamers have turned on Rudy.”

  “Vengeance is a powerful motivator,” Finn agrees.

  “How did she know where you’d be?” Mario asks, staring at the blank whiteboard and tapping his fingers on the desk in frustration. “Rudy can’t catch any echoes from either of you—I have you both on lockdown.”

  I look at him in confusion. “Meaning…?”

  “As a Dreamer—even a Dreamer on the run in the dreamscape—he can pull images and echoes of memory from a subconscious mind,” Mario explains. “That’s how we get our information, and with that, we can form our forecasts.

  “But in Rudy’s case, he can’t get into either of your minds because I have them under constant surveillance—the same with your family, Jessa. I don’t want him having any clues as to what your day-to-day plans are. So for Eversor to know you were traveling means she’s watching you somehow—either physically or via Rudy getting clues from someone else.”