Dreamland (Riley Bloom 3)

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!