Dreamers Often Lie

  The more time passed, the more the image seemed to warp, until the truth seemed impossible, and the ache in my head seemed about to break free.

  Eventually all I could do was lie on my bed and try to sleep. Lines from A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Hamlet and past conversations tumbled through my mind. I heard fairies singing. A siren wailing. A machine beeping along to someone’s heartbeat. And, in the distance, the sound of a ringing phone.

  There was a knock at my door.

  I didn’t get up. It was probably only in my mind anyway. If I answered it, Hamlet and that cracked skull, or Shakespeare and a pool of blood, or something even worse would be waiting on the other side.

  The knock came again. The door creaked open.

  Mom stood in the doorway. “It’s for you,” she said, holding out the cordless phone. Her eyes were cool. Distrustful.

  I slid off the bed and took the phone. Mom gave me a long look, but she didn’t say anything else. I waited until she’d turned away, her steps fading down the staircase, before putting the receiver to my ear. My heart pounded so hard, both my hands shook.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey,” said a deep voice.

  That voice. I felt it reverberate through my whole body.

  “I didn’t think you—” I cut myself off. “How did you get this number?”

  “I called every Stuart in the phone book in alphabetical order.” His voice was warm. Not angry. I could almost hear the smile in it. “I’m just lucky you’re not unlisted. And that your mom’s name is Heidi, not Zoe.”

  I let out a little laugh. Dreaming. Not dreaming. I dug the fingernails of my free hand into my palm as hard as I could. “God. Rob, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. A little bruised. I’ve had it a lot worse.”

  “I heard you got expelled.”

  “Suspended. And they’re still going to let me graduate, depending on my future behavior.”

  “Oh, good. God. I’m so glad.” My fingernails had left red half-moons in my palm. Not dreaming. Not dreaming. “What I said—about staying away from me—this is why. Not that I thought Pierce would do this,” I went on quickly. “Or I would never have . . . I mean, he didn’t used to be like this. At least, I didn’t see it. I just knew that something was going to go wrong, because I mess up everything I touch. It’s not because I don’t want—I don’t want to . . .”

  I couldn’t finish.

  There was a beat. I listened to the quiet coming through the receiver, and suddenly I might as well have been holding a seashell up to my ear. Just imagining that I heard the ocean.

  “Are you there?” I whispered.

  “I’m here.” His voice. Deep and clear. “I was just waiting to see what you’d say.”

  “I’m not sure what to say. I mean, I want—I want— God.” I rubbed my fingers through my hair. The scar. The shaved spot. Still there. “I don’t like this. Just talking, not being able to see you. I want to talk with you.”

  “I want to see you too,” he said. “Can I?”

  “Really?” I let out another stupid little laugh. “You don’t hate me?”

  “I so far from hate you.” I could definitely hear the smile that time.

  “But I got you in trouble. I got you into that stupid fight.”

  “Don’t.” His voice was light. “It was my choice. And I could tell what you were doing, you know. Trying to push me away. To save me from something.” He paused for a second. “But I don’t need to be saved. I don’t want to be saved.”

  I laughed again, and almost inhaled a teardrop. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. “Maybe you’re crazy too.”

  “So . . .” One more pause. Teasing this time. “Can I see you?”

  “Yes.” The word flew out before I could think. “Wait. No.” I paced across the room. “You can’t come here. I can’t go anywhere except school, and now you’re not going to be there for a while.”

  “I don’t know if I can wait a whole week.”

  “Me neither.” My body was full of helium balloons. I could practically feel my toes rising off the carpet. “What if . . . what if I get out of rehearsal a little early?”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll leave at four. I’ll give Mr. Hall some kind of excuse, and get out before anybody else notices.”

  “I’ll pick you up in the parking lot.”

  “No—someone might see you. Just meet me two blocks away. On the corner of Twenty-second.”

  “Impressively devious.” I heard the smile in his voice again. “All right. I’ll see you there.”

  “Yes. There.”

  We hung up.

  I stood in the middle of the floor for several seconds, just beaming at the phone. If I’d dived out the window just then, I’m sure I would have soared.

  CHAPTER 20

  Places for Act Three!” Ayesha’s voice sliced through the darkness. “Players! Fairies! Crew! Let’s go!”

  I crawled carefully onto the rolling platform. Anticipation made my whole body feel brittle and quivery, like one frozen strand of hair. I lay down on the green velvet. Half an hour. Just thirty minutes more.

  I was trying to remember my first cue when a figure rippled into my peripheral vision.

  “I need to talk to you,” it said, in a hard voice.

  My skin went cold. “I can’t talk right now.”

  “I’ve been trying to find you all day,” said Pierce, not quietly enough. A few nearby crew members backed uncomfortably away. “I looked for you before first hour. At lunch. Before rehearsal.” Pierce’s voice got sharper with each word. “Are you avoiding me?”

  “No,” I said, not looking at him. Onstage, the lights shifted to forest-night blue. “I just—I can’t deal with this right now. I’m about to go on.”

  “Why didn’t you answer my calls all weekend?” Pierce demanded. “Quick. Before you can make up another excuse.”

  “Music cue,” called Ayesha’s voice.

  Recorded harp notes fluttered through the dimness.

  “We’ll talk later,” I whispered.

  “When?”

  “On the drive home today.”

  “So you’re not just going to run away from me again?”

  “No. I promise.” The music faded out. The run crew inched closer, grabbing the corners of my platform. “We’ll talk later.”

  “The platform should be on by now!” Ayesha shouted.

  The crew shoved the set piece forward. I sank down into the wire-stemmed daisies, trying to look regal and unconscious. Blue light slid over my sealed eyelids.

  “The throstle, with his note so true.” Tom hopped closer to me, singing. “The wren, with little quill . . .”

  That was it. My cue.

  I sat up. The ache in my head flashed, sending a whip of fire down my spine. I fought not to flinch. “What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?”

  Tom’s head was hidden in the donkey mask. Its long gray nose and flapping ears enclosed his entire face. He spun clumsily around. “The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, the plain-song cuckoo gray . . .”

  When he turned back to me, the donkey’s head was gone.

  Tom himself was gone. The person left standing there was taller, dressed in dark linen and high boots. Through his leather carnival mask, I could see a pair of pale blue eyes. He lifted one hand, pushing the mask up into his tangled black hair, and said—

  “Your line, Jaye.”

  Mr. Hall watched me from the lip of the stage.

  “Oh. Sorry.” I turned back to Tom, whose baggy sweater and donkey’s head waited beside me. “Can I have the cue one more time?”

  “Who would give a bird the lie, though he cry ‘cuckoo’ never so?”

  “I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again,” I recited. “Mine ear is much e
namor’d of thy note; so is my eye enthralled to thy shape . . .”

  The crew was setting up for the next scene when I crept down the steps and up to Mr. Hall’s seat.

  He was scribbling something on a legal pad, but he glanced up and smiled as I approached.

  “Nice job today, Titania,” he said. “It’s really coming along.”

  “Really? I missed that line.”

  “One line. Out of hundreds.” Mr. Hall tapped his pen on the back of my hand. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Even though it makes my job a lot easier.”

  “Well . . . thanks.” I smiled back at him. “I don’t think I can help it anyway.” I hesitated, the charm of the stage lights and Mr. Hall’s words holding me in place. But it was already almost four. “Um—Mr. Hall? Are you going to need me any more today?”

  “Hmm.” He paged through his yellow legal pad. “I don’t think so. We’re going to work the Athenians’ scene for a while after this. Why?”

  I scanned the stage. Pierce was nowhere in sight. “It’s just—I’ve still got so much schoolwork to catch up on. I was wondering if you’d mind if I left early, so I could spend some time in the library.”

  He nodded understandingly. “Sure. Go ahead. And, really, Jaye. Nice job.”

  “Thank you.”

  I gave him one more smile before darting up the aisle to the seat where I’d stashed my things. No one seemed to notice as I creaked out through the auditorium doors.

  I stopped in the outer hall just long enough to throw on my coat and scarf. Through the glass doors to the parking lot, I could see that it was snowing again, but I didn’t care. I was made of electricity. Cold couldn’t even touch me.

  As I grabbed the door handle, someone appeared beside me. He leaned against the entry wall, crossing his legs in their dark blue tights.

  “These violent delights have violent ends . . .”

  Against my will, I turned to face him. Shakespeare’s hooded blue eyes held mine for a second. Then I turned and ran out into the chilly air.

  A damp, rapid snow was falling. The packed ice on the pavement was already coated with slush, and the air whipped my face with tiny frozen kisses. I rushed across the parking lot, keeping my head down, ignoring the pressure building inside.

  The school slid out of sight behind me. I passed rows of quiet houses, trees drooping with fresh mounds of snow.

  What if he didn’t show up? What if I’d imagined that whole phone call? What if I’d just wished for it so hard that my broken brain had created this too?

  But there. On the corner of the next block. A tall, dark shape.

  Rob turned toward me. Black hair fluttered around his face. His eyes were even more gorgeous than I’d remembered—even though a big purple bruise puffed up from his left cheekbone, and one side of his mouth was split with a jagged red scar. He saw me, and his face broke into a smile.

  I wished I’d rehearsed something to say—something clever, or memorable, or not utterly moronic. I couldn’t even remember how normal people acted. Should I have been smiling so widely? Should I have been running the way I was running now, not even looking both ways before charging across the street? Would Audrey Hepburn have lunged at him like this?

  Probably not.

  But it didn’t matter. Because Rob stepped forward too, and we met in the middle of the street.

  “Are you really here?” I asked him.

  “Really here.” Rob held out one hand. “Are you?”

  I pressed my hand against his, palm to palm. “Really here,” I said.

  Then his fingers closed around my hand, and he raised it to his lips.

  A sparkling hole in the snow. A hospital room. A masked ball. A thousand other times, and the very first time.

  I felt the tightness in my head fissure into a cloud of fireflies. I was spinning. Glowing. Weightless.

  “We should probably get out of the street,” I said, in a voice that was breathier than usual.

  Rob didn’t let go of my hand as we headed up onto the sidewalk. His grip was warm and dry with just the right amount of tightness, like his hand had been formed to fit around mine.

  He grinned down at me. “What a coincidence.”

  “What?”

  “That I just happened to be standing on that corner when you walked by.”

  I smiled back. “And what a coincidence that I just happened to decide to leave rehearsal early on the same afternoon you decided to stand on that street corner.”

  “Where are you heading?”

  “My house.”

  “Another coincidence! I was going that way myself.”

  I laughed. “You don’t know which way my house is.”

  “Shh.” Rob widened his eyes. “Coincidence.”

  Above us, the sky was turning an ashy violet. Bare twigs sank upward into its darkness.

  “So, how was the first day of suspension?”

  “Fine. You can get your schoolwork done amazingly fast when you’re not actually at school.”

  His tone was light, but a droplet of guilt trickled down into my stomach. “I hate that I got you into this.”

  “Like I said—I made my choices.” He shrugged. “And I wouldn’t change any of them.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. I mean, everything that happened brought me here.”

  I tucked my chin into my collar, smiling like a goon. “That’s a weird thought.”

  “What is?”

  “All the little things that have to go right or wrong, and all the choices you have to make to get exactly where you are. Like—if this had never happened to my head, would I even have talked to you in anatomy class? I don’t know. I definitely wouldn’t have called you Romeo.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled down at me. “I’ve wanted to ask you. Why did you call me that?”

  “I told you. Head injury. It’s my excuse for everything.”

  “But why Romeo?”

  “Oh.” I could feel my face heating. “It’s . . . God. I saw lots of characters from Shakespeare at first. Because of the concussion or the painkillers or the brain rest and crazy dreams or whatever. And a couple of times, Romeo showed up. And he looked like you.”

  “How did you know he was Romeo?”

  “Because he just . . . was. He said Romeo things. He acted like Romeo. He called me Juliet. He sat next to me at night, when I was alone. He held my hand.”

  I glanced up at him. Rob looked back down at me. Then he gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

  The fireflies zinged inside me. You’re awake, I promised myself. You’re awake.

  “How far is it to your house?” he asked as we shuffled down the snowy sidewalk.

  “About a mile and a half more. Pretty far.”

  “Good.” He paused. “Unless you’re cold. Should we walk faster?”

  “I’m fine. I don’t need to walk faster. Maybe you do, with your thin West Coast blood.”

  “No. I’m not cold at all.” He grinned. “Hold on a second.” He tugged off one glove. Then he reached out and gently touched the side of my face. “You’ve got snowflakes in your eyelashes.”

  I felt the world go still. For the space of a heartbeat, we were frozen, his fingers against my cheek, our faces inches apart, everything waiting for the kiss that’s just about to come, like the tableau at the end of an act, when the lights fade out.

  And that was when a glossy black car glided past.

  It slowed as it reached the corner just ahead. Then it sped up again, barely braking at the stop sign before streaking into the next street.

  I went stiff. “Was that a BMW?”

  Rob glanced around. “Where?”

  “That car. The one that just turned right.”

  “I didn’t notice.” He turned back to me. “Are you a big fan of German e
ngineering?”

  “I think it was Pierce.” I hated my voice for wobbling. “I think he’s looking for me.”

  “Why would he be looking for you?”

  “Because I didn’t tell him . . .” I didn’t tell him that I was meeting you. That he wouldn’t be driving me home. That I don’t think I want to be with him. I stared at the spot where the car had disappeared. “I’m pretty sure it was him.”

  Rob followed my eyes. “Well, if he circles the block, we’ll know.”

  We held still for a minute, both of us staring up the street.

  “He’s going to be so angry,” I whispered.

  “Well . . . maybe we should just let him find us.”

  I stared at Rob.

  “I’m not afraid of him.” Rob looked back down at me. His eyes were steady. Almost amused. “Seriously. If he wants to come and confront us, let him.”

  We waited for another minute.

  “I don’t think it was him,” said Rob at last.

  “Maybe,” I murmured. “Let’s take another street. Just in case.”

  We turned at the next block. The ache in my head had come raging back. I pulled my fingers out of Rob’s grip, rubbing my temples with both hands.

  “Are you okay?” Rob asked.

  Twilight seemed suddenly too bright. I let my eyes slide halfway shut. Between my eyelashes, just around the next corner, I caught the glint of a glossy black car.

  “There!” I pointed. “He just turned!”

  Rob frowned. “I didn’t see him.”

  “Look! He’s heading up the next street. He just sped up. He saw us.” I whirled around, breaking into a jog. “He saw us.”

  Rob hurried after me. “Jaye—I don’t think it was him.”

  “It was him. It was him. He’ll be so— Oh my god, he’ll tell my mom. She’ll pull me out of the show.”

  “Jaye—”

  I lunged off the curb, across the street. “We have to run.”

  Rob kept up with me, his voice calling over my shoulder, “Should you really be running right now?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.” I raced onto the next stretch of sidewalk. The drifts here were deeper. My lungs burned. My legs ached. “We can’t let him catch us.”