I hardly knew and having to think of something to say. “I have plans today. Next time?”
“Next Saturday.” She smiled. “I’m holding you to it.”
As I walked away, I pulled out a wipe and started scrubbing my face immediately. When I got to the bathroom, I stopped in front of the sink. My breath caught when I saw myself in the mirror. The image reminded me of the picture hanging in our hallway—my mom on her wedding day. My heart clenched. I scrubbed faster.
“What are you doing?” Gage asked, barging into my room after a single knock.
I slammed the picture Linda had taken of me facedown on the table. “Nothing.”
“Uh, okay. I’ll leave it alone because I don’t know if I want to know after a reaction like that.”
“Yeah, you should. What do you want?”
He fell back onto my bed. “Tomorrow we’re playing disc golf at Woodward Park. You in?”
“Of course.” I looked at the clock. Ten. “Hey, will you go running with me?”
“When?”
“Right now.”
“No, but thanks for asking.”
“Thanks for nothing.”
“It’s ten o’clock. If I go run right now I’ll be up all night.”
If I don’t go run right now, I will be. “Please, Gage. I’d love you forever.”
“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure I already have that one locked down, but maybe a different bribe would work. Like showing me whatever that is.” He pointed to the picture on my desk.
No. Way. “Yeah, not going to happen. I don’t need to go running after all.” I tucked the picture into my desk drawer.
“Huh. Really? Now it is my goal in life to find out what you’re hiding.”
“That’s a pretty lame goal.”
“True. But I have this tingly feeling right here”—he pointed to his heart—“that it will be worth it.”
“Get out of here before I have to kick your butt.”
On his way out he grabbed hold of my ponytail, pulling both me and my chair backward, then lowered the chair gently to the ground.
“You’re an idiot,” I said, staring up at him from my new position on my back.
Rain pounded my window. Red rain. So hard that a single crack formed at the top of the glass and slowly splintered down in a sharp line. I watched it, the white line splitting my window into equal parts. And then suddenly it shattered, sending glass spraying into my bedroom.
I sat up with a start.
If I could control my subconscious mind, I would never ever dream. There had to be some way to solve this problem. Hypnosis or something. Maybe just a treadmill. What were the odds my dad would buy me one of those?
Downstairs, I made some hot chocolate and turned on the laptop. I Googled dream interpretation and searched for the word rain. There was always rain in my dream. I read: Falling rain is a metaphor for tears, crying, or sadness. Yeah, whatever. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried. I looked up recurring dreams .
Dreams are messages, things our minds want us to learn. Recurring dreams can be really important messages. They often come in the form of nightmares. Recurring dreams could represent a real-life problem that hasn’t been dealt with or resolved. Overcoming or resolving that problem could help one move past the recurring dream.
I read the paragraph again. What credentials did a stupid online dream interpreter have anyway? I could make up garbage like this. Closing the laptop, I moved to the back door and looked over at Braden’s house. It was two a.m.; there was no way he was up again. It would be completely selfish to text him. I knew this, and yet I got my phone and stared at his name for a long time.
I put the phone down, deciding against it, and went outside. His bedroom window was dark. The whole house was dark. Maybe he’d come out on his own like he did the first time. That wouldn’t be selfish of me. I craned my neck to see if his father’s car sat in his driveway.
Wait.
I was hoping his dad would come home drunk and drive Braden outside? That was more selfish than if I just
“Next Saturday.” She smiled. “I’m holding you to it.”
As I walked away, I pulled out a wipe and started scrubbing my face immediately. When I got to the bathroom, I stopped in front of the sink. My breath caught when I saw myself in the mirror. The image reminded me of the picture hanging in our hallway—my mom on her wedding day. My heart clenched. I scrubbed faster.
“What are you doing?” Gage asked, barging into my room after a single knock.
I slammed the picture Linda had taken of me facedown on the table. “Nothing.”
“Uh, okay. I’ll leave it alone because I don’t know if I want to know after a reaction like that.”
“Yeah, you should. What do you want?”
He fell back onto my bed. “Tomorrow we’re playing disc golf at Woodward Park. You in?”
“Of course.” I looked at the clock. Ten. “Hey, will you go running with me?”
“When?”
“Right now.”
“No, but thanks for asking.”
“Thanks for nothing.”
“It’s ten o’clock. If I go run right now I’ll be up all night.”
If I don’t go run right now, I will be. “Please, Gage. I’d love you forever.”
“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure I already have that one locked down, but maybe a different bribe would work. Like showing me whatever that is.” He pointed to the picture on my desk.
No. Way. “Yeah, not going to happen. I don’t need to go running after all.” I tucked the picture into my desk drawer.
“Huh. Really? Now it is my goal in life to find out what you’re hiding.”
“That’s a pretty lame goal.”
“True. But I have this tingly feeling right here”—he pointed to his heart—“that it will be worth it.”
“Get out of here before I have to kick your butt.”
On his way out he grabbed hold of my ponytail, pulling both me and my chair backward, then lowered the chair gently to the ground.
“You’re an idiot,” I said, staring up at him from my new position on my back.
Rain pounded my window. Red rain. So hard that a single crack formed at the top of the glass and slowly splintered down in a sharp line. I watched it, the white line splitting my window into equal parts. And then suddenly it shattered, sending glass spraying into my bedroom.
I sat up with a start.
If I could control my subconscious mind, I would never ever dream. There had to be some way to solve this problem. Hypnosis or something. Maybe just a treadmill. What were the odds my dad would buy me one of those?
Downstairs, I made some hot chocolate and turned on the laptop. I Googled dream interpretation and searched for the word rain. There was always rain in my dream. I read: Falling rain is a metaphor for tears, crying, or sadness. Yeah, whatever. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried. I looked up recurring dreams .
Dreams are messages, things our minds want us to learn. Recurring dreams can be really important messages. They often come in the form of nightmares. Recurring dreams could represent a real-life problem that hasn’t been dealt with or resolved. Overcoming or resolving that problem could help one move past the recurring dream.
I read the paragraph again. What credentials did a stupid online dream interpreter have anyway? I could make up garbage like this. Closing the laptop, I moved to the back door and looked over at Braden’s house. It was two a.m.; there was no way he was up again. It would be completely selfish to text him. I knew this, and yet I got my phone and stared at his name for a long time.
I put the phone down, deciding against it, and went outside. His bedroom window was dark. The whole house was dark. Maybe he’d come out on his own like he did the first time. That wouldn’t be selfish of me. I craned my neck to see if his father’s car sat in his driveway.
Wait.
I was hoping his dad would come home drunk and drive Braden outside? That was more selfish than if I just
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