by Alyson Noel
“The way you grow older is … well, by growing older.” He nodded as though he’d just made some huge revelation.
I groaned, rolled my eyes, thinking: More useless words of wisdom from the great director himself! Then I ducked down low and placed one foot solidly on the outside.
“You have so much potential, but no idea how to channel it,” Balthazar said.
The next step came slower, I’m embarrassed to admit, but I was curious to see where he was headed with that.
“If you were not already apprenticing as a Soul Catcher, I would ask to train you as an assistant director. You are full of heart and fire. Every time you speak, I expect to see hot flames shooting out of your mouth.”
Okay, I know I was supposed to be mad, but I couldn’t help but smile at that. It wasn’t entirely kind, but still, there was no denying it described me to a T.
“You also seem to have a fondness for ignoring the rules. Like the Dreamland closing time, for instance?”
My smile faded. And since I had no intention of sticking around for yet another lecture, I ducked and crouched ’til I was on the other side of the doorway. Already headed for the gate when Balthazar came after me, saying, “You have the soul of an artist. All great art is about bending rules—discovering a new way to blaze an old trail. You approach your afterlife with fierce determination and passion, and you love to win more than anything else. Qualities that must come in very handy in your job as a Soul Catcher, but, as you see, some souls will always choose to go their own way. It is just how it is. It bears no reflection on you.”
I gulped. I couldn’t help it. I guess I’d never thought of it that way. I figured the Council had made me a Soul Catcher because I could relate to the ghosts—because I knew firsthand what it’s like to cling to the earth plane, the old way of life, refusing to move on to where I truly belonged. But maybe they saw something more in me too. Maybe my fire and heart and determination and passion and desire to win above all … well, maybe that had also played a small part in why I was chosen to do what I do.
My thoughts were interrupted by Balthazar saying, “And while these are very good qualities to have, one must learn to direct and channel them in order to achieve greatness. Without focus, they are just a pile of emotions left to run amok. It is the ability to channel one’s emotions that is the mark of maturity, no?”
My jaw dropped, while the rest of me stood as frozen and solid as … well, as a snowman. Suddenly understanding it—or at least part of it—feeling as though I’d just been handed one more piece to the puzzle.
Balthazar tilted his head back, peering up at a sky that while still mostly dark, showed hints of silvery brightness beginning to creep in—the promise of daylight to come. Then he looked at me and said, “There’s still some time before Dreamland officially opens for the day.” His fingers worked the silk scarf at his neck. “What do you say we check in on that sister of yours?”
21
The scene was perfectly staged. My landing was spoton. And yet, despite all of my preparation and training, it still took several tries to get it just right.
Ever kept running. Waking. Bailing on every happy scene I fought so hard to share with her. Forcing me to play out the same routine again and again—always starting with her laughing and smiling and pretending to go along—and ending with her running off the second I’d turn my back—scrambling for the surface—determined to wake herself up.
“What am I doing wrong?” I called, standing on the stage, voice full of despair, squinting at Balthazar, who was perched in his fancy red director’s chair.
He shrugged, clearly not half as upset as me, saying, “You have done everything right. Just like I taught you. But also like I taught you, there are no guarantees. Sometimes a dream jump just does not work. And while usually it is the fault of the jumper, in this case, considering that you were personally trained by me, the blame clearly lies with your sister. For some reason, she prefers not to see you.”
I stood there, stunned, speechless, knowing all the evidence seemed to support what he said, and yet, there’s no way it could possibly be true. Ever loved me! She missed me! I knew it for a fact—despite how it may have looked.
Yet, I also knew that Balthazar was right, there was no doubt she was doing her best to avoid me.
“She is troubled. Feels very guilty about something. And your presence only seems to make it worse. She is convinced she is not deserving of the happiness that the sight of you brings.”
Omigawd, that’s it! Balthazar had just perfectly described my sister—the sole survivor of the accident that wiped out my family.
Still, I was determined to get through. I had no idea when the chance might come again. “One more time,” I pleaded. “I mean, we still have time, right?”
Balthazar quirked his brow, stroked his goatee, and I took that to mean that the choice was entirely up to me. So the moment my sister fell back to sleep, I jumped. Only this time, instead of distracting her with laughter and fun, I let her lead the way.
She was troubled, immersed in a dark and lonely landscape. And, if I didn’t know better, I’d think for sure Satchel was behind it. But Satchel was nowhere to be found, which meant the scene we found ourselves in was, unfortunately, the wisps and remnants of my sister’s guilt-ridden mind.
I went along for a while, but it didn’t take long before I started to feel really sad about the way she was still punishing herself for events that were beyond her control—for making choices that may have proved tough at the moment but that, eventually, would surely work out.
And that’s when I decided to send her a thoughtwave.
I had no idea if it was actually possible to send a thoughtwave during a dream jump, since Balthazar had made it sound like an either/or situation, but I figured it was worth a shot. So, I closed my eyes, concentrated on letting her know just how much I loved and admired her—how I’d spent an entire lifetime wanting to be just like her.
And then, the strangest thing happened, that dark, gloomy sky started to brighten, the crisp, cold air began to warm, as that depressingly bleak landscape transformed into a sparkling patch of grass—a small island refuge from all of her darkness.
“Don’t fight it,” I urged, smiling so brightly it made my cheeks ache. “Please, don’t run—please just sit here with me and try to enjoy this moment for however long it lasts.”
She knelt beside me on the grass, her blue eyes narrowed in question before pushing through the doubt and giving way to happiness. She reached toward me, smiling as she moved to tweak my nose in that way my dad always did, but then halfway there she stopped, reconsidered, and instead, used the tips of her fingers to softly brush my long and scraggly bangs off my face.
“You’re growing up,” she said, her voice as soft and wonderful as I remembered it.
Though the words were not at all true, causing me to shake my head, saying, “No, no, I’m not. I’m just exactly the same as you left me. But I want to grow up. I really, really do. And I was kind of hoping you could help.”
She sat back on her heels, her long blond hair draped over her shoulders, hanging down to her waist. “Riley Bloom? Asking for help?” She tossed her head back and stole a few moments to laugh. “Are you sure you’re my sister and not some crazy imposter?” She tapped lightly on my forehead, stared hard into each eye.
And though I laughed too, willingly going along with the joke, I have to admit her words kinda stung.
It was true that I never asked for help, and maybe that was also part of the problem. The Council had told me to consult with them, and once again, I’d totally ignored it, chosen to go my own way. But those days were over. I was ready, willing, and completely and totally desperate to soak up any words of wisdom my sister could give me.
“Ever, I was hoping …” I mashed my lips together, gazed all around, knowing I needed to hurry, that she could wake at any second and my chance would be blown. “Well, I was hoping you could tell me how to be thirteen.”
She squinted, her face gone suddenly serious, her hand lightly clasping mine when she said, “Thirteen just happens, Riley. It’s not something you can force.”
Yes, I was becoming all too aware of that, Balthazar had said pretty much the exact same thing. But while I knew she couldn’t help me become thirteen, I thought maybe she could at least help me to act it, which in turn might spur things along.
“Okay, well, here’s the thing,” I told her, my fingers grazing over the crystal horseshoe bracelet her boyfriend gave her, the one she always wore. “Turning thirteen isn’t something that will just happen for me. I’m—” I started to say I’m dead, but not knowing if she was aware of that in her dream state, I didn’t want to startle her and possibly risk waking her, so instead I just said, “It’s … different for me. It’s something I have to learn how to achieve.”
She shook her head, made a face of impatience, eager for me to understand. “But that’s the thing, you can’t force it. Nor can you achieve it. It’ll come when you’re ready and no sooner, I’m afraid.”
To be honest, that only made me more frustrated. It was all the same stuff I’d already heard. I mean, so far all I’d manage to get out of Bodhi, Balthazar, and now her were the same, vague, mostly unhelpful statements.
You can’t force it!
You can’t achieve it!
It happens when it happens!
Bipiddy blah blah.
Channel your emotions was the only solid lead that I had, but it wasn’t enough. I knew there was more.
“I know you’re in a rush.” She nodded intently. “And I know you probably won’t see it this way, but really, you should consider yourself lucky. You’ll turn thirteen when you’re ready, no sooner. Can I tell you a secret?” She leaned toward me until our noses were just millimeters apart. “When my thirteenth birthday came, I didn’t feel the least bit ready.”
Wha?
I leaned back, stunned. Remembering her thirteenth birthday so clearly—the party our parents gave her, the mad crush of friends that filled up the entire den until they spilled out into the backyard. Remembering how surprised I was to see how boys had made the guest list for the first time in a long time. But mostly I remembered how badly I wanted to be a part of it all. How I kept making excuses to join them, and how our parents kept urging me to leave her alone, to leave her and her friends to their teenaged fun. Assuring me that someday I’d get a thirteenth birthday party too, and then I’d understand …
I looked at my sister, convinced she’d only said that to make me feel better. I mean, seriously, she was pretty much the picture of the teen dream come true.
“It seemed like suddenly, practically overnight, all of my friends were obsessed with lip gloss and boys.” She arched her brow, flashed a quick grin. “And I felt like in order to fit in, I had to pretend I was into that too. The first time I slow danced at the seventh grade mixer, my stomach was so twisted with nerves I thought I was going to hurl on that poor boy’s shoulder.” She laughed, flicked her fingers through her hair. “But honestly, none of it really felt right until around age fourteen. Maybe even fourteen and a half. I pretty much just faked it ’til then. But you’re nothing like me, Riley. You don’t have a single thing to worry about. You were sneaking my lip gloss from the moment I started wearing it.” She laughed and chucked me under the chin. “You’re ready, I can tell. There must be something else that’s holding you back.”
So, that’s it, I thought. She really didn’t know any better than I what that crucial thing might be. And while that was all fine and good, I wasn’t ready to end it just yet. Though I could see the grass starting to shrink, to creep in on itself, as her attention started to fade.
“What about boys?” I blurted, determined to squeeze as much out of the moment as I could. “And making friends? How did you do that so easily? How did you get everyone to love and admire you? How did you become so popular?” I asked, my voice frantic, all too aware of time running out.
She was distracted, losing focus, and I was pretty sure that I’d lost her when she returned to me and said, “Boys?” She grinned. “My baby sister wants to know about boys!” She tossed her head back and laughed. And even though I cringed at the word “baby,” I didn’t let on. I was too busy urging her on. “Well, for starters, never forget that they’re just as nervous as you are. Remember when I told you about that dance and how I thought I would hurl? Well, what I didn’t tell you is that the boy’s hands were so clammy and sweaty he left two permanent sweat stains on my blue satin top. He totally wrecked it and it was brand-new!” She rolled her eyes, tucked her hair behind her ear. “They’re cute, no doubt, but sometimes they act like such dorks. It takes a while for them to figure it out. Believe me, I know, my boyfriend’s six hundred years old!” She quirked her brow and shrugged. “Just be sensible, Riley—just be yourself. And never, ever, allow yourself to lose your head over any of them, okay? As for making friends?” She smiled, butted her knee against mine. “Easy-peasy—isn’t that what you say? The key to making friends is to be a good friend.” She paused, allowing her words to sink in, but I hoped she wouldn’t pause too long, I could feel the dream starting to fade. “And what was your last question? About popularity and how to get people to love and admire you?” She squinted, took a moment to consider. “Well, the thing is—you don’t. Or, maybe I should say that it’s really not something you can strive for because you’ll just come off as a big needy fake. Just be your adorable, sweet, and sunny self, and I have no doubt that everyone will …”
The grass was disappearing, and when Ever saw it, her eyes filled with panic and fear.
I tugged on her hand, desperate to bring her back to me. And, for a moment it worked, because she looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, Riley—you’re going to be fine. But now, I’m afraid something very strange is happening …”
The grass slipped out from under us and we found ourselves back on the stage, and I took it as a sign that my part was over. It had been her dream all along. I was just the jumper. It was time for me to find a way to help her.
The stage continued to transform, and that’s when I saw just how dark and troubled my sister’s world had become. She was all over the place, frantic, panicked, unable to take it all in, so I did my best to make her focus on only the most important symbols, the things she absolutely shouldn’t miss. And though Balthazar and Mort had both warned me that you can never be sure which part of a dream the dreamer will actually remember once they wake up—for some strange reason I found myself hoping she wouldn’t remember the earlier part. I hoped she’d remember all the dark and weird symbols instead—that’s where the real message lived. I may not have understood it, but I knew it was important. I knew she desperately needed to see it.
So when Balthazar shouted, “Cut! She’s awake! That’s a wrap!” well, despite all my failures in Dreamland—I couldn’t help feeling as though it hadn’t been a complete and total waste.
I’d spent time with my sister. And I’m pretty sure I was able to help her as much as she had helped me.
22
By the time I made my way out of that soundstage I was glowing.
Positively glowing.
Or at least that’s how I felt on the inside.
I may have failed at nearly everything I set out to do—there may have been a renegade dreamweaver still on the loose—but I’d done all I could. Until the Council decided to assign him to me, Satchel wasn’t my problem to solve.
So, that was me—brimming with newfound confidence—buzzing with the promise of all that I’d learned—when I ran smack into Buttercup and Bodhi standing on the other side of the door.
I dropped to my knees, hugging an overexcited Buttercup tightly to my chest. His thumping tail, and crazily licking tongue on my cheek, telling me he was very happy to see me.
And after a while, when I knew I couldn’t delay any longer, I met Bodhi’s gaze. His face was guarded, conflicted, much harder to read than my dog’s, th
ough I was pretty sure they didn’t share the same enthusiasm.
I was pretty sure Bodhi saved his cheek licking exclusively for Jasmine, even though the thought of that pretty much grossed me out.
And while I knew I should say something to explain myself, he was the first to speak when he said, “So, I hear you tried to work another Riley Bloom miracle back there.” His voice containing an unmistakable—something—I couldn’t tell what, as he jabbed his thumb back toward the old, brokendown soundstage.
I didn’t respond. I just got to my feet and motioned for Buttercup to follow as I worked my way toward the gate. Remembering the last time Bodhi and I had seen each other—when he’d caught me watching while he read poetry to Jasmine—and feeling that same rush of horrified embarrassment all over again.
I’d been feeling pretty dang good until he came along, and I marveled at how quickly his mere presence made me feel just the opposite.
“You know, lots of people have tried to get Satchel to stop.” Bodhi walked alongside me, refusing to honor the silence like I was trying to do. “His guide has tried many times—too many to count, really. And Balthazar has been making regular visits since the nightmares began. Trying to talk some sense into him, pleading with him to change his mind. But, in the end, Satchel always refuses to listen. You shouldn’t blame yourself, Riley. Satchel’s just not ready to move on.”
“But he was ready,” I mumbled, grinding my teeth tightly together, remembering just how close I’d come—only to have him run off at the very last second.
I mean, yeah, I’d moved past it. Was fully committed to letting it go and not replaying the moment again and again in my head. But that doesn’t change the fact that I truly had been on the verge of breaking through to him. If Balthazar hadn’t barged in, I could’ve, once again, been the one to succeed where all others had failed.
My eyes slewed toward Bodhi’s, seeing the way he studied me, the way he thumped his chewed-up green straw softly against his stubble-lined chin.