Dreamwalkers: The Awakening

CHAPTER 2

OCTOBER

Sometimes, things just aren't what they seem. People lie. You believe them. Your heart gets broken. Maybe they do it to feel like they're in control of things. Maybe they just get off on manipulating the weak and trusting. In the most dramatic of fashions, my bedroom door flies open and Zoë, my best friend of twelve years, stumbles in with a stack of university catalogs teetering on her forearms. "I need help," she declares as she drops them onto my bed, sending them sliding in every direction, putting a stop to my daily journaling.

Pushing my laptop aside, I reach for the closest one, baffled by her collection. "How did you get all these in print? I thought everything was online only."

She twists a chunk of her thick black curls into a bun as she situates herself on the corner of my bed. "Some schools still have printed versions they mail out by request if you ask nice enough." Lifting a handful of catalogs to her face, she inhales their scent. "I love the smell of unopened books."

One of the catalogs catches my eye. "Yale?" I say with a chuckle and an eye roll.

"I have a 4.2," she retorts while ignoring my glare.

An ungraceful snort escapes me. "I didn't realize you had Ivy League dreams." She kicks off her shoes and makes herself comfortable, ignoring my taunt. Tossing the Yale catalog aside, I reach for the University of Vermont and open to a page with a list of available majors. Business, medicine, engineering, arts. So many options to choose from and no life experience to base a decision on. "How can we be expected to know what we want to do every day for the rest of our lives when we're seventeen?" Zoë grumbles, lost in a list of her own.

"I wonder that all the time."

"It's such an antiquated concept. Deciding on the next fifty years of your life when you aren't even old enough to vote or buy alcohol."              

"You're one to talk about antiquated concepts. Sitting here surrounded by a form of communication rendered obsolete by the internet."

Ignoring me again, she flips the page. "I could be a teacher and have summers off."

"There are children in schools. You'd have to interact with them daily." Disaster waiting to happen. "You'd make a good lawyer. You're great at arguing," I tease.

"Euch," she grumbles. "I'd have to spend the next seven years drowning in historical memorization and abstract law quirks while everyone else is out partying."

Pressing my lips together, I try my best to hold in a hysterical outburst. "I'm serious, Em. I need help. I have to figure out who I am so I can pick the right school. Application deadlines are just a few months away."

"Okay, okay. No more jokes." But I'm caught off guard as the reality of it all sinks in. Our lives are about to dramatically change once high school ends. If we go to the same school, Zoë and I will get to experience our independence together. If not, every inch of our lives will be turned upside down. "I can't believe that for the first time since we were five, we might have to live apart."

"I can't believe my mom thinks there's a strong possibility I might move a thousand miles away to go to school."

I can't either. Zoë's mother, Nora, has long-hoped for her to follow in her higher education footsteps and attend Spelman University in Georgia, nine whole states away from New Hampshire. "I thought you've always wanted to go to Spelman?" I ask apprehensively.

Zoë shrugs. "In theory. But now that it's time to actually fill out the application, I'd rather stay in New England. Or close to it."

With a sideways glare, I tease her. "You just wanna stay because Mahlia is going to Northeastern." Mahlia is Zoë's latest love interest, one in the long line of many, both male and female, that my friend has fallen in desperate puppy love with over the years.