Dreamology(7)

Now I don’t just feel noodly. Now I’m a noodle that’s been chewed up by a mother bird, regurgitated, and fed back to her babies in the nest. My brain knows it’s completely idiotic, to feel rejected by someone you aren’t sure you actually know . . . but my heart does not seem to have gotten the message yet.

Thankfully we are interrupted by what sounds like a broken AC unit coming toward us, and I turn to find Oliver speeding down the path on a lime-green Segway. All across the quad people are laughing or rolling their eyes. Oliver just grins.

“Alice!” he cries when he gets closer. He makes a circle around me as he asks, “Care for a ride?”

“I thought you had your vehicle privileges revoked,” I say.

“Oh, that situation. Turns out under article seven, section two of the Bennett Academy rule book, students cannot be prohibited from using a personal transport vehicle if they can provide documentation of a disability requiring such vehicle, be it physical, mental, or cognitive.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Max snorts. Then without pausing he says, “How do you know Alice?”

“When did you get so mean?” I blurt out. As soon as I do, I realize how crazy it must sound. But Oliver is oblivious, and Celeste is scrolling through something on her phone.

“Max Wolfe, clever as always,” Oliver says. “Reminds me of something my seven-year-old stepbrother would ask me. Don’t be offended; he’s mature for his age. I met the beautiful Alice Rowe in the dean’s office this morning.” He has stopped the Segway and is leaning on it, staring at me admiringly. “You look great, by the way. Is this your natural hair color?” He reaches out effortlessly and lets a piece of my dark blond waves glide through his fingers.

Despite knowing he is totally full of it, I still blush when I nod.

“What do you care?” Max interjects.

“Okay.” Celeste jumps in, taking Max’s hand and giving him a tug. “I know you guys can’t stand each other, but you’re particularly grouchy today. Let’s go grab a bagel, you big baby.”

Max relents, but he gets up slowly, still frowning at us.

“So how about that ride?” Oliver asks me again.

“I’d love to,” I say emphatically. He offers his hand like he is escorting me onto a horse-drawn carriage, and hoists me onto the Segway. As we speed off into the metaphorical sunset, I glance past Oliver’s flying blond curls to see Max walking away with Celeste, his face turned back and looking right at me.





SEPTEMBER 13th




“Are you ready?” Max asks. I am perched on a foam boogie board, surfer style, at the top of Nan’s twirling staircase, while Max holds on to my arms to keep me upright. I look down ahead of me and notice that this time, the staircase actually does seem to extend all the way to infinity.

“This seems less than safe,” I observe.

“It’s gonna be great,” Max says. “And I’ll be right behind you, I promise. And what’s the worst that can happen?”

“I don’t know, that I go somersaulting down instead, thereby breaking every bone in my body?” I say.

“On what?” Max asks then, and when I go to point out the obvious liabilities, I notice the walls of the staircase, even the stairs themselves, are made of sofa cushions. All colors and fabrics, deep salmons and pea greens and midnight blues. The worst falling on this staircase would probably do is put me immediately to sleep.

“I see your point,” I say.

“So?” Max asks again.

I break into a slow smile. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Max grins, kisses me on the cheek, and gives me a big push. Down I go, swishing along the cushion steps like I’m snowboarding. It’s bouncy and smooth and way too fun. I start to notice I’m passing photographs, and when I look more closely, the staircase has become the central gallery at the Guggenheim in New York, which swivels like a corkscrew.

“Max?” I cry out.

“WAAAAHOOOOOOOO!” I hear Max yell as he comes zipping along after me. He looks like he’s about to pass me but instead sticks an arm out, pulling my board up to his. And then we’re sharing one, his arms wrapped around me tightly, as priceless artwork whizzes by.

When we come zipping onto the bottom floor, Nan is sitting in a chair in a red Chanel suit and a large gardening hat, holding a racing flag. She swishes it down.

“You win,” she says in her normal tempered enthusiasm.

“Against who?” I ask.

In response, Nan just points, and coming down behind us on their own boogie boards are Dean Hammer and Roberta. Roberta picks up speed, and just as she is about to pass Dean Hammer, she gives him a swift push with one arm and he topples over.

“Hey!” Dean Hammer calls out. Roberta just chuckles to herself.

Max puts a gold medal around my shoulders, smiling broadly. “Nice work,” he says, his eyes twinkling. But something is off. When I look closer, I see they aren’t his normal, indecipherable gray green. They’re bright blue like Oliver’s.

“Max?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks.

“Your eyes—” I start to say. And when I look closely at them again, they are a deep purple this time. But then they flash to sea green again. “Never mind.” I shake my head.