Seventh Dimension - The Door, Book 1, A Young Adult Fantasy

I stacked my books on the dining room table—Latin, history, English, science, math—which one did I want to do first? I shrugged. Suspension for three days made me feel like a juvenile delinquent.

  What would I say when I faced Judd again? Rumors filtered through the school that I went into the boy’s restroom. Kids snickered and pointed at me in the school hallway before the suspension. No matter what others said, I wasn’t going to tell anyone why I attacked him. If I did, I might as well hang my dirty underwear on the school flagpole.

  Students’ imaginations would conjure up the worst—soon they would have me sleeping with him. Staring ahead blankly at the stack of books, I couldn’t focus long enough to pull one out and start.

  The doorbell rang. I walked over and opened the door, and a man in a UPS uniform held a small package in his hand. I glanced behind him and saw a brown truck idling. I signed for the package, and as he headed back to his truck, I noticed a white envelope clinging to the doorstep. I picked it up and tucked it under my arm.

  As the UPS truck pulled away, I glanced at the return address on the package. My father would keep sending me Christmas presents after all. I closed the door and headed to the sofa. Then I read the return address on the note—Rachel Franco. Why would Rachel have slipped a note in the door? I set the package down to open hers first.

  I read the handwriting silently. “Dear Shale, I’m writing you because I couldn’t tell you in person. Mother and Father don’t want me to be friends with you anymore. They think you’re bad for me. I know you wouldn’t have done what you did to Judd without good reason. It doesn’t seem fair because we’ve been good friends for so long, but I must obey my parents. I can’t walk with you home from the bus or talk to you in class. You will always be my best friend. Signed, Rachel Franco. P.S. I’ll be praying for you as I always do. God has a purpose in this—I hope.”

  I read the letter three times, slowly, thinking about each sentence. Yes, she would always be my best friend, too. I knew she prayed because she was Jewish. However, what purpose could God have in this? If he did, he had a strange way of showing it.

  I threw the letter down and stared at the bare walls that still needed pictures. Bed sheets covered the windows. The flat-screen television belonged to Remi. I was forbidden to touch it—he was sure I would break it. Stashed against the wall were duplicate wedding gifts mother had yet to return.

  Rachel was my only friend. She would come over at least once a week—bring me a good book to read, or I’d help her with a school assignment, but I was never allowed to visit her. I never knew why. Mother always gave some lame excuse. I’d never met her parents. Now I wouldn’t have even one friend at school. I wished I’d told Rachel the truth.

  The room was quiet except for the leaky commode upstairs Remi promised Mother he would fix. A scratching noise on the backdoor annoyed me. What could that be? My legs were too heavy to get up and check.

  I examined the UPS package from my father. The small box looked ordinary. I tore off the brown paper and found inside a white flimsy box—the kind of box that usually contains a breakable. I opened it carefully so as not to shake it.

  The box contained a light green, blue, and purple ceramic egg. The colors blended into one another, etched by a skilled artisan. I carefully opened the egg. Underneath a layer of fluffy cotton was a family of rabbits—a mother rabbit with three small babies.

  My heart sank. The bunnies were broken. Only one of the rabbits was whole, but even it had a chipped ear. A baby had a missing head, and another had a broken leg. The mother rabbit was broken into three small pieces.

  I admired the pieces as I caressed them. What would the handicraftsman think if he knew his artwork arrived damaged? I held the three pieces of the mother rabbit together. Perhaps I could glue them. Broken or unbroken, they deserved a magical story.

  A disturbing crash outside jarred me back to reality. I took the fragile pieces and placed them back in the egg, tucking the ceramic gift in my dress pocket. Then I headed into the dining room to peer out the window.

  The white dog I saw a few days earlier stood outside our apartment. Should I go out or would she run away? What would I do if she came up to me? I didn’t have any dog food.

  The dog’s brown eyes tugged at my heart. She wagged her tail once she saw me in the window. Hope covered her face. She lifted her ears as if waiting to hear the door open. Did I have the heart to disappoint her?

  Nobody in the apartments could have dogs. They weren’t allowed—stupid apartment rules.

  Reluctantly, I turned from the window and sat at the table again. I banged my fist and shoved the pencil off the table. It fell onto the floor and rolled away.

  “I hate you, God—you hear that? You send me broken toys and take away my best friend, give me parents who don’t understand me and teachers that hate me. That’s fine. I can take it. Then you tease me with a dog I can’t have.”

  The bare walls were silent, and I buried my face in my arms and sobbed.

  I couldn’t cry all afternoon. I went into the bathroom and grabbed some toilet paper to blow my nose. I didn’t feel like writing. The last time I wrote something, my teacher accused me of plagiarism. Maybe I could do math. Whoever discovered Algebra must have been a fiend—how else could something so awful be invented?

  I reached into my backpack for my library book, The Diary of Anne Frank. I was about halfway through it and identified with Anne’s feelings of isolation. “Great,” I mumbled, when I found only textbooks. I’d left it at school, the one book I wanted to read.

  The dog barked again. I stood and pressed my nose against the windowpane. The sun had dropped behind the trees, and she stood in the shadows wagging her tail. With her rear end stuck up and paws dug into the ground, she begged. “Come play with me.”

  I couldn’t resist. I went to the door and stepped outside in the cold January air—just in time to see her run towards the back of the apartments. “No, come back,” I pleaded.

  The dog skirted the apartment building with a noticeable limp, dodging two dirty bikes and a rickety wagon. Then she passed two utility sheds before she reached the boundary of the apartments and blended into the woods. I hesitated. Did I want to chase her into the thicket? The sun was low, and twilight would soon bring nightfall.

  She reappeared briefly, shaking as if fearful that I might follow her. Then I lost her in the shadows and was ready to give up when I saw her once again. My weak ankle slowed me down. I stared at the naked trees—the one place around here I didn’t like in the winter. Then the dog reappeared not more than ten feet away.

  “Wait,” I called. “Please.” As I stepped forward, I tripped over a hole. I fell sideways into a pile of decaying leaves that covered the forest floor, twisting my ankle. Beneath the leaves, a rock protruded, and my head smashed against the corner. Sprawled out on the cold ground, I was temporarily stunned. Did I break the egg? I grabbed the pocket where I had put it, but it seemed to be okay.

  The dog stayed nearby, although at a safe distance. She reminded me once again of Much-Afraid from the donkey story. The resemblance was surreal. The dog crouched and edged towards me, her tail swishing the ground clean. She yelped as if she expected me to follow.

  Lightly at first, vibrations thumped the ground like drumbeats. An airy breeze, much too warm for January, carried panpipe notes from afar and rustled the dead leaves underneath me. As I watched, they turned from crusted yellows and reds to bright green.

  Much-Afraid, as I called her, whimpered. The dog raised her head, and her eyes searched the red sky. She stood on her hind legs, pumped her front paws, and sniffed frantically. Naked tree branches rustled in the breeze, and Christmas lights blazed through the barren canopy. Winter rolled back as a scroll and invigorated my dulled senses. Mesmerized, I entered a dreamy reality, as if I were in a theater waiting for the start of a long-anticipated movie.

  The scattered leaves lifted in a circular motion. Three white doves floated down and tiptoed around me. Forget-me-not fl
owers sprang up along with purple, red, gold, and green blossoms. A sweet healing balm saturated the air. The doves cooed as they gathered around my ankle, soothing my injury, as a mother would caress a child. Then they kissed the wound on my head. Bands of light scattered in pulsating rings. After a few tantalizing moments, the birds flew away.

  Blue neon lights accented by flowers led to an open door surrounded by gleaming diamonds. Could I walk that far?

  “Shale, are you okay?” a female voice asked.

  Who called my name? I looked up, but the light from above was too bright, although the gentle warmth comforted me. I only saw flowers.

  I called out to the dog. “Much-Afraid?” I didn’t expect her to appear, but I had the feeling I wasn’t alone.

  The bright light captivated me, but the cone was fading, and soon the beam would vanish. Blue lights along the walkway grew brighter leading towards an open door.

  “Much-Afraid?” The silhouette of a dog covered the opening briefly. She sat waiting.

  “Much-Afraid.”

  “Follow me,” a female voice said.

  Was that Much-Afraid speaking to me? The effervescent light from the doorway bubbled in multi-colors. I stood and tested my ankle. As I tiptoed along the walkway, too afraid to believe I could run, light bubbles floated by as the diamond archway grew brighter.

  The dog became visible once more.

  “Shale,” the voice called again.

  “Wait! I want to go with you.” Without hesitating, I stepped through the open door. I reached for her as she slipped through my fingers. Then she was gone.

  Chapter Five

  THE GARDEN