“It better be.” Madison snatched the folder and shoved a paper bag at her.
Sophie peeked in and saw the used dreamcatcher. It looked intact. So long as the threads weren’t snapped, the dream would be fine. It could handle a little jostling. Dreams were sturdier than they seemed. “Does she know about your nightmares? If you told her—” She cut herself off. It was safer if the truth about dreamcatchers stayed a secret. If word got out . . . Just thinking about the Night Watchmen finding out about Sophie and her family made her want to curl into a ball between the library shelves. And if they ever found out about what happened when she drank a dream . . . An image flashed through her mind: shadowy Watchmen bursting into the shop and dragging her away. Definitely better to keep everything a secret.
Madison snorted. “We don’t have nightmares in my house. Night is for sleeping. Do you cry to your mommy every time you have a little nightmare? I know you do. She probably sings you a lullaby, tucks you in with your blankie, and gives your teddy bear a kiss. You’re such a baby.” She peeked into the folder, looking at the dreamcatcher as if she wanted to complain about it but couldn’t think of anything wrong with it. “See you next week. Don’t talk to me before then. And . . . thanks.” The last word was said as if it hurt her.
“You’re welcome,” Sophie said.
“You better not have made me late.” Madison stalked out of the shelves, snagging a random book on her way. Catching a glimpse, Sophie saw it was on guinea pigs. She opened her mouth to tell Madison that it wasn’t a fashion book, but Madison strode out of the aisle before Sophie could even form the words.
Sophie waited a few minutes and then emerged from a different set of shelves. She hurried out of the library before the librarian could try to talk to her again. Returning to the main hallway, she deposited Madison’s used dreamcatcher in her backpack and stuffed it in her locker.
Delivering a dreamcatcher to Lucy Snyder was also difficult, but for different reasons. Lucy was still in elementary school, and Sophie could only exchange dreamcatchers with her on days when Sophie’s free period intersected with Lucy’s recess.
Sophie checked the clock above the lockers. She had exactly fifteen minutes to cross the street to the elementary school, locate Lucy on the playground, and scoot back before her free period ended. It was doable.
She’d met Lucy two months ago. Her mother had dragged her into the shop and asked for books without any villains in them, because her daughter had nightmares. Sophie’s parents had sold the woman a few of their happiest little-kids’ books—the kind with pink winged ponies and cheerful mice—and given her a dreamcatcher. The woman had rolled her eyes at the dreamcatcher and muttered about “New Age hippie nonsense,” but the little girl wanted it. The next day, Sophie spotted Lucy across the street at recess. When the teachers weren’t looking, Sophie crossed the street to the school playground and asked how the dreamcatcher had worked. Lucy burst into tears of relief and said, between sobs, that she hadn’t woken up “too scared to pee” for the first time in forever and ever. So Sophie had the idea to set up a secret weekly exchange.
It was tricky at first, since middle-schoolers weren’t supposed to just waltz over to the elementary school, but now Sophie had an official pink note with a faded, unreadable date that said she had to deliver a message to the elementary school nurse. She’d obtained the note legitimately a few weeks ago and had been using it ever since.
Taking the note and a fresh dreamcatcher, she strolled out of the school and across the parking lot. It was always important to look purposeful and not sneaky when one was trying to be sneaky. (That was Monster’s advice, though he always said it didn’t help if you had six tentacles.) The little kids were already on the playground for recess, swarming over the equipment like monkeys.
Lucy, of course, was the one standing next to the swing set screaming her head off. She would have been noticeable anyway with her strawberry blond hair that liked to point in all directions at once. But the screaming made her unmissable. Her face had already deepened to a rose-like purply red that spread to the tips of her pronounced ears. Sophie didn’t bother wondering what had set her off this time. It could have been anything from a spider to a skinned knee. The other kids gave her a wide berth.
Sophie scanned the playground for adults. Normally, she’d wait until Lucy came over to her, but given how loud Lucy was screaming, it could be a while before she calmed down enough, and Sophie didn’t have time to wait. She’d take the direct approach today.
She marched across the playground and halted right in front of Lucy. “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll pour water on your head. We have less than a minute before one of the teachers comes over and asks what I’m doing talking to you.”
Lucy hurled herself at Sophie, wrapped her arms around the bigger girl’s waist, and sobbed into her shirt. She rubbed her nose against Sophie’s sleeve.
“Please, tell me there were no boogers,” Sophie said.
“That man s-s-s-cared me!” Lucy howled.
Sophie didn’t see any man. “I’m quite sure he regrets it. You know you howl loud enough to wake the dead.”
This was not the right thing to say to a girl who had nightmare issues.
Lucy howled louder.
“Maybe people would be nicer and not scare you if you didn’t scream so much.” All the kids nearby were staring at them, and Sophie wished she’d stayed back at the middle school. She didn’t like this many eyes on her. They’d be talking about her, the girl who was friends with Lucy. It wasn’t good for people to be talking about her. Maybe she should have waited. Or skipped today and come back tomorrow instead.
“Not them,” Lucy said. “The nightmare man!”
“What ‘nightmare man’?” Sophie asked. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t. She didn’t have time for lengthy explanations. One of the teachers was homing in on them. Lucy cried so often that the teachers didn’t respond quickly anymore, but the sight of an older kid on the playground was enough to catch their attention. “Never mind. I have your dreamcatcher. Want to trade?”
Sniffling, Lucy nodded. She pulled a ribbon out from under her shirt. She’d strung the dreamcatcher on it like a large necklace. The dreamcatcher was about the size of Sophie’s palm, small enough to fit in Sophie’s pocket but too big for Lucy’s. Quickly, Sophie untied the string, slipped off the old dreamcatcher, and slid on a new one. She shielded Lucy from view so that the other kids wouldn’t notice, and then Lucy stuffed it back into her shirt. It bulged a little, but her shirt was baggy enough to hide it.
“Do you have a story to tell the teacher?” Sophie asked. “Or do you want me to improvise?”
Lucy sniffed again. “What’s ‘improvise’?”
Before Sophie could define the word, the teacher was there. “Excuse me. Is everything okay here? Lucy, who’s this?”
Lucy hurled herself at the teacher. “A m-m-mean man was b-b-bothering me! She scared him away! She saved me! I was so s-s-scared!” She howled again.
That, Sophie thought, was improvising.
“A man? Where?” With narrowed eyes, the teacher scanned the parking lot.
“Just someone passing by, I’m sure. I didn’t get a good look at him,” Sophie said. “She seemed upset, so I came over. I was visiting the school nurse, delivering a message.” She waved the pink slip. “Have to get back now.”
“Can you describe the man, Lucy?” the teacher asked the little girl. She knelt down to be even with Lucy’s eye level. “What did he look like? What did he say?”
Sophie retreated while Lucy talked. She trotted across the playground, pretending she didn’t hear the teacher call after her. In minutes, she was safely back in the middle school. She stowed the used dreamcatcher inside her locker with Madison’s and went to class.
A close call, but a success. Now, if she could only talk Ethan into taking a dreamcatcher, it would be an excellent birthday. Or at least a very good ordinary day.
ETHAN WAS IN HER LAST-PERIOD
CLASS. SHE’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.
HER FIRST THOUGHT WAS, I’M NOT BETTY.
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 ha
d 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!”
The Girl Who Could Not Dream Page 4