Dreamland (Riley Bloom 3)

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.