This had to be another dream.
I threw off the covers and walked over to the snow globes to get a closer look. They were of different cities—London, Paris, Madrid, Venice, Rome, and more.
They were the cities I was supposed to have visited on my European teen tour with Claire.
I picked up the one of Big Ben and shook it, watching the snow swirl. I tried to place myself there, as a tourist admiring the famous clock tower, but I had no memories of having ever been there.
This had to be a dream.
Except it felt real.
But the Halloween dance—and the shooting that happened there—that had felt real, too. And that had clearly been a dream. How else would I have gone from seeing Jake die to waking up in bed to my alarm?
I gazed around my room, and when my eyes fell on my phone, I hurried back over to it to see if there were any new messages. Jake always returned my texts quickly.
But there was nothing.
He must not have heard his phone buzz. So I texted him again.
I thought you loved that song? From Back to the Future?
I pressed send and glanced at the time—6:45. He probably hadn’t replied yet because it was fifteen minutes before I usually texted him in the morning. He had no reason to wake up before seven. I didn’t have a reason to either, but I couldn’t fall back asleep now. So I scrolled up through my texts with Jake, to a conversation from April.
Me: It doesn’t look like I’ll be able to visit you at camp this summer
Jake: You sure? Why not?
Me: My mom doesn’t want me to do another big trip, since I’m already doing the teen tour.
I re-read that last line, my mouth dropping open.
Because this conversation was from April.
My mom’s accident had happened in March.
But according to this text, she was alive in April. Meaning the accident hadn’t happened.
This had to be a dream. I dreamed she was alive all the time.
But dream or not, I tossed my phone aside and hurried out of my room, needing to see her for myself.
Monday, October 27
I threw the doors open to my parents wing of the house, and sure enough, my mom sat in front of her vanity, doing her morning routine as if it were any other day. She had her scrubs on, her hair wrapped up in a towel, and she was humming quietly as she uncapped a bottle of moisturizer and rubbed it into her face.
“Mom?” I whispered, resting a hand against the wall to steady myself.
“Annabelle.” She looked at me and smiled. “Shouldn’t you be showered and getting ready for school?”
Her voice, her smile, her eyes… everything about her was so real. My throat tightened, my eyes filling with tears, and I ran up to her, wrapping my arms around her in the tightest hug I’ve ever given to anyone.
She hugged me back, her arms solid, her skin warm. She was alive. And I never wanted to let go.
“You’re here,” I said, my voice cracking. “You’re back.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Nothing.” I shook my head and held her tighter. “It’s too complicated, and it wouldn’t make any sense, but I missed you. So much.”
She pulled out of my hug and placed her hand on my forehead. “You’re not sick, are you?” she asked. “You don’t feel warm.”
“No, I’m not sick.” I wiped a tear off my cheek, wanting to appreciate every moment with her, even if it only was just a dream. “I’m just really happy to see you. I love you, Mom.”
“You saw me before going to bed last night.” She laughed, although she tilted her head, as if trying to figure me out. “Are you sure you’re not sick?”
“I’m sure,” I said. “I just had a bad dream. A nightmare, really. A long, awful, terrible nightmare.”
“You haven’t had nightmares since you were a kid.” She chewed on her lower lip, looking more concerned by the second. “Are you stressed in school? I know you had that big test in AP physics last week…”
“I’m not worried about my grade,” I said. “I know I did well. I just…” I stared at her, amazed she was here. “Do you remember the morning of March twenty-fourth?”
It was a day I would never forget—the day of her accident.
“March twenty-fourth…” she trailed, as if searching for the memory. “Wasn’t that the morning we had awful food poisoning from Sushi Ya? I couldn’t leave the house the entire day.”
“So we got sushi and not Italian.” I gasped, amazed that this was happening. “I picked tails on the coin toss.”
“Yes.” She frowned and looked down at her hands. “Although I don’t like thinking about that day.”
“You don’t?” I asked. “Why not?”
“You know all of this, Annabelle.” She sighed, as if thinking about it exhausted her. “Why are you bringing it up now?”
“I don’t remember,” I insisted. “Please, tell me. What happened?”
She met my eyes, and she must have known I meant it, because she took a deep breath and nodded. “That was the day I was scheduled to do that important surgery—a heart transplant on a baby,” she said. “I was the doctor the family wanted, but I had to push back the surgery since I couldn’t operate with food poisoning. Scientifically speaking, that one day shouldn’t have made a difference… but the baby didn’t make it through the night. If I hadn’t been sick, she would have had a chance to live.”
My lips parted as I pieced it all together. In real life, another surgeon had taken over the case immediately after my mom’s body had been brought to the hospital. The baby had survived.
In this dream world, my mom had lived and the baby hadn’t. One life for another.
My heart panged for the life lost. But while I knew it was selfish, I wished that Mom had been the one to live in the real world, too.
I knelt down so our eyes were level and took her hand in mine. “It wasn’t your fault.” I needed her to believe it, even though she wasn’t real and I would wake up soon to a world where she was gone. “You couldn’t help getting sick. And if you hadn’t been sick, you would have been on the road that morning, and then…” I shook my head, not wanting to say it out loud—how that truck had sped through that intersection and crushed her car beneath it. “You’re here, and that’s what matters. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, Annabelle,” she said. “But you’re acting so strange… are you sure you’re okay?” She played with a strand of my hair that had fallen over my shoulder—a blonder, longer strand of hair than I’d ever had, in the real world or in my dreams.
I stood up and looked in the mirror. My hair was longer and blonder. I also weighed less, which made my cheekbones more prominent than ever.
I was still me, but at the same time, I was looking into the eyes of a stranger.
In my dreams, I’d never looked different. Then again, dreams faded. Perhaps I would forget this detail after waking up. Maybe all I would remember was the joy of seeing my mom again.
“I’m okay,” I said, looking away from my reflection. “But can I stay home from school today? And spend time with you?”
“You can’t miss school if you’re not sick.” Mom chuckled and shook her head.
“Maybe I am getting sick,” I said. “I do have a headache.”
She smiled with one half of her mouth—it was the way she looked at someone when she knew they weren’t being honest. “You can’t miss school if you’re not sick,” she said.
“Please?” I begged. “Just this once?”
“Wanting to skip school is unlike you,” she said. “Did you have a fight with your friends?”
“No,” I told her. “I just want to spend time with you.”
“But I need to work today.” She laughed, as if my suggestion was absurd. “How about we get ice cream after you get home from dance rehearsal?”
“Dance rehearsal?” I repeated, confused once more. “I quit the team months ago.”
Her brow f
urrowed, and she searched my face, moving onto the edge of her seat. “No, you didn’t,” she said slowly. “Are you sure you’re all right? You said you had a headache… did you hit your head recently and not mention it?”
“No.” I pushed away the memory of that blinding pain in my head at the end of that nightmare. “Why?”
“Because if you hit your head, you could be showing signs of a concussion,” she said. “Headache, confusion, delayed responses to questions, feeling dazed…” She listed off the symptoms as if reading from a textbook. “Have you been dizzy? Tired?”
“I didn’t hit my head,” I said. “I just had some bad dreams last night, that’s all.” I hugged her again, not wanting to let go. She felt so real. I couldn't believe that I would wake up in a world where she was gone.
That was when a crazy thought hit me.
What if this wasn’t a dream? What if this were real life, and every memory of the past few months had been the nightmare?
I knew that was impossible. But I wanted it to be true.
So for now, all I could do was play along and be happy in this dream I’d created.
“Ice cream sounds great,” I told her. “Today after dance rehearsal?”
“It’s a date,” she said. “Now, you need to get ready for school. You don’t want to be late.”
I nodded, hurried to my room, and shut the door behind me. This felt so real. I remembered a lot of my dreams, and they were always disorienting—bending reality and jumping from one place to another without explanation.
And in my dreams, I never knew I was in a dream.
I didn’t know what was going on. All I knew was that Mom was alive. For now, this felt real, and that was what I had to focus on. I couldn’t start talking about how it was all a dream. Because if I told anyone that—and if I told them about my memories of the past few months—they would think I was crazy.
Maybe I was going crazy. Wasn’t that what Mom had thought, when she worried that I had a concussion?
I couldn’t be crazy. But not remembering the past few months—not remembering that my mom was alive, an entire trip to Europe, and still being on the dance team—that was something that would happen to a crazy person.
Wasn’t it?
I ran a hand through my hair and sat down on my bed. I had no idea what was happening. I had no idea how long I would stay here.
But I wanted this to be my life.
If I told people here about the life I’d lived these past few months, there would be no more “normal” for me. I would have to go to therapy and take medications. Everyone—including my mom—would think I’d lost it.
I couldn’t allow that to happen.
Which meant I had to act like this was all normal.
It shouldn’t be hard. There were clearly small differences in this life, but I was still me. Even better—I was me in the life I’d wanted for myself since my mom’s accident.
All I had to do was make sure no one found out that I didn’t belong here.
Monday, October 27
I picked up my phone, smiling when I saw there was a reply from Jake.
What kind of game are you playing?
I read it again and frowned. What was he talking about?
I typed back to him, sending the message quickly.
I’m texting you my morning song, like I do every morning
His reply came immediately.
You haven’t talked to me in months.
I reread his response, as if staring at it would change it. It didn’t make sense. I’d been texting Jake my morning song long before my mom had gotten into the accident—our morning texts started before we’d started dating. It wasn’t possible that I hadn’t talked to him in months. He was my best friend. My boyfriend.
We loved each other.
Except… we’d fallen in love last summer, when we worked together as counselors at camp.
I glanced over at the picture on my nightstand from the Moulin Rouge. In this dream world, I’d gone on the teen tour with Claire.
My summer with Jake didn’t exist.
I fell back onto my bed and closed my eyes. I’d thought that this life, where my mom was still alive, would be perfect. But it wasn’t. Because Jake and I had never fallen in love. We apparently didn’t even talk anymore.
I had my mom back. But I’d lost Jake.
Why couldn’t even my dream be happy? Why was it transforming into a nightmare?
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. I hadn’t woken up yet—I was still in the dream. And while Jake and I might not be together here, I hadn’t lost him. He was on the other side of the phone, texting me. He was still alive.
As long as Jake was alive, he would love me—he had to love me. After we started dating, he told me that he’d loved me for years. That couldn’t go away in a few months.
The solution was simple: I was going to get him back.
Monday, October 27
Jake and I might not have our memories from the summer, but when people love each other as much as we do, they’re meant to be together no matter what. I could fix this. I would go to school, see him, and set this right. I didn’t know what could have happened to make us grow apart, but he was going to be so happy when he realized that we could reconnect and be together, like we were meant to be.
With a newfound determination, I forced myself off the bed, opened my closet… and gaped at the unfamiliar clothes hanging inside.
There were bright tops of lace and silk, skirts, heels, and even a leather jacket. What used to be my sparse section for dresses was now jammed with so many options that the hangers were crammed together. It took some serious digging to find my favorite pair of jeans, a simple tank top, and flip-flops.
My closet wasn’t all that had changed—my desk had been transformed into a vanity, with stacks of makeup instead of textbooks. There was no room on it to do homework.
I found my usual products and did my short makeup routine. Once ready, I went down to breakfast, pausing when I reached the bottom of the stairs. The TV was playing the morning news, and Dad, Eric, and Mom were talking over it.
“Eric, you should put less mayonnaise on your sandwich,” Mom said. “That stuff is really bad for you.”
“But it’s so, so good,” he said, the words muffled as he chewed.
“Give him a break,” Dad chimed in. “You can only eat like a fifteen year old once.”
“A bit of mayonnaise won’t kill me,” Eric said.
“Oh yeah?” Mom challenged. “You should tell that to some of my patients.”
I smiled, since I’d missed this so much—the entire family eating together, the laughing, and the banter. All the grief I’d experienced—the quiet, sad breakfasts of looking at Mom’s empty chair—had never happened here. Life had continued on as normal.
I could fit in with this. I could pretend like it was my normal, too. I had to, if I wanted to avoid the questions I couldn’t answer without sounding insane.
So I took a deep breath, walked into the kitchen, and grabbed my box of cereal like I did every morning.
I didn’t realize everyone was staring at me until I was about to pour it into the bowl.
“What?” I asked, setting the box down.
“Nothing.” Mom shook it off. “You just look different this morning.”
“You’re going to be ready in time to drive Eric to school, right?” Dad asked.
“Yeah.” I poured my milk, brought the bowl to the table, and glanced at my watch. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Come on, Annabelle.” Eric smirked, holding up his sandwich. “What they’re really wondering is why you aren’t dressed up like you’ve been every day since school started.”
“Precisely.” Dad laughed. “I thought you ‘refused to wear those jeans out of the house ever again?’”
I ran my hands over my jeans. There was nothing wrong with them. And since when did Eric start calling me by my full name? Mom was the only one who did that.
<
br /> But I was supposed to be acting like this was all normal, so I couldn’t make a big deal of it.
“I changed my mind,” I said, plunking my bowl at my seat and sitting down.
Dad just shrugged, the conversation apparently dropped.
I tried to go through breakfast normally. But as I ate my cereal, I kept glancing at Mom, my body tingling with happiness about how she was here with us. This was too good to be true.
“Annabelle, are you sure you’re all right?” Mom asked me. “You’ve been acting different all morning…”
“I’m fine.” I ran my hands through my hair and smiled. “Just tired. Monday morning and all. But everything’s great. Everything’s perfect. Trust me.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t ask again.
Before leaving for school, I told my parents I loved them—I would never forget to say it before leaving ever again—and grabbed my keys. I’d expected the keys to the Suburban, but instead I found myself holding the keys to my old Volkswagen.
“Blueberry!” I said, pressing the garage opener and running outside.
Sure enough, my Jetta was in the driveway—the one my mom and I had picked out together when I’d gotten my learner’s permit.
I ran up to the car and opened the door, smiling as I plopped into the driver’s seat. “I missed you,” I said to Blueberry, resting my hands on the wheel.
In the real world, Dad had replaced Blueberry with the Suburban because the Suburban was the safest car on the road. I’d understood his reasoning, but it hadn’t stopped me from preferring Blueberry.
“I’ve never seen anyone so happy to see a car,” Eric said as he slid into the passenger seat.
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