“I still feel like I’m in it, though,” Stella admitted.
“But you’re not.” Renee gestured to the gray lockers that lined the hallway on either side of them. “You’re here, with me, at Stringwood. And nothing weird ever happens at Stringwood.”
Three kids wearing long-haired wigs scurried past them. The tallest boy handed Renee a daisy and said, “Stay groovy, man! Channel your flower power!” The other two laughed and kept walking.
“Except for that,” Renee added. “That just happened, and it was kind of weird.”
The traffic in the hallway was thinning out. A girl in a hoodie raced past—it was the quiet pause just before the bell, where the few remaining stragglers flitted like dragonflies to get to class. But the two girls remained face-to-face, stock still in the hallway.
“We need to go,” Stella said.
“It’s gym; I’ll just change fast,” Renee replied. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” Stella told her.
“Really?”
“Yes,” Stella promised. I’m in the real world, she told herself. There’s only one real world, and this is it. This thought was so encouraging that her brain even added, Stay groovy.
She resolved to try.
“That’s not going to work.” Renee stared at the rope dangling from a hook in the ceiling of the gym. They were supposed to try to climb up it. It would, according to their teacher, Coach Thuy, build their upper body strength. Renee looked at Stella. “Not happening.”
“Nope,” Stella agreed. Her stomach felt scooped out and hollow as she remembered what it had felt like the night before to have a hand and a leg that actually worked.
“Coach!” Renee called. “Excuse me!” She waved her hand and Ms. Thuy turned her head. She was young and had a ponytail, but she was tough. She had a silver whistle, and she knew how to use it. Ms. Thuy lifted an eyebrow, and Renee grabbed Stella’s hand and dragged her over.
“Stella can’t do the rope,” Renee announced.
“Renee,” Stella snapped, giving her friend a little elbow in the ribs.
The coach looked thoughtfully at Stella’s right arm for a moment. It was her job to be encouraging and to have kids push their limits, but even she could see that, sometimes, real life is different from a TV movie. “Your brother wasn’t feeling well, either. He’s on his way to the library.”
“Could I go too?”
“Sure.” Coach Thuy reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pad. She scribbled a note and tore it off. “See you tomorrow.”
Stella and Renee gave their crooked-finger lock, and Stella pushed through the doors and headed, solo, down the hall to the library.
The library wasn’t elegant. The wooden tables were scuffed and ugly, and most of the chairs wobbled. Many of the books were old and some had clearly endured a rough life of snack spills and internment at the bottom of backpacks. But the library had two features that were the pride and joy of Ethel B. Stringwood School: a row of brand-new computers and, located on the wall behind the librarian’s desk, a vibrant mosaic—a beautiful silver mirrored bridge over the blue tile waves of a river.
As far as Stella was concerned, the librarian, Ms. Slaughter, was the library’s third remarkable feature. Quiet but kind, she was a young mother whose desk was covered with photos of her four-year-old son, who apparently wore a mouse costume more or less constantly. She seemed to have read every book in the library and could always recommend just the right thing. When Stella came in, Mrs. Slaughter gave her a smile. She accepted the note and nodded. “Anywhere you like.”
A student with long black hair was already at the row of computers, tapping away. Stella walked over and sat down beside her. “Hey, Alice,” she said as Alice looked up.
“Oh, hi.” With a quick tap, she minimized the window on-screen and smiled at Stella. “No gym today?”
“Rope climbing.” Stella sighed.
Alice nodded. This would have been her physical education period, too, but instead, she had a permanent study hall.
“Hey—” Stella hauled her backpack onto her lap and unzipped it. The plastic jar of peanut butter was at the top, and she pulled it out.
“Thanks!” Alice said, taking it from her. “You remembered!”
“Renee did.”
“I’ll stick it in the box.” She tossed it into the book bag slung across the back of her wheelchair.
“Have you seen Cole?” Stella asked. Alice looked blank, so Stella added, “My brother?”
“Oh—right. No, I haven’t,” Alice told her. “But I’ve had my back to the door.”
Stella said thanks and headed off, wandering between rows of shelves. She didn’t see Cole anywhere. After trying a few more rows, she noticed that a white wooden door in the corner was ajar. It was the stairs that led to the stacks in the subbasement. These stairs were narrow, with a railing made of metal pipe and peeling paint. Stella took the stairs.
The stacks smelled of old paper and slow thoughts. They were small, taking up roughly half the space of the floor above, and cramped, with a ceiling that seemed to press down, hulking low. Stella didn’t have to crouch to move through the space, but she felt as if she did.
She couldn’t see Cole, but she could hear someone at the back of the stacks. Something was hitting the wall. Thunk, thunk, thunk, then three lighter taps. Tink, tink, tink.
She crept through the towering books and saw her brother’s back as he pounded on the wall. It was him—his particular slouchy stance, his wrinkled Ironman shirt (Cole had forgotten about Spirit Day too)—but his movements were jerky and awkward. It was him, but he was strange. He pounded his fist against the wall again and stood there.
The wall pounded back.
Thunk, thunk, thunk. Somewhere, in the darkness beyond the wall, something was answering.
Stella’s heart was slow, her blood was thick, everything in her body seemed clogged. She took a careful step backward and then another. Finally, she turned and hurried away, up the stairs, back toward the illumination of the library. But as she burst from the narrow stairwell, she ran into a library cart, knocking a dozen or more books from the top shelf.
“Are you okay?” Ms. Slaughter hurried to her side as Stella stumbled to her feet.
“I’m—” Stella looked over her shoulder at the white door. There was no sign of Cole. Was he still down there? “I’m fine.”
Ms. Slaughter looked at her carefully, and Stella tried to appear normal, but something was happening to her hearing—her ears felt full of cotton, her vision was narrowing.
The librarian put a gentle hand on Stella’s arm. “Are you sure?” she asked gently. She shifted, and one of the overhead lights lit up her green eyes. Stella had the feeling of the woods and the eyes of the Green Man.
Stella’s heart felt sluggish, her throat wheezed. Dark mist swirled in from everywhere, narrowing her vision, then blurring it. She was aware that Ms. Slaughter was speaking; she was aware of movement, but she couldn’t see it, couldn’t hear it. . . .
She fell into a deep, dark lake of shadows. As she fell, she saw a small silver mouse skitter across the smooth black soil on the shore. It meant something, that mouse, but she didn’t know what. Darkness covered her vision and she couldn’t connect her thoughts—it was as if the shadows had leaked in through her ears, fogging her brain. She felt someone take her hand. It was as if her whole body had been caught by one of those large metal claws in a midway game, and like a dusty teddy bear, she felt herself jerked upward.
“Stella?”
“Stella?”
Stella looked up into Alice’s worried face. Her eyes were green—no, they were black. Stella was lying on the floor.
“Um—this is embarrassing,” Stella said.
“What happened?” Alice asked. She looked over at the librarian, who shook her head to indicate that she had no idea.
Stella sat up.
“You need to go to the nurse,” Ms. Slaughter told her. �
�You fainted.”
Stella blinked as the mist around her cleared slowly—Stella remembered where she was. It was the library.
She didn’t bother correcting Ms. Slaughter. Stella knew what had happened—she’d had a seizure. An absence seizure. She hadn’t had one in a long time; the medicine was supposed to stop them.
“Can you stand up?” The librarian held out a dimpled hand.
Stella tried her legs and discovered that they worked. She scanned the floor for signs of a silvery gray mouse, but there were none. There was no sign of Cole, either.
“Take my arm,” Ms. Slaughter said. She picked up Stella’s hand and placed it into the crook of her elbow. “Can you walk?” She guided Stella toward the narrow elevator, half-hidden beside the librarian’s tiny office.
As she stood in the elevator, she caught Alice’s gaze. Her face was pale, her eyes wide. She clutched a notebook to her chest like a shield.
Stella’s mind still felt obscure and saturated, as if it had been soaked in ink.
“You’ll be fine, you just need to rest,” Ms. Slaughter said. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”
Stella looked blank. “No,” she admitted. “I have lunch next period.”
“That’s it, then. You just need to eat and lie down.” The librarian patted her hand.
There was still no sign of Cole as the elevator door slid shut.
Back at Home
STELLA STILL FELT LOUSY LATER that evening. The seizure had left her exhausted, and she decided that the best thing would be to simply veg out on the couch for a while. The living room flickered in the pale blue light from the television. “I thought you hated this show,” Stella said as she sat down on the green couch beside Cole.
Cole cocked his head and looked carefully at the television screen. With a shrug, he changed the channel. He rubbed his forehead, then handed Stella the remote. “You want to pick something else? I’m going to lie down.”
“Still feel terrible?” Stella asked.
Cole looked at her, and for a moment there was a flame in his eyes—like a flare from a ship on a dark sea. He was about to say something, Stella felt sure of it, something important. But the moment passed, his gaze fuzzed—a window fogged with cold. In the end, he said, “Just a headache.”
When he stood up, Stella noticed that he didn’t smell like himself. There was a strange scent coming off of him that reminded her of something. Of fall leaves a few days after a rain. The scent had lingered at the back of her nostrils earlier that day.
“Cole—I—” He stared through her, and for a moment, she imagined that she could see dust motes swirling in the space where he stood. “What were you doing in the library?”
The was just a moment, a brief pause, before he said, “What?”
“During PE I saw you in the stacks, and—”
His eyes narrowed. “Were you following me?” Stella stood frozen as he closed the distance between them.
“Don’t follow me!” he yelled the words right at her, his breath hot on her face. Then he turned and lumbered off toward his room.
For a moment, Stella stood there in shock. Fear settled onto her chest, a cold weight, as she tried to make sense of Cole’s un-Cole actions.
Tamara appeared at the doorway. “What happened? I heard yelling. Where’s your brother? Are you okay?”
“He went to lie down,” Stella replied. “And I’m . . . fine.”
Tamara glanced in the direction of Cole’s door. With a sigh, she stepped into the living room and sank into a navy wingchair. She closed her eyes and tipped her head backward.
“I begged Nurse Amy not to call you,” Stella said. “I told her it was no big deal.”
Her mother’s eyes opened, but she didn’t turn her head. “I know,” she said to the ceiling. “Maybe you’re coming down with something.”
“It’s only a seizure,” Stella said. “They’re not dangerous.”
Her mother’s eyes closed again, and Stella knew what she was thinking of: the first time—the worst time—that Stella had gotten sick. Stella didn’t remember, because she was only two at the time, but she’d had a stroke. Cole had noticed that something was wrong. He’d toddled over to James and announced, “Stella not right.”
Stella had been in the hospital for seven days. She didn’t remember it, but sometimes she felt as if her mother had never gotten over it.
“I know the seizures themselves aren’t dangerous.” Tamara turned her head against the back of the chair to look at Stella. “But you could fall or hit your head—”
“The library is carpeted.”
“That’s lucky.”
Her mother didn’t ask why she was in the library in the first place, and Stella didn’t explain. She didn’t want to talk about it.
The doorbell rang and the door burst open as Aunt Gertie barreled through, singing out, “Here I am! Here I am!” A moment later, she appeared in the living room, her curly black hair and pink jacket dappled with rain. Renee was right behind her, carrying a bakery box. When she saw Stella on the couch, Aunt Gertie let out her familiar laugh—the hoot of a small, cheerful owl. “Hoo-hoo! You look like a queen, all propped up on your pillows.”
“Oh, Mom, leave her alone,” Renee said. “She’s had a traumatic event!”
“It really wasn’t that big of a deal,” Stella insisted as Aunt Gertie bent to give her a kiss. A delicious smell wafted up from the paper shopping bag in Gertie’s right hand. “I brought you . . .” she announced in her musical Cape Verde accent, “. . . some delicious food all the way from China. Hoo-hoo-hoo!”
“More like China Garden,” Renee put in.
“Even better,” Tamara said.
“And you!” Aunt Gertie wheeled on her best friend. “What are you doing there relaxing? Get to work!” She laughed again, showing the gap in her teeth.
Gertie’s appearance seemed to buoy Tamara, who stood up to give her friend a hug. “You’re a lifesaver,” she said.
“I know!” Gertie was already in motion, moving toward the kitchen. Angela trailed after her and soon dinner—General Tso’s chicken, mapo tofu, spring rolls, dumplings, wantons, and a few dishes that Stella didn’t recognize—appeared on the table. They sat down to eat, and Gertie made everyone smile as she chatted about the owner of the restaurant, Larry Wei. Stella marveled at how Gertie knew everyone, and everyone knew her. “He always gives me a discount,” Aunt Gertie said. “He loves me.”
“He loves me more,” Renee put in.
“That’s true!” Aunt Gertie said. “He gives Renee free egg rolls!” She turned to Stella and winked. “Look at her!” Gertie said, hooting. “She is falling asleep at the table!”
“Go to bed,” Tamara said gently, so Stella slowly hauled herself out of her chair and dragged her body toward the hallway.
“Okay, I will tuck you in,” Gertie said, and she placed her mug of tea on the coffee table and reached for Stella’s hand. “Then your mother will come and kiss you good night.”
Renee rushed over to give Stella a good-night hug, and Stella let Gertie guide her to her bedroom. She pulled back the covers so that Stella could slide in, then pulled the blanket over her and gave her a kiss on the forehead. She glanced at the calendar beside Stella’s bed. “Your father will be home soon,” she said gently.
“I know.” Soon, she repeated to herself. Soon.
“Sweet dreams. Dream of beautiful beaches. A nice vacation for your Mom, okay?”
“Thanks, Aunt Gertie,” Stella said, rolling over onto her side and closing her eyes. “Would you say good-night to Cole for me?” she asked sleepily.
“Cole?” Aunt Gertie repeated, almost as if she had forgotten about him or had never heard the name before.
Stella rolled back over to ask about it, but the mattress dipped and swayed, like a waterbed, and she became aware of a strange sound. It was like small waves lapping against a shore. She sat up, and her bed rocked beneath her. “Keep steady,” said a voice, and Stella let out a scre
am.
Aunt Gertie was gone, but Stella was not alone.
“Oh. Eep, a mouse,” Anyway droned. He rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Help, help, it’s going to eat me.”
“Where am I?” Stella demanded as the bed shifted and swayed again. Anyway perched on her brass footboard and watched her, head cocked, grinning a very ratty grin.
“Dark Water. Almost at the next station on the Water Line,” Anyway told her. “Obviously.”
Yes, here she was, in a bed floating on what seemed to be a vast black velvet ocean. In the sky, a full moon rose, casting light that shattered and sparkled across the water. But there was something strange about the moon—instead of its usual silver gray, it was a swirl of green and blue. “Is that—Earth?” Stella asked after a moment.
Anyway turned to look. “Perhaps,” he said.
Stella looked down into the water. Tiny pinpoints of fire sparkled in the inky water. “Mare Crisium,” Stella murmured, naming one of the oceans on the moon. She thought of the Italian astronomer and wondered what he would make of this. “What am I doing here?” Stella asked herself.
“Don’t ask me,” Anyway replied. “I just do doorways. And it was no easy job finding one that led right to you, let me tell you. I even thought I had you once—and then you slipped away! Troublesome girl.”
“But—what happened?” Stella asked. “I thought it was all a dream!”
“Well, it was a dream,” Anyway explained. “But it wasn’t your dream. It was your brother’s.”
“How could I end up in his dream?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself. Perhaps it’s because you’re twigs?”
Stella thought this over. “Do you mean because we’re twins?”
“Yes, obviously that’s what I meant,” Anyway snapped. “You caught the Dross—the end of his dream—while it was fading. And then it ended completely and you went back to the Penumbra; sorry, to the real world.”
“When I found his poem, it was like I was in it,” she said.
“The poem pulled you into the exit. That’s what exits are like. Neither Here nor There, just a sense of things.” Anyway looked over his shoulder. “Well! It looks like we’re coming right up to it!”
The Dreamway Page 7
