Dream Student (Dream Series book 1) Read online

  Knowing all that doesn’t really help much, unfortunately. I don’t want to come between him and his parents, and if I’m thinking rationally about it, no matter how I feel about him we have only known each other for a few weeks. I can’t expect him to turn his whole life upside down just for me.

  We get through dessert, and coffee, and another hour of getting to know Brian’s family. My brother has made a surprisingly good impression on Brian’s cousin; he’s managed to keep his weird side almost completely under control. I’m impressed. My Dad and his father seem to be getting along famously. They’re ignoring everyone else and watching the Eagles game, talking back to the players on TV as though they were coaching the game. It’s funny and sort of pathetic at the same time. Whatever makes them happy, I guess.

  Brian and I sit next to each other in the living room, holding hands, trying not to draw his mother’s attention to us more than it already is. We end up staying until the game is over; his father insists that my Dad can’t miss a play. “They’re trying to clinch a playoff spot!” he says, as though that explains anything.

  The game finally ends. The Dads are thrilled that the Eagles won, and even Brian’s mother has calmed down a little bit. We all get up to make our goodbyes, and I excuse myself–I have to run out to the car, I left Brian’s gift in there. When I get back, he’s got a gift for me, too. It’s a very small box.

  For just a moment, and I know how utterly crazy it sounds, my father’s words–the ones I overheard through the heating vent–go through my mind. I wonder if–no. That is crazy. Beyond crazy.

  We hand each other our gifts. I let him open his first. I put the Mike Schmidt photo in a frame, and he’s speechless when he rips the wrapping paper open. He embraces me, but holds back from kissing me with his parents watching.

  His father is in awe. He takes the picture from Brian, very gently, holding it the way you would hold a priceless relic. “Is that real? He really signed–you met him?”

  My Dad gets that faraway look in his eyes. “We were two feet away from him. He’s such a great man.” The two of them are quite the pair. They’re both staring lovingly at the photo; I think you could drop a bomb outside and they wouldn’t notice it right now.

  Brian takes a deep breath, and then looks down at the box in my hands. I tear off the paper, and it’s a jewelry box. I slowly, carefully pull it open, and inside it–oh, my God.

  It must have cost a thousand dollars. It’s a necklace, with a very fine gold chain and–at one glance I know it’s real, not just costume jewelry–a small, beautiful emerald. I don’t believe he–I can’t–it’s the most amazing thing. My legs are shaking; I don’t know how they’re holding me up. My heart is racing, and I feel short of breath. I have no idea what anyone else is doing. His mother is saying something, and so is mine, but that’s just noise.

  “I thought it would set off your eyes,” Brian says, and his is the only voice I can hear. He takes the necklace out of the box and I don’t even realize I’m turning my head so he can put it on me until I’ve already done it. He drapes it around my neck, and I shudder at his touch. He closes the clasp, and the emerald hangs down, and I look at it.

  It’s perfect. He’s perfect.

  I turn back to him, look up into his brown, brown eyes, and I throw my arms around him. I feel the tears start to flow for the second time today and I bury my head in his neck. I’m not sure how long we’re there like that. It could be forever. There’s nowhere else I want to be.

  My brother’s voice brings me back to Earth. “Let us get a look at it,” he says, and I very reluctantly let Brian go and turn to give everyone a better look at his gift. There’s much ooh-ing and aah-ing, which is only right.

  I turn back to Brian, and I whisper so only he can hear, “I love you!” Holding myself back right now, not kissing him for all I’m worth in front of God and his family and everybody, is the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life, and that’s not an exaggeration.

  ***

  I’m in my own little world for most of the ride home. It’s only when we’re back in our neighborhood, maybe five minutes from the house, that I check back in. I catch myself playing with my necklace; I’ve probably been doing it the whole time.

  “Glad you decided to join us,” Dad says when he notices me finally sitting up and looking somewhat alert. “That was some gift he gave you.”

  Then I’m lost again, back at Brian’s house, opening the box, seeing it for the first time. “It was,” I sigh. “I guess I’m in his heart, too. I mean–I knew how he felt, but…”

  “He certainly made sure there was no doubt, didn’t he?” Mom says. There’s something in her voice. She’s never seen me how I was today, and it’s got her worried. I doubt it would be any comfort to her that I’m pretty rattled too.

  “His mother didn’t look too thrilled,” Bob pipes up. She really didn’t like me at all. I don’t know what’s going to happen with that. I feel so bad that I’ve made things difficult for him with his parents, or at least one of them.

  “She was probably just surprised,” Dad says, trying to be charitable. “His father liked you fine, honey,” he tells me.

  “Dad, I could have had three eyes and broccoli growing out of my ears for all he noticed, once you started talking about the Eagles with him!” He doesn’t answer because he knows I’m right.

  Mom laughs. “Well, I was impressed with your Brian. He was very polite, well mannered, and he obviously knows how to treat our only daughter. I don’t think we could ask more than that.” I couldn’t ask for more, I know that.

  ***

  If I dreamed last night, they were pleasant dreams. I wake up smiling, and when’s the last time that happened? I wore my necklace to bed, and I don’t envision myself taking it off for the foreseeable future.

  I’m still so lost in memories of yesterday that it takes me fifteen minutes to remember it’s Christmas day. Before I go downstairs–I’m sure Bob and my parents are already up and around–I pick up the phone and call Brian.

  He must have been thinking of me, because he answers it on the first ring. “Sara!” It’s not a question.

  “Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too!” Then I hear him talking to someone else, saying, “It’s for me.”

  “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever gotten. And the most special,” I blurt out. “And you were right. It does set off my eyes.” I take a deep breath. “I hope–your Mom didn’t give you too much grief about it, did she?”

  He laughs. “Yeah, she did. But it’s my money, and I wanted you to have something–like you said, special.” More special than you could possibly know. “I’m glad you called–I mean, I’m always glad, but we’re visiting my aunt and uncle for a few days, we’ll be back Friday night, and Saturday–you know–it’s…”

  I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. But he’s right. And I can’t imagine a better way to ring in the new year than with him. “New Year’s Eve. It’s a date. Let me make the plans. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “That’s great–anything you want to do, it’s fine with me. Just–my parents are going to want me home right after midnight, so whatever we do…”

  I figured that. Home by twelve-thirty or one o’clock, no doubt. “No problem. I’ll work it all out. You go open your presents, have a great Christmas–you deserve it. You already made mine the best one ever.”

  “I love you, Sara Barnes,” is all he says to that, and it’s all I need to hear.

  “I love you too, Brian Alderson,” and it’s all I need to say.

  ***

  I’m sitting in the living room looking over the carnage. There’s wrapping paper and ribbons and bows all over the floor. Lumpy is on the couch next to me, happily chewing on a brand new plastic bone. Everything is right with the world.

  Everyone was very satisfied w
ith their gifts. Bob got the single biggest item, a new computer which he’ll be taking to school with him next fall–and which I may try to pull rank and steal from him once he’s there, since it’s better than mine. Mom got a gift certificate for a day of pampering at the ritzy day spa at the Galleria. She was pretty thrilled with that. The best thing Dad got was a new golf bag, which Bob and I picked out and we split the cost on (with a little help from Mom).

  As for me, I didn’t get any one really big thing but I had a very nice haul of presents. There were books, as usual. There was a portable CD player, which was the real treat, and to go with it, a $50 gift certificate to Sam Goody. I guess Dad didn’t trust himself to guess my musical tastes of the moment, which was probably the right decision.

  I thought the gifts were done, but as we’re all just sitting quietly, digesting our dinner and watching the fire dancing in the fireplace, Dad delves into the drawer of the side table. He pulls out an envelope, hands it to me. There’s–wow–I have to count it three times to make sure I’m not seeing things$500 in it! What was I saying about not having a really big gift?

  There’s a note as well. A slip of paper, anyway. It’s got an address, and a date and time on it–December 31st, eight o’clock in the evening. “I don’t suppose you recognize the address?” Dad asks me.

  No, I don’t.

  “You’ve been there before. I guess you didn’t remember the address, you had a lot going on that night.”

  What night? From the house number, the address looks like it’s pretty far out. Where would I have gone that I ought to remember? Then it hits me. “You’re kidding, right? You don’t mean the Blue Duck Inn?”

  The Blue Duck Inn is a very fancy, very expensive restaurant about a half-hour drive from us. They have a full seven course meal; you’re there for probably three hours eating all of it. It’s–“extravagant” is probably the best word to describe it. Mom and Dad took me there for my high school graduation. I still think about that meal sometimes.

  “Your reservation is at eight o’clock, for two.” I’m speechless. But they’re not done. Mom pulls a box out from under the side table that I somehow failed to see earlier.

  “One last gift for you,” she says. I open it up and–my God.

  It’s a dress. But not just any dress–it’s absolutely gorgeous. I can’t believe my mother picked this out for me. It’s silvery-gray, shimmery, and I can tell at first glance that it’ll fit me perfectly. As I stand and hold it up I can see it’ll look–well, I’m too modest to say how I think it’ll look on me.

  “I guess this means you really do approve of Brian,” I say, my voice cracking.

  “Yes,” Dad says. “But it’s more that we approve of you.” I can’t think of the right words to properly express my feelings. I’m not sure there are any. I hug them both, and I don’t let go for a very long time. Maybe I don’t need words after all.

  Eleven: Some Kind of Wonderful

  (December 26, 1989–January 10, 1990)

  The morning after Christmas I wake up refreshed. I didn’t have the nightmare; I didn’t have any dreams at all as far as I can remember. Just peaceful sleep. But there is something nagging at me, and when I go down to breakfast I have to ask.

  “I love it–don’t get me wrong. But that’s a big deal, the Blue Duck Inn.” $500 is a ridiculous amount of money to give me to spend on a date. And also, in the back of my mind, I wonder how jealous Bob is about it. Not that I’d ever tell him that.

  “To tell you the truth, honey,” Dad says, “The reservation was for four originally. I made it months ago. But after our little talk on Friday, well, I discussed it with your mother and we agreed…”

  Mom picks up where he left off. “We wanted to take you back there for your twenty-first birthday, but you were away at school. And I don’t know what got me thinking about it, but you never got to go to your prom, remember?” Do I remember? I give her a disbelieving look as I rub my belly. Dad grimaces just a bit–he remembers as well as I do–but then he presses on.

  “So we thought you ought to have the chance to dress up, have a classy night out with your boyfriend,” he says. I’m pretty lucky, aren’t I? How many other parents would do that?

  “Thank you,” is all I can think to say, and it seems very inadequate but it’s the best I can do. “What are you guys going to do?”

  “The McGuires are having a party,” Mom says, “and they’ve invited us,” That sounds pretty good. Mom is friends with Mrs. McGuire so she’ll be happy. They’ve got a big-screen TV in their basement rec room where Dad and Mr. McGuire can watch whatever game is on and yell back at it, so he’s set. And they’ve got three teenage daughters still living at home, so Bob should have someone to talk to. It seems like everyone will be having a good time New Year’s Eve.

  ***

  The rest of the week seems to pass by incredibly quickly. I don’t really do much. I sleep late every day. I spend hours by the fireplace reading. On Thursday at the supermarket I run into a high school friend, Belinda Montgomery. We spend an hour catching up, which is very pleasant. It’s the most restful, relaxing week I’ve had in a long while.

  The very best thing of all is, I don’t dream.

  And now it’s Saturday night. Mom took me out to get my hair done and for a manicure. I feel a little ridiculous being fussed over all day, but I have to admit that the end result is worth it. At six-thirty I’m finally dressed and all made up. Obviously I’m wearing the emerald necklace; I haven’t taken it off except in the shower since Brian gave it to me. I’ve put on the diamond earrings that Mom forced me to borrow from her, there’s nothing else left to do.

  I take one final look in the mirror. I don’t recognize the person looking back at me. “Who are you?” I ask her, but she doesn’t answer. She looks like the older, prettier, more sophisticated sister that I don’t have. I turn my back on her and go downstairs. I wonder if I’ll see her again.

  Mom and Dad are waiting for me, and they’re both speechless. Mom looks like she’s about to cry. I see that they’ve got the camera out; I should have expected that. Bob comes down the stairs, and he looks at me. He seems confused. “Who’s she?” he asks Mom and Dad. Then he looks back at me again, really stares. “Holy crap.”

  “Thank you, Bob,” I answer. I take it as a compliment, even if it really wasn’t. After that, nobody says anything for a couple of minutes, until the sound of a car rumbling up the driveway breaks the silence. Headlights shine in the window. Then the car goes quiet and the lights go out, and a moment later the doorbell rings. Dad opens the door, and Brian’s there, flowers in hand.

  Roses, of course. Red, of course.

  He sets eyes on me and his jaw drops. He keeps opening his mouth to try and say something, but nothing comes out. It’s all I can do to keep from running over to him. This moment is what I’ve been thinking about all week long.

  I’m not sure how long we all stand there with nobody speaking or moving. Finally, Mom breaks the spell. “Brian, come over here, I want to get a picture of you two looking so nice.”

  Brian comes over to me, and I put my arm around him as Mom fiddles with the camera. I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him properly dressed up. He’s very handsome in his dark blue suit and his yellow tie. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the only tie he owns.

  Mom ends up taking what seems like a whole roll of pictures before Dad mercifully steps in front of the camera. “Betty, they probably want to go already.”

  I hug Dad, kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad. For everything.”

  Brian shakes Dad’s hand. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Barnes. Sara told me…”

  Dad scoffs. “It’s our pleasure. “You just go out and have a wonderful time tonight,” he says.

  “We will, Dad,” I assure him. “And don’t worry, I’ll be home by one at the latest.” That isn’t my choice; Brian has
to be home by one-thirty. If it was up to me–well, I don’t know when or even if we’d get back tonight.

  “We probably won’t be,” Mom says with a laugh. “Not if tonight is anything like Juliet McGuire’s parties usually are.” I wonder if Mom would be telling me that if I hadn’t told her that Brian absolutely had to be home by one-thirty? On second thought, I’m not sure I want to know!

  ***

  Brian walks me out to the car–a dark blue or possibly black Volvo–it’s hard to tell in the dim moonlight. He opens the passenger door for me, and as soon as he’s in the driver’s seat and his door is closed, I lean over and kiss him.

  It doesn’t go on nearly long enough; I very reluctantly pull back, and we drive off. He’s still unable to find words to tell me how he thinks I look tonight. In the end the best he can do is “I thought you looked beautiful the night we met. But right now, you…” before he trails off.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I tell him, and then we chat about what we’ve been up to the last few days. It’s not until we’re nearly to the Inn that I broach an unpleasant subject. “Your Mom still doesn’t like me, does she?”

  He sighs. “It’s not you. She wouldn’t like anybody, I don’t think. I mean, you could be…” He lapses into thought. I can almost hear the wheels spin as he tries to think of someone his mother would consider an acceptable girlfriend. “You could be,” he finally says, after much consideration, “I don’t know, Princess Diana, and your Dad could own ten castles, she’d still find something wrong with you.”

  I burst out into giggles. Princess Diana? How on Earth did he come up with that? I can’t stop laughing. “My Mom has a videotape of her wedding,” he says defensively.