The Dreamway

by Lisa Papademetriou

  Spuddle’s eyes grew enormous with fury. “How dare you imply that I can’t file a simple form in octuplicate! Filing forms in octuplicate has been my life’s work!” The dragonfly’s outrage flared so hot that Stella momentarily feared he might set fire to the whole forest. “And even if it wasn’t filed properly, I’d like to know why I haven’t been notified of its progress!” His voice reached a hysterical pitch and, suddenly, his ticking reminded Stella of a time bomb.

  “Now, really, my dear dragonfly—”

  Stella felt time pressing on her shoulders. Cole was out there—somewhere. Who knew how long it would be before he disappeared forever? Anyway had said it could happen in as little as a few days. This was the third day, and Cole was definitely slipping away. She slammed her hand on the desk and everyone jumped.

  “I have to talk to Dr. Peavey,” Stella said. “Now.”

  What cleared his throat. “I just told you that the earliest I can get you in is—excuse me, where do you think you’re going? Don’t touch that! Don’t you dare open that!” The frog shrieked as Stella walked past his desk and reached for the doorknob.

  “Don’t move,” What commanded. “Nobody move! Don’t you dare go in there—”

  “We are definitely going in there,” Anyway snapped.

  “I am calling security—”

  “Don’t twitch a single slimy webbed finger,” Spuddle warned, flicking open the flame on his tail. “If you do, I’ll burn this place down.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” What shot back.

  “All my life . . .” Spuddle’s voice was a low grumble and buzz. “All my life, I have filed the proper paperwork. I have filled it out according to directions. I have sent it in and waited carefully for a reply. And when a reply never came, I waited some more. I maintained faith. I believed. And now—” He looked around at the drifts of shredded paper. “Now . . . I see that my faith was pointless.” His voice dropped to a hiss. “Pointless. So don’t tell me that I won’t burn it down. It’s already burned down. You burned it down!” Spuddle quivered with rage and the flame on his tail flared.

  What stood there, his mouth agape. For a frog who was surrounded by words, he didn’t have anything to say. Everyone else exchanged glances for a moment, until finally Stella said, “So—uh—I suppose I’ll just go ahead?”

  Nobody tried to stop her.

  “Spuddle—better put that away,” Stella said, gesturing to the flame.

  “We’ll see.” He continued his crazy-eyed stare at What.

  Stella stepped through the door and found herself in a room about the size of her bedroom. It was brilliant with lights, and a camera was set up, pointed at Dr. Peavey, who continued to announce Dreamway policies as if she hadn’t walked in there. Her friends followed her inside.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Spuddle clicked off his lighter and flew over to him, “but I have repeatedly filed Form 329 B—”

  Dr. Peavey droned on.

  “Excuse me,” Spuddle repeated, but Dr. Peavey ignored him. “I think I deserve your attention!” the dragonfly said. He zoomed past the doctor’s head, brushing past his toupee.

  Dr. Peavey’s head fell off.

  Spuddle screamed.

  “You’ve killed him!” Anyway shouted.

  Unconcerned, Dr. Peavey continued to deliver his message as Alice and Stella gaped at each other. Stella bent over him, but the minute she touched his chest, a black shadow vomited from his mouth and poured out the door.

  “He’s a puppet!” Anyway screeched. “What!” He leaped out of Stella’s pocket, landing with an awkward tumble. Recovering quickly, the mouse scampered through the door, where the frog was shoving things into a tiny briefcase. The moment he saw Anyway, What let out a croak and hopped from the desk. The mouse scurried after him, and a hopping-flopping-skittering-scrambling chase ensued. “We need answers, you amphibious coward!”

  “He’s making for the door!” Spuddle screeched, and Stella saw what he meant—one of the trees nearby had a doorknob in the trunk. What yanked it open and tried to jerk it closed behind him, but Spuddle swooped into the crack. The door closed on him with a clatter and clink.

  “Spuddle!” Anyway cried, racing to his friend’s side. Stella reached him at the same moment while Spuddle dove after What.

  “Ow! Stop that!” What cried as Spuddle punched at his head. “Stop it!”

  “Spuddle!” Anyway wailed.

  The dragonfly stopped and turned to face Anyway. “I’m fi—” he began, but his voice died in his throat. Stella and Anyway followed his gaze. They were still outside the tree, and this was the first time that they had really noticed the room that What had tried to escape into. The door was the width of the tree, which was only just wide enough for Stella to squeeze inside. But the room extended far beyond the trunk. It was the size of a warehouse and packed floor to ceiling with stuff. Everything from stuffed animals to lampshades, matador capes to flying trapezes, a marble fountain that looked like a gargling fish, an entire pirate ship—a million and one things piled and jumbled, like a city dump.

  “Baggage,” Alice said as she joined them. “More than I’ve ever seen!”

  “The missing baggage,” Spuddle whispered. “The light baggage, the positive charges—” Giving himself a rattling shake, he lunged at What again. “What is the meaning of this?!” screeched the little dragonfly. “Why has this baggage been diverted?”

  “People don’t need this stuff!” What insisted.

  “Of course they need it,” Stella said. “Of course.” She thought of Cole’s notebook.

  “No they don’t.” What’s voice was a sneer. “When we made dreams from positive charges, what happened? Used to be that people would listen. People would get inspired. But that stopped working, didn’t it? People ignored the positive dreams and only listened to the negative ones. And why is that? Because people don’t want to be inspired—they want to be frightened. They don’t do anything unless they’re scared. Not anymore.”

  “That’s not true!” Stella insisted.

  “Isn’t it?” The frog frowned at her. “People need Nightmares.”

  “You made a deal with them, didn’t you?” Anyway demanded. “The Chimerath. You’re the reason this is happening. You’re the reason Dr. Peavey is . . . like that.”

  “Hah! He had risen to his level of incompetence,” What said. “What a slob. I worked with him for centuries, so I know! He was fine when he was in charge of the Reality Line. But managing the whole system?”

  “Who put him in charge?”

  “He did! He installed himself here and said light dreams and dark dreams wouldn’t get mixed up anymore. He’d make sure that the lines were run separately. Separately but equal!”

  “That never works,” Stella pointed out.

  “Of course it doesn’t,” What snapped. “Believe me, I pointed it out many times, but did he listen? No! Slowly, but surely, the Chimerath grew stronger. And when they came for him, there was nothing I could do! I didn’t want anyone to know, so I just made a puppet. Plenty of materials for papier-mâché around here.”

  “You didn’t tell anyone.” Spuddle’s voice was flat. “You just . . . let the Chimerath have him.”

  “Oh, like you would have stood up to them,” What sneered.

  Spuddle blinked. “I might be afraid of things,” he said simply, “but I’m not a coward. I’m not a liar. I’m not a”—he looked around at the tiny paper scraps that covered everything—“a shredder.”

  “What’s this?” Alice asked suddenly, plucking a half-folded paper that hung out of the frog’s hastily packed briefcase.

  “Give that back!” What cried, but Alice was already unfolding it, asking, “What are you trying to hide, there, frog?” She studied the paper, her face growing very serious.

  “What is it?” Stella asked.

  Alice looked up. Her face was pale and her mouth hung open, as if she couldn’t find the words for what she wanted to say. She turned the paper around.


  “It’s a . . . map,” Anyway said slowly.

  “Do you see?” Alice said, pointing to a fat line that ran almost entirely across the page. Even as the other lines shifted and changed, this one remained a permanent dark scar.

  “What’s that?” Spuddle demanded. “That’s not any line I know.”

  “It’s new,” What said, and his mouth pursed up into a little button.

  “A new Nightmare Line,” Anyway said.

  “It cuts across everything!” Spuddle cried. Spuddle let out a horrified gasp and gaped at Stella. “Everything!”

  “Is that a problem?” Stella asked.

  “Yes, that is a terrible problem,” Anyway snapped. “Every single dream line will be susceptible to Nightmares. Not dark dreams—Nightmares!”

  “Even the Daydream Line,” Alice finished. Her voice was gentle, but her words bit into Stella like teeth.

  “Don’t you see?” Anyway demanded as Stella continued to stare.

  “If Nightmares intersect with Daydreams, they’ll have a direct way into your world.”

  “But they can never make that line work,” Spuddle reasoned.

  “Why not?” Stella asked.

  Anyway narrowed his eyes at What. “There isn’t enough power to run it—”

  The frog let out a very ugly, wheezing croak that was his version of a giggle.

  Alice grabbed What by the throat. “Where are they getting the power, frog?” she demanded.

  “Pirate,” Anyway called. He had flipped over the map and now held it up for her to see.

  Alice’s eyes narrowed. “What is that?” she asked, plucking the paper from Anyway’s paws and looking at it carefully.

  Stella peered over her shoulder. “It’s a transformer,” she said. “It takes energy from these”—she pointed—“magnifies it and converts it to power, here. But—what are these things?” Stella studied the diagram.

  “Ask . . . Stella’s . . . brother—” What rasped.

  “What?” Stella shrieked, lunging for him.

  With a flailing kick, he wriggled out of Alice’s grasp. Stella reached for him, but he had already hopped through the doorway and back into the clearing, where he dived into a bank of snowy paper.

  “Stella—don’t!” Anyway shouted, but Stella had already dived after him. The confetti was a deep cloud, and Stella swam through it, pulling herself deeper and deeper. Suddenly, a scrap of paper was before her eyes.

  She had lost sight of the frog; she had lost sight of everything but the scrap—another with her brother’s scrawl.

  Deep in the dream,

  The whiteness erases my words,

  I grasp phrases

  Like a buoy.

  I struggle with a riptide

  Of words meaning nothing.

  The truth hides in the spaces

  Between words, between letters . . .

  I call your name,

  But still I sink. . . .

  Pajama Day

  THE PHONE WAS RINGING.

  Stella opened her eyes to color, to shapes. She was back in her room. The whole Dreamway had disappeared in the light of day.

  The ringtone jangled, and Stella picked it up. Favorite Friend, the caller ID read. Renee had stolen Stella’s phone and programmed it herself.

  “Hello?” Stella said groggily.

  “Hello, hello—it’s your favorite friend!” Renee chirped.

  Stella took a deep breath and coughed. “Yeah—my caller ID told me.”

  “You weren’t answering my texts!”

  “I just woke up.” Stella glanced at the clock. 7:05. Late! She should have left for school five minutes ago.

  “Well, this is a friendly reminder that today’s theme is Pajama Day,” Renee prompted.

  Stella groaned.

  “What? That should be easy! Just roll out of bed!”

  “Yeah—that’s lucky.” Stella kicked off her flip-flops. “Okay, I’m coming. Thanks for the reminder!” She clicked off and grabbed a fresh set of pajamas. They were ancient and flannel and covered in purple cows. Deciding that bedhead was perfectly appropriate for this particular Spirit Day, she dashed into the kitchen and grabbed a granola bar.

  Hearing the noise, her mother hurried into the kitchen. “I was beginning to wonder!” Tamara said. “You have money for lunch? You won’t have time to pack it.”

  Stella nodded. She had the still-wrapped granola bar in her teeth and was frantically packing notebooks and papers into her backpack. She tossed the granola bar on top and said, “Any word?”

  “Not yet,” her mother replied.

  Stella nodded grimly. Her father still hadn’t called. The unit was still in blackout. Half of her brain was sending her helpful messages like: Don’t read anything into it. He’s been gone this long before.

  The other half of her brain was pure dread.

  “You’ll need to rush,” Tamara said.

  “Cole’s left already?”

  Tamara looked around, her gaze vague. “I suppose.” She wrinkled her brow as if trying to remember something she couldn’t quite call to mind.

  The world tipped below Stella’s feet—she had the oddest sensation that Reality was rearranging itself. That Cole was not only disappearing, he was being erased from the real world, so that when he was gone, nothing would be left—not even a memory.

  I need to get back to the Dreamway, she thought. I need to get back now.

  There was only one person who could help.

  Even though she was only twenty minutes behind her usual time, the commute to school felt strange. The subway was more crowded, for one thing, and Stella was crammed into a seat between a woman with a backpack the size of a refrigerator and a man whose knees needed a minimum of a yard and a half between them at all times.

  As she half dashed, half staggered up the street, she remembered how easy movement was on the Dreamway. It was frustrating to move so slowly when she needed to hurry.

  Up on the street, she spotted a familiar figure. “Ms. Slaughter!” she called. When the librarian turned, Stella stopped in her tracks. Ms. Slaughter had been talking to . . . Angry Pete? Stella lurched forward uncertainly.

  “Oh, hi, Stella,” the librarian said smoothly. “On your way to school? I’d better get going too. I’ll see you, Pedro.”

  “See you, Nancy,” Angry Pete replied. He bent to pluck a dead bud from a marigold plant. He didn’t scowl or say anything else.

  Ms. Slaughter—Nancy, apparently—checked her watch as she and Stella walked the last two blocks to school. “Sorry,” Stella said after a while. “I’m a little slow.”

  “I have first period free,” she said to Stella. “There’s no rush.”

  “How do you, uh—know that guy?”

  “Pedro? He used to be an art teacher.”

  “He used to work with kids?” Stella asked.

  “He used to work at Stringwood.” Ms. Slaughter’s mouth set into a grim line. “It was a few years ago. So—” Her voice took on the cheerful tone of a person who does not want to be asked more questions. “What makes you late this morning?”

  “It took a long time to pick out the perfect pajamas,” Stella replied, indicating her ratty purple cows.

  “I forgot all about Pajama Day,” Ms. Slaughter confessed.

  “I have a reminder service,” Stella told her.

  Stella ducked into first-period math and handed the tardy slip to Mr. Ducklet, who was standing at the front of the class wearing a yellow bathrobe.

  “Ah, the office staff is doing their job,” he said with an amused twitch of his silver moustache. “I’ll just add this to my collection.” He tossed it in the trash. “Have a seat, Stella, and welcome to the wonderful world of calculating the area of a rhombus! It’s—unparalleled.” The class groaned, right on cue.

  Renee gave Stella a horrified look that contrasted with her pajama top, which proudly declared, “Ready for some Zzzzs!” in sparkly letters. Stella couldn’t quite decipher the look as she slipped into h
er usual seat. A few minutes later, Ramlah asked a question, and when Mr. Ducklet went to the board to answer it, Renee passed Stella a note.

  Cole not in school. Sick?

  Stella looked up from the note and saw that Renee wore a wide-eyed, frightened look. She felt the shadows gathering at the corner of the room behind her, but when Stella turned to look, she didn’t see anything unusual. Just the despondent oatmeal walls, the slightly sagging bookshelf, and Mr. Ducklet’s Wall of Fame, where he posted any test with a score of 95 or higher.

  After the bell rang, Stella leaned over to Renee’s desk. “Cole isn’t here?”

  Renee gave her a furtive look over the tops of her purple-framed glasses. She gathered her things and then motioned for Stella to head out into the hallway with her.

  “What happened?” Stella asked as they fell into step. “Where’s Cole?”

  “I don’t know!” Renee whispered. “It was so weird. He wasn’t in homeroom, and when Ms. Jefferson was taking roll, she skipped his name. I pointed it out and she said, ‘Oh?’ and looked down at her list. And then someone asked a question, and—I think she forgot all about it!”

  “So they haven’t called my mom?” Stella felt time standing behind her, watching.

  “I don’t know! But, Stella—that’s not the freaky part. I think he . . . he, like, went out.”

  “You saw him leave?”

  “No—I think I saw him go out. Like a flashlight. Click. After homeroom, I saw him standing by the boys’ room, and then, like—blink. Not there. I know that sounds crazy—he just went into the bathroom, right?” Her face was full of fear and confusion.

  “Yeah, of course.” Stella’s mind whirled. She didn’t know what to do. She had to find Alice, but she didn’t know where she would be until the period after this one. I have to wait, she told herself, although the thought itself nearly made her jump out of her skin.

  Stella was silent as she walked into class. She didn’t look at anyone as she made her way to her desk. She looked straight through the classroom and out the window, where the gingko tree stood, still and empty.

  When her French class was over, Stella did not bother going to gym.

  “Just tell Coach Thuy that I’m at the library,” Stella told Renee.