Dreamland

by Sarah Dessen

  “If this tent comes down on all of you tomorrow night,” my father grumbled, from down low somewhere checking a binding, “you will have only yourselves to blame.”

  “It looks wonderful!” my mother said, stepping back and clapping her hands. “Doesn’t it?”

  “Wonderful,” Boo agreed, wrapping her arm around Stewart’s skinny waist. “See what a sense of community can do?”

  We all laughed and Charles and Buckley waited to be dismissed while my father, still grumbling, checked the bindings again. It was warm and dark in the yard, and I looked up at the sky, thinking back to all the early evenings I’d spent out there, with Cass, begging and pleading for just a few more minutes of light before we had to go inside.

  Then, out on the street, I heard a familiar rumbling, slowing down in front of the house, and I snapped back to my reality. I slipped around the house, and as I glanced back I couldn’t make out anyone: I saw only the tent, so white and big and empty. I knew I should have said good-bye. But I couldn’t. I just kept moving, watching my game, because it was fully dark now and Rogerson was waiting.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was three in the afternoon on the day of the Fool’s Party when Rina showed up at my house. My mother, who was having a minor breakdown over the lack of citronella candles at Home Depot—she was convinced someone would get malaria—let her in. I was in my room, trying to decide which of my pictures to exhibit at the Arts Center during the wine-and-cheese reception that was our last official class. I could only pick four, so I had all the faces I’d collected spread out across my bed in a fan shape, examining each one and trying to make a decision.

  “Hey, stranger.”

  I looked up and Rina was standing in the doorway of my room, her arms crossed over her chest. She had on a short, pink dress and strappy high-heeled sandals, and her skin—thanks to her mother’s tanning bed—was already a deep brown. Her blond hair was down, curling over her shoulders, a pair of white sunglasses parked on top of her head. She looked so healthy and alive it was like she was almost sparking, right there in front of me.

  “Hey,” I said, as she crossed the room and plopped down on the bed, swinging one leg to cross it over the other. “What’s going on?”

  “I have come,” she said, plucking her sunglasses off her head and expertly folding them shut, “to kidnap you.”

  “Kidnap?” I said.

  “Yes.” She leaned back on her hands, narrowing her eyes at me. Her lips were done in a perfect pearly pink, the color of cotton candy. “Caitlin, you never do anything with me anymore.”

  “Rina,” I said, “I’ve just been—”

  “You don’t,” she said, waving me off with one hand. “You can’t deny it, so don’t even try. And frankly, I’m not going to stand for it anymore. ”

  “You’re not,” I repeated, reaching to eliminate a shot of Dave—half a burrito hanging out of his mouth—from my collection.

  “No.” She glanced down at my stack of pictures, spreading them out with her hand. “Wow, Caitlin. These are awesome. This one—” and she pointed at the portrait I’d done of her, sticking out her tongue—“is especially striking.”

  “Thank you,” I said, watching as she picked it up and smiled at her own image. “I think.”

  She kept going through, making approving noises, until she came to the first one I’d taken of Rogerson, standing outside Corinna’s with that bleak winter sky behind him. She studied it, saying nothing, before sliding it to the bottom of my stack of discards. Then she looked at me.

  “You,” she said decisively, “are coming out to the lake with me for the afternoon.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but she held up her hand, stopping me. “No arguments.”

  “But Rina,” I said. “I can’t. I’m supposed to meet Rogerson here later and there’s the party tonight.”

  “Rogerson,” she said, a slight hint of irritation in her voice, “can do without you for one measly afternoon, since I have done without you since God knows when. With little complaint, also, I might add. And you and I both know the party won’t be in full swing till at least seven anyway.”

  “Rina, I can’t. I’m sorry.” Rogerson hadn’t said specifically when he was coming over, but I knew better than to try to predict when he’d show. “I would love to do it—”

  “Then do it,” she said firmly, standing up like it was decided. Then, softening, she added, “Come on, Caitlin. It’s a gorgeous day. We’ll go out and eat some chips, soak up the sun, and complain endlessly about our lives. Just like old times.”

  Old times. Rina’s lake house was where we’d spent most of our summer the year before, sneaking her stepfather’s beers and lying out on the huge wooden deck while the sun sparkled wildly on the water before us. There was a dock, a hot tub, and every fish her stepfather had ever caught stuffed and hanging on the living room walls: They stared out at you with dead eyes, their expressions somewhat shocked as if they’d believed, to the end, that they’d be thrown back in to swim away safe.

  “I don’t know,” I said, still hedging. I could see the lake in my mind, remembering sitting at the end of the dock in a thick sweatshirt as the sun went down, my feet dangling in the water. That summer seemed like forever ago, now. “My mom probably needs me to stick around.”

  Rina sighed, stood up, and walked to my door, yanking it open. “Mrs. O’Koren,” she yelled down the hallway, and seconds later my mother appeared, holding her School Marm doll by the leg, a bottle of Pledge in her other hand. She’d been moving the dolls around all week, trying new arrangements: One had even popped up in the bathroom, on the floor by the heating vent, causing my father to shriek like a schoolgirl when he mistook it for the toilet brush.

  “What do you think, girls?” she said, hoisting the doll up so we could see it. “Should I arrange all the townsfolk in one place, or break them up into smaller, more intimate groups? I can’t decide.”

  We just looked at her.

  “I have no idea,” I said finally.

  “More intimate groups,” Rina told her. “Less is more.”

  “Oh,” my mother said, adjusting the School Marm’s little slate, “I guess you’re right.”

  “Now, Mrs. O’Koren,” Rina went on briskly, “don’t you think Caitlin should come with me out to the lake for the afternoon instead of sitting around here waiting for Rogerson to call?”

  My mother looked at me. “Absolutely,” she said. “It’s so lovely out! And Caitlin, honey, you could use a little color. You’ve been so pale lately.”

  “Exactly,” Rina said, winking at me. “See? We’ll go out there, have a late lunch, and be back in plenty of time for the party. I promise.”

  “I really can’t—”

  “I told you, no arguments,” Rina said right over me, walking to my closet and yanking it open. “Now I am going to the store to buy some snacks and suntan lotion, and while I am gone I want you to take a shower, find your bathing suit, and put on—” and she reached into my closet, rummaging around before finally pulling out the white, ivy-patterned dress my mother had just bought me—“this dress, right here. It’s pretty and you can wear it and still get good sun. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Be ready.” And then she threw the dress on the bed beside me, put on her sunglasses, and walked out of the room. A few seconds later we heard the front door slam behind her.

  I looked down at the dress, feeling a bit of the swishy material between my fingers. Of course Rogerson hadn’t said when he was coming: I always had to wait around to find out what our plans were, which usually meant putting off any invitations to do anything else until it was too late. I didn’t think he’d mind if I could just tell him where I was going—no surprises. I just had to let him know.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to see how you look in that dress!” my mother said, tucking the Pledge under her arm. “You know, I have some tuna salad I made for the party, plus this great pimento cheese spread. With some crackers you’ll have a wonderful meal an
d you girls won’t even have to cook anything. I’ll just pack it up for you right now.”

  “Oh, Mom, you don’t have to—”

  “I want to. It’ll just take a jiffy.” And she turned around, so happy to be involved, somehow, in getting me out of the house, back to my old life again. I could hear her fussing around, ripping plastic wrap out of the box, shaking out grocery bags, the same noises I knew from the preparation for all those bake sales and Girl Scout camping trips.

  I took a quick shower, then tried to call Rogerson. I had my easy tone ready: Just doing a girl thing, no big deal, I’ll be back in an hour or two. But the phone just rang and rang. After I dried my hair, I tried again.

  Still no answer. I called Corinna’s, then the main number at his parents’ house. Nobody was home either place.

  Relax, I told myself. Get dressed and then try again.

  When I put the dress on, it felt good: light and airy, like wearing summer. I had a pretty big bruise on my leg, which it covered, and one fading on my arm that it didn’t; there were a couple of others, one on my back, a very old one at the base of my neck, but when I put on my jacket you couldn’t see any of them. Then I sat down and called Rogerson again.

  Five, six, seven rings. Still no answer, and of course he was the only one in the world without a machine. Where was he? Halfway across town? Or—the worst case scenario—on his way, ready to pull up the minute I left with Rina? I hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and hit redial.

  No answer.

  I was still trying when I heard a beeping outside.

  “Rina’s here!” my mother called out cheerfully from the kitchen.

  “Okay,” I said, hanging up and dialing again. I could feel my heart beating, that same trapped feeling I had every day at lunch as I rushed through the hallways, trying to make it to the turnaround on time. I’d been so stupid to let Rina convince me to do this. Come on, come on, I thought. Just be there.

  “I’ve packed some food for lunch,” I heard my mother saying to Rina. “I just made gobs too much for tonight anyway.”

  “Great,” Rina said. “Wow, is that pimento cheese?”

  “Caitlin! Rina’s here!”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be there in a second.” And I listened to them talking in the hallway, my mother explaining the best way to serve the tuna salad, on lettuce, while Rina made listening noises and popped her gum. And Rogerson’s phone rang, on and on. No answer.

  “Hey, O’Koren, get the lead out!” Rina yelled. “Let’s go!”

  “Honey,” my mother said, “I’m putting one of these two-liter Cokes in this bag, too, since I overbought for the party.”

  “Caitlin,” Rina said, “don’t make me come get you.”

  “I’m coming,” I said, and now I was getting nervous, shaky, trying to find a way out of this. I kept dialing, again and again, while my mother and Rina talked on, cheerfully, their voices bouncing down the hallway and off my closed door.

  “God, Rogerson, pick up the phone,” I said under my breath, even as I heard Rina coming down the hallway, her fingers already rapping on the door as she pushed it open.

  “Let’s go,” she said impatiently. “You can call him from the lake if you want. Okay?”

  “And I will tell Rogerson where you are if he calls,” my mother called out from the kitchen. “I promise.”

  “Okay,” I said, but even as I hung up the phone my stomach was aching, twisting in on itself.

  “Come on then,” Rina said, and stuck out her hand just like we used to do as cheerleaders, pulling each other to our feet, one bouncy move. “Let’s go.”

  “Oh, honey!” my mother said as I came down the hallway, clapping her hands excitedly. “That dress looks just wonderful. But you certainly don’t need that jacket. You can hardly see the lovely neck-line.”

  “I’m kind of cold,” I said, glancing outside quickly, wishing Rogerson would just pull up, so I could explain everything while I still had the chance.

  “Oh, nonsense, it’s over seventy out,” she said, walking over and beginning to tug at my sleeve. “Let us see the dress by itself.”

  “Mom, I don’t want to,” I said, clinging to my cuffs even as she tried to pull it off of me. Rina looked at me, raising her eyebrows.

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” my mother said, laughing easily. “It’s a sleeveless dress, Caitlin, and you have such lovely arms. You should show them off!”

  “Mom—”

  “Just let me see for a second.” She just would not let up, reaching behind me to pull at the collar, her thumb brushing the tender spot I had back there, and it hurt.

  “I’m cold,” I said again.

  “Oh, please. Do this one thing for your poor mother,” she said, jabbing at the bruise now, and I winced, pulling myself—hard—out of her grasp.

  “I said no,” I said firmly, and her face fell, shocked, as if I’d slapped her. She dropped her hands and they just hung there, limp, in front of her. “Aren’t you listening to me?”

  Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then she swallowed shakily and said, “I’m sorry, Caitlin. I ... I just wanted to see how it looked.”

  She was looking at me as if I’d somehow become possessed, changing right before her eyes. As if just then, at that second, she saw who I’d become over all these months, and it scared her. I felt like some prickly animal, lashing out, scared as those ugly possums that sometimes stumbled out into daylight.

  “We should go,” Rina said quickly, picking up the bag my mother had packed for us. “Thanks for the food, Mrs. O’Koren. We’ll be back by six-thirty at the latest.”

  “Fine,” my mother said, one hand fluttering to her mouth as she forced a smile. “Have fun.”

  I was only half-listening to Rina as we drove out of the neighborhood and she kept up a constant chatter, talking about Jeff and her life, her voice floating out behind us. But all I could do was feel my dread building as I watched the road whisk by in the side mirror, miles and miles of it, each one taking me farther from home.

  By the time we pulled onto the highway that passed Corinna’s, there was a part of me I was afraid would explode. I kept thinking of Rogerson showing up at my house, beeping the horn. Waiting. And the penalty I’d pay, the hardest of fouls, when he found out I was gone.

  “Rina,” I said quickly as Corinna’s came into view, “turn in here.”

  “What?” she said. I’d interrupted her in mid-story, something about Jeff’s ex-girlfriend and a series of mysterious earrings she kept finding in his couch cushions. “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  She hung a hard left, spinning out gravel as we started down the dirt road to their driveway. Mingus was sitting on the porch, and he started barking when he saw us. I didn’t see Corinna’s car.

  “What is this place?” Rina said, cutting off the engine. She glanced around, taking in the trailer next door and the huge field to our left that always smelled like manure.

  “Just a friend of mine’s,” I said, getting out of the car. “I’ll be right back.”

  I started up to the house, praying that Corinna was home. She would understand this, could get in touch with Rogerson or explain if he showed up there before coming to look for me. I was already planning what I’d say to her, how she’d shake those bracelets and fix everything, as I started up the stairs, glanced through the screen door and saw the living room.

  It was mostly empty. The couch was still there, and the TV, but all the knickknacks—the blue glass in the windowsill, the framed Ansel Adams prints, the clock where the numbers were marked by steaming coffee cups—were gone. As were the afghan from the couch, all of Corinna’s buttons from the coffee table, and the picture I’d taken of her sitting on the front porch with Mingus.

  It was all just gone.

  I stepped inside, letting the door fall softly shut behind me. Outside I could see Rina in the car, picking at her bangs impatiently, fingers drumming on the outside door.

  I pushed the kitc
hen door open: it, too, was stripped of just about everything, even the velvet Elvis. Mingus’s bowl was still there, on the cracked tile, and the sink was full of dishes, the window over the small table open, drapes blowing in the breeze.

  “She’s gone,” I heard Dave say behind me, and I turned around to see him standing there, in a pair of shorts, barefoot. He was holding a pack of cigarettes, his hair sticking up in all directions, a crease mark across his face from sleeping. “She left yesterday.”

  “What?” I said. “Where did she go?”

  He looked down at the cigarettes, shaking one out of the pack and sticking it in his mouth. “Home. California. I don’t know. Anywhere away from me.” He laughed as he lit the cigarette, then coughed a couple of times, closing his eyes. “Had enough of my shit, I guess.”

  Outside, Rina beeped the horn, and Dave glanced behind him, pushing the kitchen door open to glance out the front window at her.

  “Um ... did she say anything?” I asked him. “I mean...”

  “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. Then he smiled, kind of grimly, and flicked his ash into the sink. “It’s been coming a while, I guess. I just didn’t think she’d really go, you know?” He rubbed one hand over his head, his hair springing up underneath his palm. “I just—I didn’t think she’d really go.” And then he laughed, like it was funny, but he wouldn’t look at me.

  All this time, Corinna had been the only one who just took me as I was, not caring about whether I wore primary colors, or stuck with cheerleading, or spent too much time with Rogerson. And now, she was gone.

  Rina beeped the horn again, longer this time. She hated to wait.

  “So,” Dave said, “you wanna smoke a bowl or something?” And then he smiled at me, and I felt strange, as if it was suddenly wrong for me to be there.

  “No,” I said. “I mean, I have a friend waiting for me.”

  “Tell her to come in,” he said.

  “No, I should go.” I took a step forward and he didn’t move, so I dodged around him, knocking my hipbone against the handle of the stove. I could smell him—like sweat and sleep—and I was suddenly disgusted with both of us.