The Girl Who Could Not Dream by Sarah Beth Durst Page A

listened, expecting to hear her parents’ footsteps upstairs or the flush of the toilet or the beep of the microwave—something to explain why they weren’t in the shop. Her parents hadn’t even left any music on. Usually they piped in piano or harp music, but the only noise was the whoosh of cars passing on the street outside.
    Eventually, Ethan spoke again. Another question. “Is there bacon on that cupcake?”
    Not the question she’d expected. “It’s our neighbor’s new experiment. Don’t judge.”
    â€œI wasn’t judging; I was drooling.”
    â€œYou’re really thinking about food right now?”
    He lifted the glass dome to peer at the bacon cupcakes. “You know what I do after a nightmare? Eat a sleeve of Oreos. That’s one reason my parents agreed to let me go out for sports.”
    She hadn’t thought about
his
parents. “Will they panic if you don’t get off your own bus? You should call them. Let them know where you are.”
    Ethan shrugged. “They’re working. They won’t notice.”
    â€œReally?” If Sophie failed to come straight home after school, her parents would freak . . . which was part of why it was so weird that they weren’t coming out to greet her, especially since they had to know she’d been worried about Mr. Nightmare.
    â€œI usually have practice or a game after school. Or I go to a friend’s house. Then I grab whatever’s in the fridge and do homework. I don’t see them much, weekdays.” He peered down the aisles, checking the place out.
    â€œYou don’t eat dinner together?”
    â€œDad labels meals in the fridge—Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, you know. Then I just heat it up in the microwave or toaster oven or whatever. Hey, it’s not a big deal. It’s not like I starve. Dad’s a good cook. You don’t have to look like I said my cat died.”
    She didn’t know what expression was on her face, but she felt herself blush. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
    â€œIt’s fine.” He cut her off. “So, where are your parents?”
    Monster poked his head over the bookshelf. “Maybe upstairs?”
    They should have come down by now. Maybe they were having a snack, or were reading some really good books and lost track of time. It could happen. Or they could be watching TV and it drowned out the sound of the bell over the shop door, except that they never watched TV, not when there were dreams to view.
    â€œCome on, there are extra cupcakes in the kitchen. You can leave your backpack here.” Sophie checked the bathroom on the way to the stairs. Empty. She tried the basement door. Locked and not from the inside. She headed up the stairs.
    Bounding up the steps, Monster scooted between her feet. At the top, he halted.
    Sophie was close behind him. Bumping into him, she stopped too and gasped.
    All the books—the towers of books that had been laid out like a labyrinth, the stacks that had crowded the top of the coffee table, the books that blocked the TV and filled the dining room table—had fallen like dominoes. Books were scattered everywhere. Some were spine-down, the pages flopped to the side. Others were crushed against the walls or on the couch. If books could bleed, the room would be red.
    Seeing the mess, Sophie felt as if something were squeezing her heart.
Something’s wrong,
she thought.
Something’s very, very wrong.
    She felt Ethan stop behind her, one step down. “Um, is it supposed to look like this?”
    â€œWhat happened?” Sophie asked Monster.
    â€œStay here, and be quiet,” Monster instructed. Leaping off the stairs, he hopped over the fallen books, checked each room, and then ran upstairs to the bedrooms on the third floor. Sophie’s heart thumped hard in her chest.
Don’t panic,
she ordered herself. Everything could still be fine. Just