The Girl Who Could Not Dream

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “And what if he does? Are you willing to take that risk? With Sophie? If he tells the Night Watchmen . . . I don’t know what they’ll do if they find out about her, and I don’t want to ever find out.”

  “Why would he? He’d have to admit he was here and why.”

  “But what if the Watchmen—” Mom cut herself off, then said loudly and clearly, “Sophie and Monster, if you are up there listening by the door, I will revoke all book privileges so fast, you will have whiplash.”

  Sophie and Monster scrambled away from the door.

  “Get ready for school. Upstairs, both of you. Now.”

  Sophie and Monster ran upstairs.

  Monster took the steps three at a time, reaching with his tentacles, and Sophie bounded behind him, up to the living room and all the way up to the bedrooms. She slammed her bedroom door shut. She then dived onto her bed and wrapped her blankets around her. Monster curled against her back.

  “Do you think he’ll tell the Night Watchmen about me?” Sophie asked.

  “He’d have to admit he was buying dreams,” Monster pointed out. “The Watchmen won’t like that. Plus if he tells, the Watchmen will come and destroy the shop, and he’ll lose his source of dreams.”

  “Not helpful, Monster.” Her eyes felt hot. She was going to cry. She hated crying. It made her insides feel squishy, like she’d swallowed a jellyfish and it had lodged itself in her throat. All her life she’d heard about the Night Watchmen—“vigilantes,” Dad called them. Really dangerous, really organized, really determined fanatics who wanted to stamp out the dream trade and anything to do with bottled dreams. If she could have nightmares, they’d be star players. “Do you think Mom and Dad will really send me away?”

  “They’re scared for you, as am I,” Monster said.

  “I don’t want to live on a farm,” Sophie said. “I want to stay here!”

  “Me too.” His voice was tiny, as if he’d shrunk.

  She twisted to look at him. She realized she hadn’t heard them say “Sophie and Monster.” They might not intend to send Monster with her. They could decide it’s too risky. He’d hidden every time Aunt Abril had come to visit, and he’d stayed home the one time they’d visited her. By the time they got back, he’d eaten all the food in the refrigerator, plus a few forks and plates. “You’ll come with me if I go, won’t you?”

  “I go wherever you go—to the ends of the earth, even if that phrase doesn’t make any sense because the earth is round,” he said. “You’re my friend.”

  “You’re my best friend,” Sophie said.

  “My best friend,” Monster repeated. He laid his snout on her shoulder and purred.

  Throwing her arms around him, she said into his fur, “And this is officially the worst birthday ever.”

  “I didn’t even eat any cupcakes,” he said mournfully.

  She laughed—a tiny, barely there laugh, but it still counted.

  Outside, the sun began to rise. Yellow light seeped in around the shades and streamed through the skylights. Sophie dressed slowly, brushed her teeth, and tied her hair back into a ponytail. As she was finishing, her dad called up the stairs, “Sophie? Monster? You can come downstairs now.”

  She and Monster looked at each other. He kneaded the carpet with his claws, nervous. Neither of them said anything as they headed down to the Dream Shop.

  She found her parents by the somnium. Quietly, she tucked herself under the stairs beside them. Dad poured a bottle of shimmering yellow into the silver funnel at the top. The liquid dream dribbled down the tube, lighting up the glass with a soft glow. It twisted and stretched as the tubes narrowed and turned, forcing the dream to lengthen and separate. At last, the dream slid into the glass chamber at the heart of the somnium, where it dispersed in the steamlike solution. All four of them pressed their faces closer to the glass.

  “Get the bingo cards, Sophie,” Dad said without looking at her.

  Sophie raced to a drawer and pulled out the cards. They’d invented their own bingo game a few years ago. Each square showed a different theme or event or object commonly seen in dreams. Get five in a row and you won. She handed her parents their cards, and one to Monster. Several squares were already marked off from last time.

  Maybe they aren’t going to send me away, she thought. Maybe they changed their minds. She waited for them to say anything, but they merely watched the somnium. Slowly, an image materialized.

  It was a girl. Sophie squinted at her. She thought she maybe recognized her, perhaps from school? She wasn’t sure. It was difficult to see the girl’s face as she swooped between the mists of the somnium as if they were puffs of clouds.

  “A flying dream,” Dad said. He checked his card. “Nope.”

  “Got it,” Mom said. She marked a square on her card.

  From the bottom of the somnium, waves of blue lapped at the glass. Sophie pointed at a loglike shape that surfaced. It was covered in bumps. It opened its jaws. “Crocodile,” she said. She checked her card for wild animals. She had a square for pets but none for predators.

  The girl screamed, her mouth wide but the scream silent in the glass tubes. There was never any sound in the somnium. She plummeted through the darkening clouds toward the crocodile-infested water.

  “I have falling!” Sophie said. “Oh, wait, got that already.”

  Before the girl could smash into the water, she landed in a pile of leaves. A circle of kids stood around her, laughing and pointing. The girl curled into a ball.

  “Highly generic dream,” Mom observed.

  “I have humiliation.” Dad peeked at their cards. “Better watch out. I might win this round.” He sounded like himself. Was neither of them going to mention the buyer? She wasn’t sure she dared ask, but she couldn’t stand not knowing. Not knowing felt like being pricked with a dozen needles.

  “I already have three in a row.” Sophie held up her card for them to see.

  Dad held up his. “Three on a diagonal, plus the free space in the center. I only need”—he checked the square—“a historical anachronism.”

  Sophie wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”

  “It is a contradiction in times,” Monster said. He had chewed his own card to shreds. “For example, a phone rings in medieval England. Or a knight jousts in Times Square. Something that doesn’t belong.”

  Taking a deep breath, Sophie said, “I don’t belong on a farm.”

  Mom and Dad exchanged glances.

  “We know,” Dad said quietly. “You belong with us.”

  Sophie hugged her parents, and Monster wrapped his tentacles around them all.

  IN A CHEERFUL VOICE, MOM ANNOUNCED IT WAS time to face the day. Dad put away the bottled dreams, Sophie returned the bingo cards to their drawer, and they all trooped up two flights to the kitchen to prepare for school and work as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  Sophie checked the clock. She wasn’t late yet. No damage done. She hoped. Getting supplies from the cabinets, she smeared peanut butter onto a slice of bread and then cut the crusts off the sandwich. Raiding the fridge, she added an apple and a cold tamale to her lunch bag.

  Side by side, her parents eyed the kitchen sink. It was stacked with plates from last night’s dinner—Dad had cooked. Strands of spaghetti were stuck to the plates, and the sauce had congealed in clumps.

  “I’ll open the store today if you wash the dishes,” Mom said to Dad.

  “Deal.” Dad spat on his hand and held it out. Mom spat on her hand and shook his.

  “You know that is both disgusting and unsanitary,” Monster said from atop the refrigerator. He had wedged himself in between two soda bottles and a loaf of bread.

  “Street kids in medieval London did it all the time,” Dad said.

  “Sure,” Monster said, “before they all died of plague.”

  “Spitting three times to ward off the Evil Eye is traditional in many cultures.” Mom grinned and leaned toward Sophie, ready to spit. “In honor of your birthday .
. .”

  Sophie scooted out of range.

  Her parents both laughed and then set about their various tasks. Sophie stowed her lunch in her backpack and checked to be sure she had her homework (though she wasn’t sure she dared turn it in) and a bunch of new dreamcatchers.

  “Anything special planned at school today?” Mom asked.

  Sophie heard the hope in her voice. Mom was always hoping Sophie would make friends. “I’m giving Madison and Lucy fresh dreamcatchers,” Sophie said.

  “Oh. You should tell them it’s your birthday.”

  “Yeah, maybe I will.” She knew she wouldn’t, but her saying it made Mom smile. This school year, Sophie had met two girls who had horrific, wake-up-screaming nightmares. Every week or so, she delivered fresh dreamcatchers to them and collected their used ones. She’d then give the used dreamcatchers to her parents so they could harvest the nightmares and sell them in their secret shop. It was a win-win for everybody: the girls were nightmare-free and her parents had more fresh dreams to sell to people who desperately needed a little escape from their lives. But Sophie didn’t exactly have the kind of relationship with Madison or Lucy that included telling them her birthday, or anything else about her for that matter. She tried changing the subject. “I think I may have found someone else who needs dreamcatchers.”

  Mom smiled wider. “That’s wonderful, darling! What’s her name?”

  “His name is Ethan.” He was the new boy in her history class. She’d been watching him for a while, and she was (reasonably) sure he suffered from serious nightmares. She was planning to talk to him today, if she could catch him alone. She’d made an extra dreamcatcher, a nice one with black beads and dark blue feathers.

  “Ooh, a boyfriend?” Mom teased.

  “Let me know when I should build the Rapunzel tower,” Dad said.

  Sophie felt her face blush bright red. “Are you two taking lessons on how to be embarrassing? I’m leaving now.”

  “Aw, Sophie . . .” Dad began.

  Sophie pointed at the clock. “Time for the bus.” Swinging her backpack over her shoulder, she waved goodbye to Monster and her parents.

  “Love you, Pumpkin!” Dad called after her.

  “Love you, Melon!” Sophie called back.

  As she hurried downstairs, she heard Monster add, “Love you, Brussels Sprouts!” Smiling, she headed out the door and raced to the bus stop.

  As always, she sat alone on the bus. She ignored the chatter around her and instead stared out the window. The town flashed by like moments in the somnium—a man getting into a car, a toddler being carted down the street, a neon Open sign switching on in a store window. Eventually, the ride ended, and the world assumed normal speed. She climbed out of the bus and was swept into the school with the chattering swarm.

  She stowed her coat and backpack in her locker, and she slid a dreamcatcher into one of her folders. It bulged a little, but if she held her books against her, she didn’t think anyone would notice. No one ever noticed her anyway. Certainly no one knew it was her birthday. She told herself that she didn’t mind. Really, she didn’t. She had plenty of other things to do today: dreamcatchers to deliver, a boy to talk to, and a history test to pass—which, considering that she hadn’t studied, was as close as she could get to having her own nightmare.

  Delivering a dreamcatcher to Madison Moore was never easy, even though they had first period together and second period free. Madison didn’t want anyone to find out about her nightmares, which meant no one could ever see her taking a dreamcatcher from Sophie . . . which meant Sophie couldn’t simply hand it to her in class or in the hall. It was, Sophie thought, kind of silly. But Madison didn’t want anyone to know she had dreams choked with fire and filled with floods. Also, sometimes giant bugs. Or giant bugs that breathed fire.

  Sophie had met Madison in the janitor’s closet back in September. She’d ducked inside to avoid being caught by Principal Harris for skipping class (she was supposed to give an oral presentation that day and couldn’t face being stared at by that many kids) and found Madison behind a trash can full of mops. She’d been crying so hard that she’d stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep from being heard. Her fist was red and soft, as if she’d had it in her mouth for a long time.

  Sophie recognized her immediately, though they’d never spoken before. Madison was the sort of person you noticed. She had hair as straight as straw, cut on a sharp diagonal, and a chin and nose that came to points. Her voice was piercingly loud, and she never walked when she could parade.

  Madison had sworn her to secrecy, promising that she’d make Sophie’s life a living nightmare if Sophie breathed a word to anyone about how Madison had been crying in the janitor’s closet. It wasn’t hard to agree. After all, what was one more secret to carry? Besides, Madison had said the word nightmare, and Sophie couldn’t help but ask, “Do you have nightmares?” Madison hadn’t answered, but Sophie had offered her a dreamcatcher anyway. “It eases nightmares,” she told her, exactly as her parents told customers in the bookstore. “Just bring it back next week, and I’ll give you a fresh one.” Sophie could tell that Madison thought it was nonsense. But she’d brought the dreamcatcher back the next week and asked for another . . . and Sophie tried not to be bothered by the fact that a person with serious personality flaws got to have such magnificently vivid dreams.

  Sophie knew better than to smile at Madison as she slid into the seat behind the scowling girl. Madison always scowled. It was her at-rest expression. Anyone who came into her line of sight was subjected to it. Safest to avoid eye contact altogether.

  She spent the class wondering where Madison was going to want to meet for the exchange. Under the bleachers? Usually that was packed with kids who liked to pretend they were tough, but Madison always cleared it out before Sophie arrived. Sophie had once asked how she did it, and she’d shrugged and said, “Sprayed the place with Wannabe-Be-Gone.”

  Another time, they’d met behind the dumpsters. Madison had sworn never to do that again, and Sophie had agreed. Leftover milk containers stank worse than Aunt Abril’s perfume—and Monster claimed her perfume was bad enough to disgust a dolphin. Dolphins, he said, had no sense of smell. That was the joke.

  At the end of class, Madison stood abruptly, knocking her textbook onto the floor. She shot Sophie either a glare or a significant look. With Madison, the two were the same. Sighing, Sophie slid out of her seat to pick up the textbook as Madison bent to retrieve it.

  “That’s mine, Freak Girl,” Madison snarled, loud enough for others to hear. Under her breath she said, “Library, four minutes.” She strutted out of the classroom without a backward glance. Three of her friends with matching ponytails closed ranks around her. Their hair bounced as they walked.

  Sophie trailed behind them out the door. She then wove through the crowded hallway, bypassing Madison and her flock of friends and ducking into a side hall—a shortcut to the library. This hall was mostly empty, and she breathed deeper, as if there was more air here.

  She didn’t know how a place could be so crowded and lonely at the same time.

  She made it to the library with two and a half minutes to spare. A few students were bent over books at a table by the window. One looked up as she came in, checked out Sophie’s outfit, then returned to her book without meeting her eyes. The others didn’t even bother looking up, as if Sophie were invisible.

  At the circulation desk, the librarian beamed at Sophie, and Sophie wished she actually were invisible. The librarian always made a fuss when she saw her, as if she was on a personal crusade to crack Sophie out of her shell. Sophie wasn’t interested in being cracked. “Sophie! Can I help you find anything?” The librarian was as loud and bouncy as a cheerleader at a championship game.

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Sophie scooted closer to the door and watched for Madison. She’d probably want to meet in the stacks, where the other students couldn’t see them, but she hadn’t specified which stacks.

  “I’ve be
en meaning to come by the bookstore all week,” the librarian said. “Your parents always have new old favorites. You know, those books that you read over and over because they make you feel like you’ve been hugged?” For extra emphasis, she hugged her own arms.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How is everything at the store? Lots of business? Ooh, any new kinds of cupcakes?” She rubbed her stomach, and Sophie wondered if she planned to pantomime every sentence.

  “Um, not that I know of.” She wished the librarian would stop talking to her. She could feel herself starting to blush beet-red.

  Two minutes late, Madison sailed into the library, past Sophie. Pausing at the circulation desk, she asked, “Which section has books on how to save the fashion-inept?”

  “Hi, Madison! I haven’t seen you in a week, and I know you’ve had free periods. You know, if you socialize too much instead of visiting the library, the books get lonely.”

  Madison blinked once, slowly. “Fashion?”

  The librarian checked her computer. “Seven forty-six is fashion design.” She pointed, but Madison didn’t wait. She nodded at the students at the table like a queen recognizing her subjects, and then glided between the shelves.

  Backing away from the librarian, Sophie said, “I just have to . . . find a book.” She fled toward the stacks, picked a different aisle from Madison, and then circled around to meet her by the fashion design books.

  “You’re pathetic,” Madison informed her in a low voice. “You just have to ‘find a book’? Really? You couldn’t think of a single specific topic out of the entire library?” Before Sophie could respond, Madison shushed her with a hand wave. “Whatever. Do you have it?”

  Sophie held out the folder with the fresh dreamcatcher. “Less sparkles this time, like you asked.” She’d used an unadorned willow for the ring, steered clear of any beads, and chosen only one black feather.

  Madison didn’t touch it. “My mom nearly pitched the last one. Said it looked like it was made by a germy kindergartner.”

  “This one’s better,” Sophie promised.