Dreamland (Riley Bloom #3)(9)

Like a scene from a movie—the kind Ever and her friends used to watch.

The kind that just a few years before would’ve made me go: blech! and: gag! And make an entire soundtrack of gross-out sounds to go with it.

But not anymore.

Watching them together like that … well, it gave me that weird, hollow feeling again.

It made me feel so quiet and wistful—I suddenly knew what it meant to feel melancholy.

And when Bodhi lifted his hand, flattened his palm, and manifested a beautiful flower he then tucked behind her ear—a jasmine for Jasmine—well, I couldn’t stop watching—even when the sight of it made my insides start to swirl.

This was not the Bodhi I knew.

This was not the straw-munching, semi-pro skater dude who really liked to argue—or at least he really liked to argue with me.

Things were different with Jasmine.

It was the exact opposite of the way he acted with me. It was the exact opposite of the way anyone would ever act with me as long as I was stuck as a shrimpy, skinny, flat-chested twelve-year-old kid.

As long as I remained in that state, no boy would ever read me poetry.

No boy would ever tuck a flower into my hair.

And suddenly a thought that I wouldn’t have even cared about just six months before had me so freaked my whole body trembled, causing Buttercup to tune in to my mood, toss back his head, and let out a long, mournful howl.

“Buttercup—shush!” I’d whispered, but it was too late. Jasmine had already spotted me, and it wasn’t long before Bodhi looked up and saw me as well—shouting my name with a voice that rang of shock and surprise, with more than a hint of anger tossed in.

But instead of responding, I ran—dragging a reluctant Buttercup along with me.

We ran from the clearing.

Ran past streams that turned into rivers, and rivers that turned into lakes. We ran right out of the forest of trees and wide-open spaces, and into a city filled with tall crystal buildings.

We ran until we both grew too pooped to continue. We ran until we remembered it was so much easier to fly. I soared as high as I could, and then higher still. Buttercup glid-ing alongside me, his ears flapping like crazy, his mouth stretched and curled as though he was grinning. But while my dog was enjoying the flight—my only goal was to flee. My head was spinning, my insides thrumming, and I wanted nothing more than to erase what I’d seen.

Wanted nothing more than to rid myself of the horrible, desperate feeling it had stirred up inside me.

And even though I wasn’t supposed to do it, even though I’d been told it was strictly forbidden, even though I’d already gotten in trouble for it on more than one occasion, that wasn’t enough to keep me from stopping by the Viewing Room.

I needed to see my sister, Ever. Needed to find a way to be with her, communicate with her. Thinking that doing so might make me feel better.

Remembering what the Council had told me:

Take some time off.

Spend time with family. Visit with friends.

Using it as just the excuse that I needed to stop before the door, and push my way in.

6

The second I saw that purple-and-orange Hawaiian shirt (the exact same one he was wearing the last time I saw him, but who was I to judge?) along with the plaid Bermuda shorts, the black dress socks, and the shiny black shoes—well, I knew for sure it was fate.

Destiny.

There was no doubt in my mind it was kismet.

Meant to be.

Why else would Mort, the guy who started all this, the guy who first told me about the place where all the dreams happen—why else would I find him standing right in front of me?

For the second time in a row, even?

And just when I was wondering if he’d recognize me, he turned and smiled and said,

“Heya, newbie!”

Newbie?

I squinted. Not quite sure how to take that.

Thinking at first he was taking a swipe at my age, but it wasn’t long before I realized he was referring to my glow.

I was green. He was yellow. So clearly he’d been Here longer. You could tell just by looking.

I smiled in return. Furtively looking over his shoulder for the friend he’d been with the last time I’d seen him—the one who was reluctant to share much of anything. And, as fate

would

have

it,

he

wasn’t

there—something I took as another good sign.

“So, you find it?” Mort asked, taking his place at the front of the line when a cubicle was vacated and the person before him went in.

I shook my head, careful to keep my voice lower than usual when I said, “Or at least not yet, anyway.”

Mort looked me over, his two bushy brows merging together until they looked like an overfed caterpillar had collapsed on his forehead.

“Do you think you could help? Or maybe even show me where it is? I mean, I know you’re busy and all, and I’m willing to wait. I was just hoping that maybe—”

But before I could finish, another stall was vacated and a loud voice called, “Next!” Mort’s hands grew antsy, curling and un-curling by his sides, clearly eager to get inside the cubicle, observe his old life.

And knowing I had only a handful of seconds before I lost him completely, I said,

“I-just-thought-you-could-maybe-point-me-in-the-right-direction?” The words coming so quickly, they all blurred as one.