Dream Student (Dream Series book 1)

by J.J. DiBenedetto

  “I was thinking the North Pole,” Kelly Travers pipes up from across the room. Just about everyone mumbles in agreement. Well, we may all look and feel like crap, but at least we lived to tell the tale.

  ***

  It’s Sunday night, and I’m sitting in the lounge watching TV. Brian’s studying, still. I’d be spending the night with him, but I don’t want to risk having a nightmare and waking him up in the middle of the night, messing him up before his exam tomorrow morning. I’m lost in my own little world. I’m not even sure what I’m watching on TV when there’s a tap on my shoulder. John’s standing behind me. “Did your roommate leave already? I knocked on your door and she wasn’t there,” he says when I turn to face him.

  “Yeah, she flew home this morning. What’s up?” I’ve got a good guess.

  He’s not quite smiling, but he is standing straighter than he normally does. “I wanted to thank her. For telling me about Diana.” I was right. I catch myself from blurting out that he’s thanking the wrong person.

  “Really?” is what I say instead.

  “She was right about her.” I was right about her.

  “And?”

  He walks around, sits down on the couch. “We sat together at the movie last Friday. And we walked back together, just by ourselves. And,” his eyes don’t quite meet mine, “that’s it.”

  “No, it’s not,” I say. A couple of weeks ago, I don’t think I would have realized that, and I definitely wouldn’t have said anything about it.

  “Well, OK, I kissed her,” he says, and now he is looking at me again, “But that was it. Seriously.”

  He leaves out the “so far,” but I can see it’s there. Well, good for him. Good for Diana. And I guess good for me. I still don’t want to see anybody else’s dreams, but I am glad to know that something positive has come from them.

  Later, we’re still in the lobby when Diana comes in, and after she pulls down the hood of her parka and takes off her woolen hat she smiles at John as she walks past. She also casually but very deliberately runs her hand up his arm as she does. Seeing that, I can honestly say that Beth was right. I do feel more like a matchmaker than a pimp, and that’s definitely a good thing.

  ***

  Monday night. I’m in Brian’s room, sitting next to him on the bed, staring across at the spare bed that’s just wastefully taking up space. “Why haven’t you gotten rid of it?” I ask. Then out of nowhere Glenn and Julie come to mind, the way they put their two beds together.

  Or maybe it’s not out of nowhere that they come to mind. What was I thinking about them the other day? They might as well already be married. And I saw Glenn dreaming about an engagement ring. Was there a reason my brain picked up on that particular dream?

  I take a deep breath. That can’t be it. I’ve known Brian for a grand total of seventeen days. I’m just being silly. Right?

  “Sara?” I must have been lost in thought for a while; Brian looks worried.

  “I’m fine. I was just…” I can’t tell him what I was really thinking, can I? It’s too much, too soon. “I was just thinking, if you don’t want to get rid of the extra bed, you could put it together with yours and we’d…” There I go again. I really did mean to say “you” instead of “we.” But “we” is better, and I’m not sorry I said it. And Brian didn’t even blush anyway; he obviously agrees. “Well, there’d be twice the room. I think it’s a good idea.”

  “I thought about it,” he says, but then he lowers his head a bit as he goes on, “I–there’s a reason I haven’t. But it’s stupid. You’ll laugh.”

  I take his hand. “No. Just tell me.”

  “It is stupid,” he insists. “I’ve been afraid to do it. I feel like, the minute I did it they’d replace my roommate. They’d know I was pushing my luck, and they’d have somebody new in here five minutes later.”

  I do laugh, but not because it’s stupid. Well, actually, it is. But it’s also exactly what I might think in his place. “Can we call it superstitious instead of stupid? Because I’d kind of feel the same way if it was me.”

  He’s not totally convinced, but he lets it go. “Great minds think alike?” he finally says.

  “Something like that,” I answer, leaning over to kiss him, and then there’s nothing else either of us need to say.

  ***

  A buzzing sound stirs me awake. An alarm. Brian’s alarm clock. But he’s not in the bed with me. He’s sitting on the spare bed, already dressed, watching me. He was watching me sleep. That’s one of those things that could either be creepy or incredibly romantic, and here, now, I vote for romantic.

  “How long have you been up?” I mumble, yawning and stretching.

  “A couple of hours. I slept like a log. How about you?”

  I did, too. No nightmare, nobody else’s dreams either, as far as I can remember. Just good, solid uninterrupted sleep. I look at his clock. It’s eight o’clock. His flight is at–when was it? Ten-thirty. “Fine. Really great. But I have to get dressed, we have to get you to the airport.”

  I throw my clothes on and I know I must look like a complete mess; clothes wrinkled, hair all over the place, but there’s nothing to do about it. Luckily, he’s ready to go. His bags are all packed; his ticket is already in the pocket of his coat, everything in its place. And so we’re off.

  When Beth left on Sunday, I only walked her over to the train station and helped her up the stairs with her luggage. We hugged, and she reminded me that she was leaving Tuesday–today–on a Christmas ski vacation with her oldest sister, so she’d be out of touch until after New Year’s, and then she was off.

  But for Brian I get on the train with him, all the way to the airport. I go through the X-ray machine and stay with him all the way to the gate. I curse myself for not changing my ticket so I could be on the same flight with him–we’re both flying into Philadelphia, after all. I guess that’s what I get for booking my flight too early.

  So this is goodbye, for now. Who knows when or if we’ll be able to get together during the holiday? I am pretty sure we won’t be able to get together the way we were together last night until we’re back at school in January. I can’t believe I’ve known him less than three weeks; it feels like I’ve known him my whole life, and, yes, I do know how that sounds.

  Anyway. We’re at the gate, and they start boarding his flight. I throw my arms around his neck, and I kiss him. I put everything I’m feeling into it. He does, too. It feels like the moment in one of those old movies where the girl is sending her guy off to war, and she kisses him like she knows it might be for the last time.

  They call his row, and he breaks the kiss. He heads for the jetway, but he’s looking back at me the whole time. I stand there, exactly in that spot, until his plane is in the air and out of sight.

  I can only imagine what Beth would think of all that. She’d say that it proves I really am a hopeless romantic. Maybe even a world-class hopeless romantic. You know what? She’s absolutely right. And I don’t care one bit.

  Nine: Family Ties

  (December 20-23, 1989)

  I wish I could say I’m surprised, but honestly I’m not. I'm barely off the plane before I have my first argument with my brother. It’s a new argument, at least, not one of the usual ones, but I’m sure we’ll hit all the old favorites before too long.

  Bob just got his full unrestricted driver’s license two months ago, and he came out to the airport to pick me up, which I honestly do appreciate. I suppose I could give him some credit and assume that his skills have improved since the summer, but–no. I don’t feel quite that generous. Or lucky.

  “No, Robert, you’re not driving. What part of that do you not understand?” I only just noticed, I do the same thing that my parents do–when I’m annoyed with him, I call him Robert instead of Bob. I’m sure I’ve been doing it for years, but this is the first time I’ve ever been conscious of
it. At least I never use his full name. When Mom or Dad were really angry at me, that’s what I’d hear. “Sara Katarina Barnes, come downstairs this instant!” is usually how it went.

  “Like you’re so much better,” is his witty reply.

  “Well, yes.” The truth hurts sometimes. “You remember, I’m the one who mostly taught you, and I remember exactly how well you did. I’m not getting in the car with you driving, simple as that.”

  “Yeah, and since you’re the oldest, what you say goes, is that it?” He makes a face.

  “I hate to pull rank,” I say, but obviously that’s a lie. I do it all the time with him. It might be a crummy way to treat my little brother, but it does have one advantage–it usually works. “Basically, yes. I’m the oldest, and I said so.”

  He grumbles while we walk to get my bags and he grumbles while we go out to the car, and he grumbles all the way home, except for asking me if Beth will be visiting for a few days like she did over the summer. It’s funny, that was the first time in his life he ever called himself Robert. I assume he thought it sounded more grown-up and mature, for all the good it did him. At least Beth was nice about it. She didn’t torment him too much, even though he gave her every opportunity to.

  I actually do almost feel vaguely bad about dashing his unattainable adolescent fantasies concerning my roommate, but she won’t be visiting for the holiday. Once I break the bad news he resumes the grumbling, and he keeps it up all the way home. When we finally get there, I park the car, and Bob’s out the door and on the way up to his room to do whatever it is that he does in there before I’ve even turned the engine off.

  I bring my bags up to my bedroom, and then I head for the kitchen, fix myself a sandwich, settle down and wait for Mom to get back from the vet with Lumpy.

  Even though I’ve been away at school for the last two and a half years, Lumpy is still definitely my dog. Mom and Dad gave him to me when I was twelve–he was my big Christmas present that year. It was a huge surprise. I’d always wanted a dog, as far back as I can remember. Right after my brother was born, the day Mom and Dad brought him home from the hospital, I have a very clear memory of asking if we could take him back and exchange him for a puppy, because a puppy would be much more fun to play with. I kept pestering my parents for a while but I’d pretty much given up hope, and then that Christmas morning there was a huge box under the tree. It was shaking and there were yelps coming from inside it. I opened it up and there he was–a beautiful golden retriever puppy.

  He didn’t have a name at first. Dad told me that since he was my dog, it was my responsibility to name him. I couldn’t think of anything right away and obviously naming him was a really important job–who knows how he’d turn out if I gave him a bad name? It took almost a week, and how he finally got the name Lumpy is, he liked sleeping in my bed during the day when I was at school. When I came home, he’d still be there and I thought to myself that with him there the bed looked all lumpy, and there it was, that was the perfect name for him.

  Everyone else thinks it’s an appropriate name because he sits around a lot and doesn’t do all that much and they think he isn’t very smart, but they’re wrong. He’s definitely smart–he understands everything I say to him, and he does whatever I tell him to do and he plays with me all the time when I’m home. I think the reason he doesn’t respond as well to anyone else is that he can tell they don’t love him the way I do. At any rate, it’s an hour later when they finally get home. I hear the car coming up the driveway, and I run out to meet them. I hug Mom, and I go and let Lumpy out of the car.

  Just like always when I come home, he’s happy to see me. He jumps on me, he licks my face, he wags his tail frantically. He doesn’t do that for anyone else. And I have to tell him how wonderful he is, “Lumpy, you’re such a good boy! Yes, you are!” and so on. After a couple of minutes of that, he finally calms down enough that we can all go inside. “What did the vet say? How is he?”

  Mom answers, “He’s fine, honey. We have to give him the new worm pills and they recommended we try this new food for him, but he’s perfectly healthy otherwise.” Mom told me a couple of weeks ago that he wasn’t eating as much as usual, and he’d mostly stopped barking at the squirrels outside. So I was concerned about him.

  “Good. You had me a little scared.” I notice that Mom seems a bit distracted; whenever I come home from school she usually spends ten minutes hovering over me, telling me how much she missed me and all of that. But not today. Once the subject of Lumpy is done, Mom moves on to the question of holiday plans and I learn why she’s not her usual self.

  She’s got a surprise for me. Apparently, she got a phone call last night from someone called Helen Alderson. It takes me a minute to process that. Alderson is Brian’s last name–Helen must be his mother. Mom tells me that she called to invite all of us to dinner on Christmas Eve. Mom patiently explains to me how very confused she was; she had no idea why some strange woman was inviting her family to dinner. It took her a while to realize what was going on. It wasn’t “some strange woman,” it was my boyfriend’s mother. Obviously it didn’t help that I haven’t mentioned Brian to my parents yet.

  The truth is, I haven’t mentioned him because he’s all wrapped up with the nightmares. I still haven’t decided what–if anything–I want to tell them about that. It’s not that I don’t think they’ll believe me; it’s just that I can’t imagine what good could come of it.

  And I am a little bit afraid of what they’ll think about how fast things have moved with me and Brian, and how hard I’ve fallen for him. Probably because I have moments where I’m a little afraid of how fast things have moved, too. Even though I’ve been the fast one.

  Maybe especially because of that.

  Anyway, I tell her about Brian. I give her a heavily-edited version of the story. I leave out any mention of dreams or nightmares at all; I tell her we met at the nightclub, something about him caught my eye, and we hit it off immediately. I tell her that Brian’s a freshman, he’s two years younger than me, that he hasn’t had a real girlfriend before and I’m the one setting the pace on, well, everything. I tell her how thoughtful and kind he’s been to me, how I’ve been feeling very stressed out with final exams and thinking about the MCATs in the spring and how he’s helped me so much.

  As we talk, I can see her relaxing a little on the whole subject; I’m not sure how good a job I’m doing convincing her about Brian–I think it’s more that she’s putting herself in my shoes remembering times when maybe she didn’t tell her parents right away when she had a new boyfriend.

  She also knows I’m not telling her everything. I can see in her eyes that she has a very clear idea of what I’m leaving out–and obviously the dreams aren’t the only thing I’m editing when I talk about Brian. I can also see that she’s perfectly happy not to hear the things she thinks I’m leaving out. I’m glad we agree about that, anyway!

  ***

  I was able to sleep peacefully all night long. Maybe it was just being in my own familiar bed at home, or being a couple of hundred miles away from the people whose dreams I’ve been seeing. I don’t know, and as long as it keeps up I don’t really care why.

  I take my time getting around in the morning; the house is very quiet. Thankfully, Bob’s still in school most of this week, so I don’t have to fight with him about who gets to use the car today. Not that it would be much of a fight anyway, but it’s easier if I don’t have to argue with him over every little thing.

  I need the car today because I’m meeting Aunt Kat for lunch. I find what seems like one of the very last parking spaces at the mall, and I make my way over to the restaurant. It’s precisely 12:05 PM according to my watch, and since we were supposed to meet at noon, Kat’s probably already been here for twenty minutes. I wander into the restaurant and I spot her right away.

  There’s the obligatory hug and kiss on the cheek, of
course, followed by a little bit of small talk before we get to the important stuff. I see that she’s got a bottle of wine on the table already–I’m sure Mom’s talked to her and given her instructions to find out more information about Brian.

  Aunt Kat–Katarina Wells to be exact–isn’t actually a blood relative. What she is, is my mother’s best friend, my godmother, and also one of the very few people in my life who I can tell absolutely anything to. There’s Beth, and now there’s Brian, and there’s always been Aunt Kat. My whole life I’ve gone to her first for advice, before any of my friends and definitely before my parents. And she’s always, always, always been there for me.

  The thing about her isn’t just that she’s there for me, but she’s there with exactly the right thing to say. Like the night I lost my virginity. It was awful, I’ve said that before. When it was over Richard drove me home, and I managed not to go all hysterical until I got out of the car and he was gone. But between the driveway and the front door, I totally lost it.

  Aunt Kat just happened to be over at our house; she was sitting with Mom in the living room having coffee. I opened the door, took one step in, and I think they both knew more or less what happened as soon as they saw me. I was a complete disaster: clothes all wrinkled, hair a mess, crying uncontrollably.

  They sat me down on the couch, got me a big glass of water, and I told them everything that had happened. Any other time, I wouldn’t have told Mom any of it, but at the moment I wasn’t thinking rationally, if you could call it thinking at all. I’m sure she was surprised, disappointed, upset, take your pick, but she didn’t say anything about that, she just comforted me and held me and told me it was going to be all right.

  Kat did the same thing for a little while, and then she took me upstairs to my room. She sat next to me on my bed, and then proceeded to tell me how disappointed she was in me.