Dreamology(55)

“Did you feel that?” he asks, staring at his hand like it doesn’t belong to him.

“No?” I say, confused, and reach out to touch him. But this time I do feel it. It’s like our bodies are two magnets that are repelling the other. I can’t get close enough.

We let our hands drop to our sides and stare at each other, confused.

For the first time, I look ahead, and I see that this swan boat isn’t like the one Oliver and I took the other day. It’s being pedaled by an actual swan, a giant one with soft, luxurious feathers. I reach out and stroke its neck as if it were a pony.

At this, the swan turns around.

“Thank you,” it says. “That feels nice.”

“You’re welcome,” I say back. “You’re a very polite swan.”

“And you are a very skilled back scratcher,” it says.

“Should we go and find her?” the swan asks.

“Find who?” I say.

“Margaret Yang, of course!” the swan explains, pausing for a moment to prune itself. “It’s the only way to fix everything.”

I look to Max, sitting way too far away, and he just nods. “Let’s go and fix it,” he says. His expression is dead serious.

“Tomorrow?” I ask.

“First thing,” he replies. “Alice?”

“Yeah Max?”

Once again he tries to reach out and touch me, and once again his hand can’t break through. “I don’t like this,” he says.

“Me neither,” I say.

“Tomorrow,” he repeats. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon,” I say.





26


Rio de Janeiro, 22 Miles




“WHAT ARE YOU doing?” my father asks, showing, uncharacteristically, that he is actually paying attention.

“Nothing,” I say, looking at him blankly over the top of my coffee mug.

“Your knee is jiggling, and it’s moving the entire table. I’m trying to do the crossword. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” I say. “I just have a few things on my mind.” Like will Max show up today? Did the plan we made in the swan dream hold true? I think about texting him and just asking, but decide against it. I haven’t heard from him in reality since our conversation in the library. Yes, there was something coming between us in the dream last night, too.

But what? I think as I stare off into space.

“You’re doing it again,” my dad says. “The leg thing. Why don’t you take Jerry for a walk? He has an uncanny ability to fall asleep on my foot, and he really needs the exercise.”

I do my best to steer Jerry away from the Public Garden, because it feels kind of funny going there right after I dreamed about it, but Jerry will have it no other way, pulling me through the gates like a furry Zamboni.

He immediately waddles straight for the pond and begins sniffing methodically around the exterior, as though he is tracking something. That duck, probably.

That’s when I see it. A small swan, floating alone in the water about twenty feet away. And it’s staring right into my eyes.

I stare back curiously. What it’s actually probably doing is eyeing Jerry, the furry hunting beast by my side, having witnessed the duck fiasco in the very same pond a week ago.

But that’s when the swan winks.

There is no mistaking it.

And I know it’s a sign. I have to go to Maine to find Margaret Yang. With or without Max.

But Max’s Volvo is double-parked in front of my house when Jerry and I return, and Max is waiting on the stoop, holding four coffees.

“I didn’t know what kind you liked.” He shrugs as we walk up. “So I just got like . . . all of them.”

Despite myself, I can’t help but smile from ear to ear.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. He did mean it. Agreeing to come. Which means he also meant it in the dream when he said he hated not being able to touch me. “How are we supposed to drink all those?”

“Well, we’re apparently going to have help,” he says.

“Hiiiiiiiiiii,” Sophie squeals as she runs out of the house like a flying squirrel, nearly tackling me to the ground. Then she pulls away from me and looks at my surprised face.

“Oh my God, I knew it. I was just saying so to your dad. I was like, she completely forgot I was even coming this weekend. You did forget, didn’t you?”

“Um,” I start to say.

“Even if you did, just lie,” she suggests.

“I did not forget?” I try.

Sophie lets out another squeal and hugs me again, jumping up and down and pausing to straighten her glasses when they nearly fall off her nose. She is all rosy cheeks and shiny straight brown hair. I forgot how much light she emits without even trying. “I met this one, by the way,” she says, nodding to Max. Then she leans in and whispers, far too loudly, “Even hotter than you said.”

I just hang my head in shame, and Max pretends not to hear and takes a sip of coffee to hide his smile.

“Oh, hello, Gerald,” Sophie says then, glancing down at Jerry and looking away disdainfully.

“You know that’s not his name,” I chide her.