I don’t know that I believe that completely. As enticing and mesmerizing and beautiful as the dreamworld can be, I’m stable enough now to admit how genuinely terrifying the unpredictability is. Even though I’m almost always aware I’m dreaming, almost always in control, there’s something huge and yawning at the center of every person’s dreaming landscape. The entirety of their existence, bottomless, lightless, unreachable to them and even to me. I didn’t like to think of staring into that expanse forever.
“Rose?”
I turned to look at my dad. He looked younger, younger than even a few moments ago. Vibrant and full of life, his dimples deep, his eyes bright.
“Don’t go,” I whispered. Tears swelled at the corners of my eyes, as wet and real as they are in my waking life.
I’d never cried in a dream before. I’d had the feeling, but tears never came, not until now.
“I’ll stay as long as I can. But let’s just focus on right now. Let’s wake up and make blueberry pancakes.”
“But you won’t remember this,” I said, the tears starting to roll gently down my cheeks. “It’ll just be like any other morning.”
“No morning with you is ever like any other morning.”
“What if we just stay in here,” I said. “I can make us pancakes. I can make us anything.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, a stack of pancakes, impossibly buoyant and fluffy, materialized next to my dad’s elbow, nudging him gently.
“We can’t.” He gave me a sad smile. “You know we can’t.”
“Let me give you this. Please.”
“But you were right, Rose. I won’t remember this, not really. I’ll wake up happy, but I won’t know why.” He smiled again, but this time it was just a practiced movement of his mouth, no warmth or feeling behind it.
“There are already so many things I’m not going to remember,” he whispered, almost like he didn’t want to say it out loud. Not to me. “I don’t want to add too much to the list.”
I wonder now if maybe it was easier for him to say that, to let me know that he’s afraid, knowing that he wouldn’t have to face me in the morning with the knowledge that he broke down in front of his daughter, just a little. Part of me thinks that I should ask him about it in the waking world, let him know that it’s okay, that he can lean on me, that he doesn’t have to pretend he’s okay just because he’s the parent. But maybe he wants to be the parent. To move forward as normally as possible. To pretend that nothing’s changed.
But everything’s changed.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, the words barely getting out, my tears being carried away by the wind of light.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, wiping my cheek with his thumb. “Just promise me you won’t dream your life away.”
“I promise.”
We sat there for what felt like a few seconds, a few hours, a few lifetimes, his big, warm hand holding my face, tears gathering in his eyes, reflecting mine. The breeze swept over us, that impossible mix of cool air and warm light, somehow given shape and weight. No matter what my dad said, I wanted to stay in that moment forever, sheltered by his dreamworld and the frozen-time feeling I always have when dreamdiving, even if there’s some conscious part of me aware of the fact that time is passing, rapidly, as I sleep.
After either another thousand lifetimes or instantly, my dad broke the silence.
“Promise me one more thing.”
“Anything.”
“Make your homemade orange butter for the pancakes?”
And I did. He ate every last bite.
July 3rd, 2017
Dear Rose,
I know you might not want to get a letter from me, seeing as I put you in danger just to get a file and some dumb letters I wrote that I have no intention of ever sending. But I think I might send this one. So, if you are reading this, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for putting you in danger and I’m sorry for not saying any of this in person.
I sent you a text just now. Though you wouldn’t know it, I spent a lot of time crafting that text, wrote whole paragraphs out, deleted them, wrote more, deleted, and so on. I don’t think I’m really suited for that style of communication, even though it was a lot easier with you. Though I guess there’s an argument to be made (and some definitely would) that I’m not suited for any kind of communication.
I saw that you and Emily are working things out. Confession time: I read your girlfriend’s blog. Oh yeah, your girlfriend has a blog—did you know that? I think I’m probably more tech savvy than you, which isn’t saying much, because you have to be the least tech literate Gen Z-er I’ve ever met, but it surprises most people that I know what I’m doing. I guess my wardrobe is pretty “Mr. Robot” as you called it, but for some reason, people never assume that I spend much time on computers. But I’m actually pretty well-versed in the more hidden corners of the internet.
Just ask your brother who theneonthorn is. That’s my last little surprise for you. The last bit of truth that no one knows.
I’m really happy for you. Genuinely. That’s a new feeling for me, but I think it’s one I could get used to.
I thought I knew your story, Rose. I thought I knew mine. But we only ever know pieces of people’s stories and it can take years—a whole lifetime—to get the full thing.
I don’t have a whole lifetime. You do. Don’t dream it away.
But I think I might have a second act in me yet.
Love,
Robert Damien
Your Tin Man
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It’s hard to know where to begin. My journey with the Atypical world started seven years ago with the tiniest seed of an idea born out of needing to put my own loneliness into words. I never could have expected that idea to bloom into three podcasts, three books, and, most important, an enormous, loving community of collaborators, listeners, and readers. I have so many people to thank for loving this world, for lifting it and me up, for making me less lonely. I’m going to do my best to thank as many of those people as I can here.
Firstly, to the incredible team at Tor Teen. To Devi Pillai, Fritz Foy, and Tom Doherty, for taking a chance on me and these books; to Isa Caban, Eileen Lawrence, Saraciea Fennell, Sarah Reidy, Lucille Rettino, and Anthony Parisi for coming up with the most inventive ways to find readers for this series, for putting on the best debut book tour I could have ever asked for, and for making me feel just as excited and celebrated when I was releasing my second book from a quarantined apartment; to Melanie Sanders, Steven Bucsok, and Kristin Temple for taking this story from a patchwork manuscript to a real and lovely book; to Victo Ngai, Sachin Teng, and Esther Kim for bringing my characters to vibrant life with the stunning covers that I get to look at each and every day.
To Ali Fisher, my brilliant editor who deserves an entire book of acknowledgments. I’ll never be able to express the depth of my gratitude for you and your brain. You make me a better writer with each and every note, make me smile with the reactions and Easter eggs you leave in copyedits, and always lead me to be more thoughtful about the stories and messages I’m putting out into the world. You have an Atypical ability all your own, and that’s the power to bring out the best in writers, to make them love their stories more, to challenge them with care and kindness, helping them grow. I feel absurdly lucky to have an editor who understands me, who knows what I’m trying to say better than I do, who will celebrate with me when my ships go canon and put Hannibal quotes in her notes. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
To Matthew Elbonk, who knew there was a book in me before I was brave enough to voice the desire to write one. I’ll never forget our first phone call—talking for an hour because we instantly connected, immediately resonating with the same kinds of stories. From putting the proposal for this trilogy together to helping me with my least favorite part (coming up with a title) to helping me navigate the wide world of publishing, it is the understatement of the century to say that I couldn’t have done this without
you. You’re the best agent in the world, and I’m going to keep sending you my gay cowboy stories.
To my sensitivity readers, Ariane Resnick, Jon Reyes, and Melissa Vera—thank you so much for your thoughtfulness and perspective, and for helping me bring this set of characters to authentic life.
Writing Rose’s—and Emily’s and Aaron’s and Damien’s—story was a process of discovery unlike any other I’ve experienced. The things I learned about this story, these characters, myself, would not have happened without the music I listened to while building the dreamworld. So thank you to Animal Collective, Lady Gaga, Matt Duke, and Jónsi for the perfect music to get me into a dream-writing trance, and to Halsey, Julia Michaels, Ira Wolf, Sasha Sloan, Billie Eilish, FINNEAS, JP Saxe, and SYML for helping me find the dimensions of Rose and Damien’s relationship.
The Atypicals wouldn’t be what they are today without the amazing original cast and team that helped me bring them to life in the podcast: Julia Morizawa, Briggon Snow, Anna Lore, Charlie Ian, Alex Gallner, Ian McQuown, Andrew Nowak, Alex Marshall-Brown, Phillip Jordan, Alanna Fox, Mischa Stanton, and Evan Cunningham. Beyond being such wonderful collaborators, you’ve all become very dear friends, and that is the thing I am most grateful for.
To all of my friends. My Menaces, my New Year’s Crew, FTH, all the amazing people I’ve met through podcasting and publishing who I’ve bonded with over drinks, brunches, convention tables, livestreams, video games, and one another’s shows and books—thank you for inspiring me, for comforting me, for laughing with me. My world is infinitely better because you exist in it.
To my wacky and wonderful family, who are nothing at all like the Atkinsons, but superpowered in their own way: I wouldn’t be who I am without you. Mom, Dad, Betsy, Don, my little OWL and EAL—like Emily, all I’ve ever wanted is to be someone you can be proud of.
To B, for being the best partner I could ever ask for, like someone I dreamed up. The best thing that writing these stories ever brought me was you.
These books have been the realization of my oldest and most precious dream. I never expected to be a published author, never expected to be fortunate enough to connect with people through words I wrote. To all of you who have picked up a book, who have listened to the podcast, who have recommended either to a friend, who have written me about what the stories mean to you: thank you, thank you, thank you. From the folks who found this story in the earliest days to the newest pals screaming with me about Stucky on our Discord server, you have all enriched my life beyond measure.
We’re all dreamdivers together, building a world in our imaginations that we share and morph however we choose. Thank you for your imaginations. Thank you for loving mine. While my time in the world of Atypicals is coming to a close, I’m not done telling stories, and I hope you’re not done hearing them. I hope our shared imagination will always be a place we can all belong together.
Thank you. Stay strange.
ALSO BY LAUREN SHIPPEN
The Infinite Noise
A Neon Darkness
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LAUREN SHIPPEN, author of The Infinite Noise and A Neon Darkness, is a writer best known for her work in fiction podcasts. She is the creator and sole writer of the popular audio drama The Bright Sessions. She also wrote Marvels, an audio adaptation of the popular comic, and coproduced the #1 podcast Passenger List, for which she received a BBC Audio Drama Award, a Webby, and a British Podcast Award. Shippen was named one of Forbes’s 2018 30 Under 30 in Media and one of MovieMaker Magazine’s and Austin Film Festival’s 25 Screenwriters to Watch. She was born in New York City and grew up in Bronxville, New York. She currently lives in Seattle.
Visit her online at LaurenShippen.com, or sign up for email updates here.
Twitter: @laurenshippen
Instagram: laurenshippen
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
I. Emptiness
August 24th, 2016
August 27th, 2016
August 29th, 2016
August 30th, 2016
August 31st, 2016
September 3rd, 2016
September 4th, 2016
September 5th, 2016
September 10th, 2016
September 16th, 2016
September 18th, 2016
September 2?, 2016
September 23rd, 2016
September 26th, 2016
October 3rd, 2016
October 7th, 2016
October 8th, 2016
II. Fog
November 1st, 2016
November 3rd, 2016
November 10th, 2016
November 16th, 2016
November 18th, 2016
November 24th, 2016
December 16th, 2016
January 3rd, 2017
January 7th, 2017
January 9th, 2017
January 10th, 2017
January 12th, 2017
January 13th, 2017
January 15th, 2017
January 19th, 2017
January 24th, 2017
January 31st, 2017
February 1st, 2017
February 2nd, 2017
February 3rd, 2017
February 4th, 2017
III. Smoke
March 1st, 2017
March 3rd, 2017
March 5th, 2017
March 8th, 2017
March 20th, 2017
April 6th, 2017
April 11th, 2017
April 13th, 2017
IV. Canyon
May 19th, 2017
May 28th, 2017
June 2nd, 2017
June 16th, 2017
June 30th, 2017
July 3rd, 2017
Acknowledgments
Also by Lauren Shippen
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SOME FARAWAY PLACE
Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Shippen
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Sachin Teng
Cover design by Esther S. Kim
A Tor Teen Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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New York, NY 10271
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-29757-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-29758-7 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250297587
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First Edition: 2021
Some Faraway Place Page 34
