Sam Saves the Night

by Shari Simpson

  “You are the set crew, so that automatically makes you the head, right?” Madalynn stood up and held out a hand. Sam took it slowly and rose to her feet, where she was enveloped in a Wonderstruck eau de parfum–ed hug. “No worries, Sleep Sis, you got this!”

  Maybe it was Madalynn’s confidence combined with the rubbed-off scent de Taylor Swift, or maybe just residual rage toward her former nighttime friend, “By the Spy,” but suddenly Sam felt charged up. I do got this. And she didn’t even care if her grammar was cringe-worthy enough for one of the Broadways’ worst rap ballads.

  Two hours and one “how to build a throne” googling later, Sam stood back to admire her work. She still had to cover the seat in red velvet and gild the arms, but the structure was strong and the architecture solid; it looked… well, she was just going to go ahead and think it: Majestic. She heard a gasp behind her.

  “Oh, Sam! It’s gorgeous!” Madalynn cried. Sam turned to see the entire cast gathered behind her. “I just hope Queeny will let me sit in it,” she added, smiling slyly at a skinny little girl who squeaked assent while trying valiantly to balance Queen Victoria’s crown on her less-than-regal head.

  Madalynn led everyone in a round of applause, including Mr. Todorov, who wiped tears from his eyes and shouted, “More Beautiful than the musical based on Carole King’s life!”

  “Oh… wow. Thanks,” Sam said shyly, her face blazing. Is this really happening? She’d never had even one person look at her admiringly, much less a whole group.

  Much less the enchantress of the eighth grade, she thought as Madalynn swept her into an arm link.

  “Now… about tonight…” Madalynn whispered as she led Sam away.

  “Tonight?” Sam murmured. Maybe Madalynn was going to invite her to dinner at her house. I bet you have cloth napkins. Cloth napkins are so classy. Jax always just threw a roll of paper towels on the table and Margie let Weezy lick any mess off her fingers—

  “The Dreams are going to be in Fletch’s sector. I want you to come meet us.”

  The entire SleepWaker world came rushing back to Sam in a freezing-cold tsunami of reality. She stumbled on the backstage stairs and would have fallen if Madalynn hadn’t kept her arm locked in an iron BFF embrace.

  “I know you’re looking for your Sleep peeps, and I’ve got a good feeling about this. It’s so obvious you’ve never been part of a group before, and I think it’s because no one else has recognized your true potential. And that’s so wrong. You need to belong.” Madalynn moved her arm around Sam’s waist. As Sam leaned gratefully into the support, it came to her in a flash: When was the last time anyone had touched her, other than for medical reasons? No wonder she went to sleep every night hanging on to poor Weezy for dear life. Madalynn continued with quite a remarkable statement: “I think we’re what your soul has been searching for.”

  All at once, Sam was tired, weary beyond measure. Sure, her physical body was getting rest, but her emotions felt like they’d just completed an Ironman triathlon. And here was someone holding her up and promising her a tribe.

  I do want to belong. Somewhere.

  “Where do you want me to meet you?”

  NOT THAT SAM BELIEVED IN signs, but when her soul woke up hiding behind her off-season clothes in the very back of the closet, it did not bode well for the night’s activities. And apparently, even one’s consciousness could have an attack of claustrophobia; she frantically tried to escape the suffocating darkness by pushing aside her winter coat, but only succeeded in falling through the polyester filling and fake fur trim, then passing through her long underwear and snow pants, then through all her in-season clothes, and finally, right through the closet door. The cheap plywood must have slowed her down slightly, because she managed to avoid a face-plant outside the closet and stood wobbling and waving like a pussy willow in a stiff wind.

  Sam looked around nervously; no Byron morphing into her bedroom, thank goodness. She had to get out to her “appointment” without running into him, but how that might happen she just didn’t know. Could he sense when her soul detached? Is that why he always showed up right on time? Or was he just floating around outside waiting for her? Both possibilities made her insides icky.

  As she crept around the bed, she noticed that Sleeping Sam had a stranglehold on Weezy’s fat neck. Pathetic much? Exactly why I need to find my tribe. The thought gave her new purpose and she march-hovered toward the window and looked out boldly. She didn’t see any soul hottie spying on her house, but she had to be sure. Taking a breath, she pushed her face through, just as far as her ears. Having a pane of glass slicing her head in half was a bizarre experience, to say the least; like some low-rent version of a magician’s assistant being sawed apart in a box. She peeked carefully to the right, then to the left, then down—

  “Hey there.” Byron was sitting underneath the window, at one with a shrub.

  “Arrrrggghhh!” Sam jumped, her head sliding back into the house. She angrily jammed her face back through the glass. “Don’t do that!”

  Byron hopped up, unfazed. “Well, you told me not to just show up in your bedroom, didn’t you?”

  “Why did you show up at all? You’re like a sleep-stalker!” Sam forced her whole body out and stood on the lawn, her mist arms crossed angrily.

  “Whoa. Did somebody detach on the wrong side of the bed?” Byron put his hands up in mock surrender. “What happened after you got silver-cord-snapped last night? Couldn’t fall asleep again?”

  “No, I couldn’t. Obviously. Otherwise, I would have come back.”

  “Well, I’m kinda glad you didn’t. Pretty crazy, you know, jumping out at the MeanDreams like that.” Byron shook his head.

  You mean the “Dreams,” By the Spy? Of course, she didn’t say that out loud. “Listen… I want to be by myself tonight.” She couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “Uh… really? I’m not sure you’re ready for that.” Byron was suddenly cautious and tentative. “How about I tag along one more time? You know, just until you got the hang of… everything.”

  “What, like being solid? Don’t hold your breath,” Sam snapped. “I’ll be fine. I just want to be alone.”

  Byron became very still. “Something happened. What happened?”

  “Nothing! Nothing happened. I just… don’t like being spied on, okay?” She forced it out, looking at his face, suddenly, fervently hoping he would be blank, lost, like, “What the heck are you talking about, Sam?”

  But Byron’s trapped expression confirmed everything Madalynn had said about him, and her heart sank. He stammered, “Wait… what? Spied? Who—?”

  “Forget it. Thanks for the laughs, dude. See ya.” Sam turned and started off, angry at herself for hoping.

  Byron wasn’t about to give up, however. “No!” He zoomed next to her and kept pace, misting through rosebushes, streetlamps, and a Mini Cooper without so much as a pause. “You can’t be alone yet! You’re not ready!”

  Enraged, Sam whirled around, catching Byron halfway through a public mailbox on the corner. “Joanne is your mom! You’ve been lying to me this whole time!”

  “I did not lie!” He extracted himself, accidentally knocking a bunch of letters through the mail slot onto the ground, which only made Sam madder. He gets to be solid even when he’s not trying! “Did you ever ask me if I was her son? No. So, I didn’t lie.”

  “Technicality!” Sam shouted.

  “Who told you, anyway? That’s the important thing here.” For the first time, Byron reached out and grabbed her. Well, tried to, anyway; he settled for his hands floating in the general vicinity of her shoulders. “I’m serious, Sam. Was it that Juvenold Alyssa? I know she’s at your school.”

  “In case you forgot, Alyssa made it clear that she would pretend I didn’t exist during the day. Just like everyone else does.” Sam meant that to sound defiant, but unfortunately her voice quavered. She steeled herself. “Everyone except Madalynn. Which is why I’m going to meet up with the Dreams and see if they�
�re my tribe.”

  It didn’t exactly have the effect she was hoping for. Byron didn’t gasp. He didn’t faint. He didn’t wail “Oh nooo!” He just looked at her harder. And then said, softly, “They’re not.”

  They stayed that way, staring at each other, for what seemed like an eternity, but it was SleepWaker time, so probably more like ten seconds. “How do you know?” Sam finally asked.

  “Because I know who you were as a sleepwalker. I know the things you did. Like decorating synagogues and building tree houses for strangers. You are not a MeanDream. You are… something else entirely.” His face got nearer and nearer to hers as he spoke. “I don’t even know if there is a tribe out there that’s yours. Not yet, anyway.” Their noses were now so close that an ill-timed sneeze could be lethal.

  “Byron…?” She could barely breathe.

  “Yes?” From the sound of it, neither could he.

  “Byron…” She sucked in as much air as she could manage.

  “Sam…”

  “DID YOU READ MY CHART?!” Sam shouted so loud it literally blew Byron’s hair back. “SERIOUSLY, DUDE, HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF DOCTOR-PATIENT CONFIDENTIALITY?”

  “I think you busted my eardrum.” Byron shook his head dazedly, opening his jaw and closing it to reset his entire auditory system. “Is that possible if you don’t have a body?”

  “YOU… YOU SPY! YOU… PERSONAL-MEDICAL-RECORDS-READING… UH… SNEAKY JERK!” She was beside herself, pummeling him right through his mist body.

  “Sam, come on! Listen to me!” He tried to catch her hands, but they were too fast and too insubstantial.

  Suddenly there was the sound of fingers snapping in rhythm all around them.

  “No! NO!” Byron yelled. “Not a good time, guys!”

  The Broadways swooped in, dancing a vaguely In the Heights–ish snapping-and-leaping ballet. The ginormous redheaded Chadney sang lead in a rousing baritone.

  Byron and Sam sittin’ in a tree

  F-I-G-H-T-I-N-G!

  First comes attraction, then sensation

  then a classic lack of communication

  While the silver cord glistens

  the lovers don’t listen

  The world falls apart while they’re busy dissin’

  There’s evil afoot, which they’ll never overthrow

  ’Cause they got too much baggage in their portmanteau!

  Sam took a brief break from her rage. “What the heck is a portmanteau?”

  Byron sighed. “Not a clue.”

  As the Broadways grapevine-circled Byron, Sam wheeled around and took off, her misty legs pounding through space, her pumping arms gliding through lawn decorations, the protruding branches of untrimmed bushes, and the prominent sideview mirror of a Subaru Outback. All she wanted was to put as much distance as she could between her and the Spy. Who’s not even following you, BTW.

  “Who cares?” Sam growled at her persistent inner voice. And whose soul breath smelled like spearmint. “Shut up, brain!” she yelled, pushing her Waker body harder. How the heck were you supposed to reach hyper-cross? ’Cause right now, she was at best doing the pace of Jax’s Darkstar, and skateboard speed was just not cutting it.

  She gritted it out, moving down a street lined with closed shops, and avoiding a potential Later Zone by taking a turn across a construction site. The levels of a half-finished parking garage stared at her with a multitude of dark, empty eyes. An orange sign warned her to watch for falling objects, which seemed like a bad joke since an entire building could fall on her un-solid body without causing damage. Sam paused for a moment, looking back to make sure Byron still wasn’t following her. Which he wasn’t. Which she was totally glad about. Totally. And after she craned her neck and stared in every direction for a while, he still wasn’t following her and she was still totally glad about it. Totally. Oh, just move, idiot!

  On the other side of the construction, Sam paused again, uneasy. Is this right? She briefly wished for some kind of Waker GPS system, because the streets were unfamiliar and not particularly inviting; a boarded-up diner scrawled with graffiti was the unwelcoming wagon and the rest of the landscape was littered with overgrown lawns, vacant lots, and houses seemingly on the verge of collapse. There had to be some mistake; why would the Dreams want to meet here?

  “Hey, Sleep Sis,” crooned a familiar voice. “You made it.”

  Sam turned slowly. Madalynn hovered at the front of a large group of SleepWakers in various types of pajamas. Even though Sam was jittery and not nearly as relieved as she’d hoped to see her new bestie, she couldn’t help but notice just how drop-dead gorgeous Madalynn was, even in the middle of the night. She wore a flowy blush-pink dressing gown and a satin sleep mask with embroidered eyelashes, pushed up sassily on her forehead to hold back her perfect flaxen curls. Seriously, how does someone look that good rolling out of bed, even if it’s just your essence that rolled out? Life was so unfair.

  “Hey, Madalynn.” Sam tried to sound casual, as if meeting up with a bunch of detached consciousnesses in a run-down neighborhood in the dead of night was a normal occurrence. “Yeah, I made it!” She gave a thumbs-up and then silently cursed herself for being a geek in her soul as well as in her body. When the heck was she going to achieve her opposite self—you know, the cool one?

  “Wonderful. Let me introduce you. This is Zac and Bree, my two right arms.” Madalynn giggled at her joke as she gestured to the rather enormous SleepWakers flanking her on either side. Zac had a most peculiar shape; he looked like a human bullet, one continuous curved line from his shaved head to his sloping shoulders, wide body, and enormous feet. Bree was nearly as tall and just, well… beige. Her hair, face, and lips were beige, and she wore a faded, pale nightgown. She reminded Sam of a crayon color she’d had as a kid called “Saw Dust.”

  “Hi, Zac. Bree.” She gave a little wave and a smile.

  “So you think you’re Dreams material, huh? We’ll see.” Bree looked Sam up and down with sallow eyes, then smiled back, showing pointed and, yes, beige, teeth.

  “Oh… uh—” Sam didn’t know how to respond to this aggressive personality that seemed in such contrast to Bree’s remarkable colorlessness.

  “Bree is very protective of our tribe. Loyal, you know?” Madalynn scrunched her nose adorably. “Isn’t loyalty just the best thing ever?”

  Zac, meanwhile, had begun administering rather strenuous noogies to various members of the group while braying, “Dutch rub! Get yer Dutch rub!” Sam thought she heard some groans of protest, but not according to Madalynn.

  “I love how much fun they all have together!” Madalynn twittered, then threw her arms out wide. “Sam, meet your new tribe, the Dreams!”

  “Nice to meet you guys!” Sam said. Her words were met with complete silence from the tribe. “Um… do they talk?”

  “When it’s deemed necessary,” Madalynn stated evenly. Then, seeing Sam’s startled face, she burst out laughing. “JK! We’re just messing with you, Sam. You know, playing off that ‘Mean’ Dreams thing.” She tossed this off to the group: “Right, guys?”

  As if Madalynn had flipped a switch, the Dreams chanted together, “Messing with you, Sam!” then uttered one barking laugh in complete unison, and went dead silent again. What the—?

  “Amazing, right?” Madalynn beamed. “They have such a strong bond, it’s almost like they’re one person.”

  “Yeah, they’re so, uh… in sync.…” Sam peered into the group, and for reals, it was hard to tell one Waker from another; they just sort of blended. Except for Bree and Zac, of course. And one rather familiar-looking girl in red flannel pajamas.

  “Kyra?!” Sam exclaimed.

  The (former?) Numb was on the periphery of the tribe, slightly removed from the glut of bodies. She looked up at the sound of her name.

  “It’s me, Sam. I met you last night at Galloping Ghost, remember?” Sam moved closer. Bree and Zac also took a step forward, then stopped.

  “Nightmare in the Dark,” said Kyr
a, and smiled.

  “Yeah, right, your game.” Sam nodded. She looks fine. Which kinda sucks. Not that she wished Kyra ill, but it meant that Madalynn had been telling the truth, and Byron—

  Almost as if she’d read Sam’s mind, Kyra said, “I’m better here.” Another smile, bigger this time. “This is better than a game. This is real. Thank you, Dreams.”

  “You’re more than welcome, sweetie!” Madalynn gushed.

  Zac lunged at Kyra and noogied her vehemently; her face disappeared into the crook of his beefy arm.

  “Zac, dear. Un-noogie her, please,” Madalynn purred. “Kyra’s not used to your affectionate gestures yet.” Zac obediently released Kyra, then turned and gave one of the other protesting Dreams an atomic wedgie.

  “Zac.” Now Madalynn had a bit more edge in her voice. “Soul hands to yourself, honey. Remember what we talked about.” Zac looked crestfallen but nodded his bullet head.

  “Such a sweet boy, really,” Madalynn stage-whispered to Sam. “During the day, he’s not allowed to have tactile contact with anyone, legally speaking, so he can get a bit carried away at night. Anyhoo! Let’s get a move on, shall we?” She smoothly took charge, gliding forward. Sam wanted to talk to Kyra more, but she also didn’t want to lose track of Madalynn as they burrowed deeper into the scaryhood, so she followed.

  “Hey, uh, where are we going? I thought I was just meeting the tribe tonight,” Sam questioned, casting a glance back at the group trailing them. Bree’s dreary nightgown rippled behind her like wings; she resembled a bleached Batgirl.

  “This is how you meet the tribe, Sam.” Madalynn just kept moving, gracefully but with an underlying sense of urgency and purpose. “By understanding what the Dreams are about.”

  Are they about mowing dead lawns and stealing flat tires off rusty bikes? If not, Sam couldn’t conceive of why they were here. Behind her, she heard Zac grunt, “Hey, you want a hertz doughnut?” then the sound of someone being punched, and a chortled “Hurts, don’t it?!”

  A few dismal blocks later, Madalynn stopped abruptly and Sam had to backpedal a bit. They were in front of a dark, ramshackle house in need of a serious paint job. A delighted smile spread across Madalynn’s face as she pointed to one of the dirty windows. “Here we are! Take a peek, darlin’.”