Dream Boy

Chapter Three

"Sarah?" He called out my name. "Sarah?" Again and again. I called back, yelling out his name, trying to find him. The thick fog was keeping me from his beautiful eyes.

I stretched out my hands, trying to feel my way through the dense clouds. My fingers scraped against tree bark, drawing blood. I tripped over mangled tree roots, falling to my knees. I curled up, making myself as small as possible, and I waited for him to find me. The rain beat down on my back, blending with my tears.

"Sarah?" The moment finally came, and I felt his gentle touch on my back. "Sarah!" He collapsed next to me and wrapped his arms around me. "No matter how thick the fog is, no matter how hard it rains, I will always find you."

My alarm clock blares and I swat at it until the aggravating sound ceases. I'm already awake, reading another entry from my dream journal. It's my only source of dreams...my mind still isn't producing mental movies. Some nights, I simply close my eyes and wake up in the morning, not recalling ever falling asleep. Other nights, however, it feels as if I am watching an empty reel play; there is something there, yet there is nothing.

It's the last Monday before the winter holiday...my purple hair debut. I realize now that it was bad planning to dye my hair purple right before Christmas; purple clashes with red. Oh well.

I finally pull myself out of bed and head towards the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. I don't care what people say, or how many ways they try to convince me that morning showers are better; I'll always be a night showerer.

I stare into the mirror, glaring at my reflection, and suppress the urge to scream. My hair has dried at a weird angle, and I roll my eyes at myself. My hair had been so short for a while that I didn't need to do anything to it before bed. Now that it's gotten a little longer I can put it into a small french braid. Somehow, I always manage to forget to braid it before bed, and I wake up looking like a monster. I decide to braid my hair now (I have gym today anyway) and settle for showing it off tomorrow.

I walk out of the bathroom, freshened, makeuped, dressed, and ready for the day. I decide to wear leggings, a tee-shirt, a windbreaker-type-jacket, and black sneakers. Sporty, yet cute. Little pieces of hair have fallen out and frame my face, and I feel pretty for once in my life. (While wearing gym clothes. Ironic, right?)

"Good mornin' sunshine!" My dad sings as I slide into my seat at the breakfast counter.
"Good mornin' man bearing food. Gimme gimme gimme!" It has become a family tradition to have a cooked, baked, or simply made with effort, breakfast on Mondays, and cereal the rest of the school week. This morning, my dad has made cinnamon buns and bowls of fruit salad.
"Now, Sarah, I know I raised you better--"
"Please, Dad! Pretty please with a cherry on top?" I grin up at him and hold out my plate. He shakes his head and then hands over the cinnamony goodness. "Mmmmm. My favorite. Merci beaucoup!"
"À votre service. I've got to run to work-- have a great day at school!" I give him a high five, and he runs out the door.
"YOUR SUITCASE DAD!" He comes running back, shoots me a wink, and then he runs out the door once more. I listen for the starting of his car, and I hear him back out of the garage and pull away. I smile and take a huge bite out of my cinnamon bun.

"It looks even better in person, Sarah!" Taylor and I are walking to first period together. Ah, senior year. You gotta love it.
"Aw, thanks Tay. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing." I reach up and twirl a piece of hair with my fingers, and then I let it fall back into its place.
"Well I'm glad you did it. It's so, you." She nods, as if confirming her statement to herself.
"I'm glad you think so. It seems like you know who I am more than I do." We laugh and continue our journey down the hall.

The week passes fairly quickly, and Friday finally comes around. All week our classes were holiday themed, and I was looking forward to doing nothing today. Most of my teachers said we're going to watch a movie today, and believe me, I'm good with that.

But besides that, and all the Christmas and New Year's spirit, it's just another ordinary Friday, like all the other Fridays I've survived through. I'm at my locker, putting my soaking wet coat away (who knew snow melts?) when I hear the warning bell ring. One minute to get to class Sarah, hurry up! I quickly shut my locker and turn to head towards class, when someone crashes into me, knocking me over.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" I glare up at the person sheepishly standing above me.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! Let me help you up. I'm new here, and I didn't want to be late to class. I guess this is why teachers say don't run it the halls--what?" He's rambling on and on, but is abruptly stopped by my wide eyes and gaping mouth.
"It's--it's you!"
"Um, I'm sorry, have we met?" My smile drops. He doesn't know who I am?
"Oh, uh, sorry. No, I thought--never mind. I'm Sarah. Sarah Lucas. You are.....?" I glance up at him, blushing. He's the perfect height.
"Evan. Evan Jacobs." He laughs, repeating how I stated my name. His laugh is perfect; it's exactly how I dreamt it would be, literally. "Nice to meet you Sarah. Well, I should be getting to class. Can you point me in the right direction?"
"Um, well, where are you headed? I mean, what class, you wouldn't know where, that's why you asked me--" It's my turn to ramble.
"English. I am going to English, with Ms. Gables."
"Oh, so am I. I can walk you, if you'd like. I mean, we can walk together." Shut up Sarah.
"Oh, awesome! Sure." He smiles at me, causing my blush to burn redder than humanly possible.

I slam my locker, slip my arms through the straps of my backpack, and lead Evan down the hall. I attempt small talk, hoping I'm not as annoying as I appear to myself. I'm just, you know, casually talking to my dream boy. IN FREAKIN REAL LIFE!

"Ms. Gables is really nice, and she really understands the deeper meanings of the literature we read, and it gets really intense. Real deep man." Why do you keep talking?
"Well, that's cool. Good thing I love books." He loves books? Could he get more perfect?

We finally arrive at the class, after what seemed like a billion dragging hours, and I sit down in my regular seat. Evan walks to the front of the class to talk with the teacher, and then he is directed to the desk next to mine. SCORE. I can't wait to tell Taylor about this.