Riley Bloom Dreamland (15 page)

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 de-pressingly 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

B
y 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 overex-cited 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, though 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

unmistak-

able—
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.

“How’d you know to come here?” I asked, wondering if the Council might’ve alerted him—wondering just how much trouble I might be in. But it turns out it was nothing like that, Bodhi just shrugged and pointed at Buttercup, who gazed up at me, licked his chops, and twitched his pink nose.

“You know the Council will probably want to discuss this, right?” Bodhi said, and the way he spoke, I couldn’t tell if it was a meeting he dreaded or anticipated.

I screwed my mouth to the side and crossed my arms over my chest, saying,

“Well, I guess that’s going to be pretty uncomfortable for you, then. So, my apologies in advance.”

He quirked his brow, looked me up and down, and something about that got me so riled up it felt like my head might explode and blast right off my neck.

“And while we’re on the subject of mis-deeds,” I said, staring him down with all that I had. “Let’s not forget how you
lied
to me.

You told me Dreamland was forbidden when it’s
not
.” I nodded vehemently, unable to remember if lying was one of the seven deadly sins, or just highly discouraged—but either way, I knew it was bad.

“I did what I had to,” Bodhi said, his gaze about as guiltfree as it gets. “And sorry, Riley, but I won’t apologize for that. You know, you’re not the easiest person to deal with. I have no choice but to exaggerate just to get you to listen. But, as you can see, it still doesn’t work. You do whatever the heck you want, regardless of what I tell you.” I stopped in my tracks, taking a moment to glare at him before I said, “Yeah, and because of that, there are a whole lot of ghosts out there who’ve crossed over!” I shot him a scathing look—the stink-eye at its very worst.