Dreamland (Riley Bloom #3)(6)

So I let him.

I gave him exactly what he wanted when I looked at him and said, “No worries. Forget I ever asked.”

He shot me a skeptical look.

“Seriously.” I nodded. “I mean, at first I thought it might be kind of cool, but hey, if it’s been outlawed and all, well …” I paused, taking a moment to rearrange my expression in a way that I hoped looked more honest. “I don’t want to cause any more trouble. Not after getting big kudos from the Council, so

…” I spun on my heel, hoping for a speedy exit, but it wasn’t long before I realized Buttercup had, once again, chosen Bodhi over me. Forcing me to stop long enough to manifest another handful of dog biscuits just to get him to follow.

“Riley—this is for real, right? You’re not just saying that, you meant what you said?” Bodhi’s voice drifted behind me.

But I just stormed straight ahead, waving my hand in dismissal. Wanting him to think I was in a big hurry.

Wanting him to think I had somewhere far more exciting to be.

4

As it turned out, I didn’t go to the place where all the dreams are created. And not just because of what Bodhi had said.

I mean, yeah, I’d heard him loud and clear.

The place was outlawed. Forbidden. Or at least it was according to him. But besides the fact that it wouldn’t do me any good to go looking for trouble, the main reason I didn’t go was because I had no idea where to find it.

No idea where to even begin.

So I went home instead. Figuring I’d just hang there until I came up with a much better plan. Not the least bit surprised to find the house empty. I pretty much expected it to be.

The house wasn’t there for my parents or grandparents—the house was manifested for me.

My family had been in the Here & Now for a while. My grandparents having arrived way back when I was still a baby, while my parents came straight over from the scene of the accident.

I’m the one who lingered.

I’m the one who couldn’t stand to leave my old life behind.

Still, from the moment I crossed the bridge and ended up Here, they were all waiting to greet me. Eager to show me around, show me the ropes, and one of the first things they did was bring me to an exact replica of our old house—thinking I’d be comforted by something familiar.

For a while it worked. I felt comforted for sure.

I loved the way my dad’s old leather chair sat smack in the middle of the den just like it did in our original house back in Oregon. I loved the way Ever’s and my initials were still carved into its arm (even though we got in some serious trouble for doing that). I loved the way Buttercup’s leash hung on the wall, and how our mud-covered rain boots were all piled up against the back door. I even loved the way Ever’s old room stayed exactly the same, allowing me to visit from time to time and gaze at her things. Pretending that, for the moment anyway, she wasn’t so far away.

But mostly I loved my room.

I loved the way the walls were littered with the exact same posters I’d had back when I was alive.

I loved the way my dresser was crammed full of the same kind of socks, and under-wear, and cute T-shirts I once wore.

And while I hadn’t been Here all that long, and while they’d gone to a great deal of effort to make it look lived in, I was pretty dang sure they hadn’t spent any real time there before I came along.

I was pretty dang sure they had their own homes.

I mean, once you understand how it all works—once you understand that you can have the kind of house you always dreamed of merely by wishing it—well, most people wouldn’t dream of settling for what they could afford back on the earth plane.

Most people set themselves up in places far more exciting than that.

Even though my entire street was made to look exactly like my old street back home, all you had to do was walk a few blocks and you’d find yourself among big stone castles, sprawling bungalows that seemed to go on forever, and all-glass, oceanfront places as big as resorts.

I guess most people adapt better than I have.

I guess most people dream bigger—dream beyond what used to be.

But back when I first arrived, I couldn’t see it like that. I couldn’t imagine anything better than what I’d had in the past.

Though clearly things were beginning to change, and there was no doubt I was changing too. So I did something I’d never done before—I plopped onto my bed and looked at my room with a critical eye—trying to see it as though it was the very first time.

Trying to see it through the eyes of cheerleader girl, Bodhi, or some other teen.

And the bad news was—it looked childish.

Maybe even—babyish.

Lacking in sophistication and style, for sure.

I mean, yeah, I still liked the same pop stars and celebrities whose pictures were taped to my walls. Heck, I still liked my bed-spread and the big pile of shiny, fuzzy pillows that hogged so much space they threatened to spill onto the floor. I even liked most of my furniture too.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that my room, no matter how much I still liked it, belonged to the twelve-year-old version of me— not the teen I was determined to be.

It was like lugging your baby blanket along on your first day of school—it was time to toss out the old and move on with the new.