Read Online Dreamology by Lucy Keating - Free Book Online Page B

stretch out on the dock. I catch just the glimpse of his stomach and forget what we are talking about for a moment, before he continues. “I remembered you the second I saw you. You started popping up in my dreamswhen I was little. You looked different back then. You had that funny bowl cut and Jerry was always following you around.” The corner of his mouth twitches, which causes mine to break into a full-on smile.
    â€œBlame the hair on a single dad,” I reply fondly. “He couldn’t figure out how to braid it, so he just chopped it all off.”
    â€œI didn’t care about the hair,” Max says. His eyes are closed. “I just thought you were the coolest. I still do.”
    I let his words sink in, my face feeling warm. Then I lie down next to him, propping my head on my bag. “I thought you were okay,” I say. “Truthfully, I was just using you to get close to Horatio.”
    â€œMay he rest in peace,” Max replies. “He was the best box turtle this side of the Mason-Dixon line.”
    We lie there in silence for a little while, feeling the sun on our faces. If this were a dream, I’d flip over on my stomach and twirl pieces of his thick brown hair around my fingers. Or flick his earlobes playfully. When we dream, we are always connected. But this is not a dream. I wonder if he misses it the way I do. A time when there wasn’t this distance between us.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I watch a few pieces of trash float down the river: a newspaper and then, more peculiarly, an athletic sock, followed by a lime-green bra. But what comes next is really odd—a rubber ducky. I am about to point it out to Max, but when I glance back, it’s so far away, it looks more like a juice box or can of soda.
    Instead, I tell him about the birthday cards from CDD, the peacocks, and Dr. Petermann’s cycling outfit. I’m rambling, I know, but I can’t stop. Being with him, knowing he’s just lying here listening to me and only me—it’s invigorating. I could talk forever. But there are more important things to discuss . . . like why any of this is happening at all. “Ever heard of it?” I ask hopefully. “The Center for Dream Discovery?”
    Max doesn’t say anything, so I glance over to find him just staring at me, his mouth slightly agape.
    â€œAre you being serious?” he asks.
    â€œAbout which part?” I ask, genuinely confused. “The peacocks?”
    â€œYou went to CDD, too.” He says it like he’s getting used to the notion. Like he can’t even believe it.
    â€œThat’s what I just said . . .” I start to say. “Wait, too ?”
    Max looks back up at the sky and shakes his head. “This just keeps getting weirder and weirder.”
    â€œYou went to CDD, too!” I nearly shriek. This is even better than I was hoping for. If Max and I dream about each other, and we both went to the same place to have our dreams monitored as kids, CDD must hold the answers to our questions.
    â€œI did,” Max affirms. “I had pretty bad nightmares when I was a kid, and my mom heard about the CDD from my pediatrician. But I didn’t save the birthday cards. Unlike some people I know . . .” He opens one eye and smirks.
    â€œMy grandma saved them!” I reach out to give him a shove,but Max catches my hand before it is actually able to make contact with his shoulder and holds it for a moment. I swallow, and my heart starts to flutter at the feeling of my hand in his, somehow warm and cool at the same time, before he gently places it back along the dock.
    â€œHow’d you know I was going to do that?” I ask.
    â€œCome on, give me some credit,” Max says. “You always hit me when I tease you. Over the years a guy learns to protect himself.” I wish there was a casual way to dunk my entire head in the river to make me stop blushing.
    We hear some noise behind