Sleepless by Cyn Balog

“You can ring my be-e-ell” made my skin crawl. Since then, I’ve had my phone in my backpack, which hasn’t left my side, so …
    “What do you think?” he asks.
    “Um, I guess,” I mutter. It certainly sounds better than a dead boyfriend haunting us. Though that explanation is sounding more and more reasonable by the minute.
    After all, that song. That’s the kind of music only Griffin liked. And he was the one constantly programming my phone with new ring tones. I think back to my dream, in which he was standing outside, in his tuxedo, fists balled. His lips were closed in a snarl, but the rage on his face spoke very clearly.
    Don’t forget me , he seemed to say. You belong to me .

CHAPTER 14
Eron
    T he next day, I spend my morning on the curb outside Julia’s house, rather than in her tree. I can’t risk turning human there and being caught “peeping” by the neighbors again; this time I am sure they would call the police, and with good reason. Out of the shade, the sun is blinding and hot. I wonder if people who don’t actually exist can get sunburned.
    Late in the morning, at about the same time I became human yesterday, a little girl races by on her scooter and waves at me. That’s it. Showtime.
    I proceed out of Julia’s neighborhood. Turning to the right, I head away from the bus stop, toward the center of town. I hope that is where I will find the school.
    Where I will find Julia.
    I wonder how much time I will have today before I start to fade. If Chimere could see, she would not be pleased, as I’m supposed to use the minimal time I have bouncing between worlds to situate myself in my new life. Not doing this. Not clinging to charges who will no longer be my concern once I make the transition. But despite my being so far fromsituated in this world that I might as well be residing on the moon, I can’t stop thinking about what Mr. Colburn said. He’ll hurt her .
    Today I see more of the town Julia calls home, and though the buildings are further apart, it’s just as busy as the city of Newark was when I was growing up. I come to a wide, wide street, as vast as the Hudson River I remember. Across it, I see an enormous sprawling brick building. Julia’s school, I presume, since she has dreamt of it once or twice. Though it is only across the street, it might as well be in another land. Standing here, I feel as small and defenseless as an insect. Motorcars are zooming by at breakneck speeds. I step from the curb several times but always scurry back to safety. A horn blares.
    This is madness.
    Finally, the vehicles slow to a stop. A girl in an obscene outfit that shows her middle section takes a quick look right and left and steps out into the street as if she is not taking her life in her hands. I watch to make sure she isn’t killed, then scamper at her heels, her faithful shadow. Heaving a sigh, I step onto the opposite curb. Safe.
    Mr. Colburn mentioned something about how Julia used to lunch on the green with him, outside. He said that they always sat at the last picnic table on the right with an enormous plate of french-fried potatoes and a Coca-Cola. It was “their” place. Now, he said, she would probably be eating alone, reading. I walk along the chain-link fence until I come to the edge of the building. On the other side of the fence, not ten feet from me, is the table he was referring to. But there are four girls sitting there.
    It takes me a moment to realize that one of them is Julia; her hair looks more mussed than usual, though it is down in its normal style, forward over her cheeks and forehead. Her eyes are heavier, her skin paler than I usually see in the darkness, in the confines of her bedroom.
    She seems anxious. Last night, we had quite the struggle getting her to sleep. My student trembled and cursed under his breath once or twice, but he kept at it, silently, steadily. There was something on her mind, but her sleep was dreamless, so it gave us no indication of what the