she says firmly. “Are you? You have a dent in your cheek.” She smiles shakily.
“Fell asleep on my book.”
“I figured.”
“You too, huh?”
“I, uh, must’ve been really tired, I guess.”
“You look freaked. Did you have a bad dream or something?”
She looks at him as they walk through the crowded hall to government class. He slips his hand onto the small of her back so they stay together as they talk.
“Not exactly,” she says slowly. Her eyes narrow. “Did you?” The words come out of her mouth like gunshots.
He turns sharply into the doorway as the bell rings and he sees the look on her face. He stops in his tracks. His eyes narrow as they search her face. She can see his eyes are puzzled. His face flushes slightly, but she’s not sure why.
The teacher comes in and shoos them to their seats.
Janie looks over her shoulder, two rows back and toward the middle of the room. Cabel is still staring at her, looking incredibly puzzled. He shakes his head just slightly. She looks at the chalkboard. Not seeing it. Just wondering. Wondering what the hell is wrong with her. And what is wrong with him, that he has dreams like that. Does he know? Did he see her in that one?
2:03 p.m.
A wad of paper lands on Janie’s desk. She jumps and slowly looks over to Cabel. He is slumped in his seat, doodling on his notebook, looking a little too innocent. Janie opens the paper.
Smooths it out.
Yeah, maybe…(?)
That’s what it says.
September 29, 2005 2:55 p.m.
Leaning against the hood of her car is the lanky, longhaired figure of Cabel Strumheller. The one who dreams about monsters, and kissing her all in the same dream. His hair is wet.
“Hey,” Janie says lightly. Her hair is wet too.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
She sighs. “Am I?” She knows it sounds fake.
He doesn’t answer.
She gets in the car.
Starts the engine.
Pulls out of the parking space.
Cabel stands there, looking. Arms folded across his chest. His lips are concerned. She leans over and rolls down the window. “Get in. You’ve missed the bus by now.”
His expression doesn’t change.
He doesn’t move.
She hesitates, one more minute.
He turns and starts walking toward home.
She watches him, sighs exasperatedly, and guns it. Her tires squeal around the corner. Idiot. October 10, 2005, 4:57 a.m.
On a thin piece of paper in the cave of her own dream, Janie writes:
I keep to myself.
I have to.
Because of what I know about you.
And then she crumples it up, lights a match, and turns it into ash. The charcoaled remains shrivel up and the wind takes them down the street, across the yards. To his house. He steps on them as he saunters to catch the bus. The ash is softer than the crisp Halloween leaves that gather and huddle around the corners of his front step. Under the weight of his footstep, the ash disintegrates. The wind swallows it. Gone.
7:15 a.m.
Janie wakes up, running late for school. She blinks.
She has never had a dream before—not that she can remember. She only has everyone else’s.
At least she can sleep during hers.
She gives her straight dirty-blond hair a lesson with a wet comb, brushes her teeth at top speed, shoves two dollars in the front pocket of her jeans, and grabs her backpack, searching wildly for her keys. They are on the kitchen table. She grabs them, saying good-bye to her nightgowned mother, who stands at the sink eating a Pop-Tart and looking aimlessly out the window.
“I’m late,” Janie says.
Her mother doesn’t respond.
Janie lets the door slam, but not angrily. Hurriedly. She climbs into the Nova and zooms to Fieldridge High School. She’s ten long strides from her English classroom when the bell rings, just like half the class. Sliding into her desk, the back seat in the row nearest the door, she mouses unnoticed through the class, except for a sleepy grin from Carrie. Janie stealthily finishes her math assignment as the teacher drones about the upcoming weekend senior trip to Stratford.
Cabel’s back is to her. She has an urge to touch his hair. If she could reach him, she might. But then she shakes her head at herself. She is very confused over her feelings about him. It’s more bizarre than flattering to know he dreams about her. Especially when he does it after being that horrid monster-man. She may even admit to being a little afraid of him.
And now she knows where he lives.
Just two blocks from her.
In a tiny house on Waverly Road.
“Your room assignments,” Mr. Purcell drones, waving fluorescent yellow papers like sun rays above his head before tossing handfuls at the first person in each row. “No changes allowed, so don’t even try.”
Janie looks up as titters and groans fill the room. The boy in front of her doesn’t turn around to hand her the paper. He tosses it over his shoulder. It floats, hovers, and slides off the slick laminate desk before
Janie can grab it, whooshing and sticking under Cabel Strumheller’s shoe. He kicks it toward her without acknowledgment. His hair swings lightly around his shoulders.
The list places Janie in a room with three rich snobs from the ritzy Hill section of North Fieldridge: Melinda Jeffers, who hates her, Melinda’s friend Shay Wilder, who hates her by default, and the captain of the girls’ soccer team, Savannah Jackson, who pretends Janie doesn’t exist. She sighs inwardly. She’ll have to sleep on the bus on the way.