The Girl Who Could Not Dream by Sarah Beth Durst Read Free Book Online Page A

the string. The dreamcatcher spun. Crystals caught the light. “You know, it’s not really my kind of thing.”
    â€œIt will help with the nightmares.”
    He froze, and she knew in that instant that she’d guessed right. In a soft voice, he said, “How do you know . . .” He clutched the dreamcatcher to his chest as if it were a secret he wanted to hold tight.
    Choosing the easiest explanation, Sophie nodded at the counselor’s closed door. “Just a guess. Besides, everyone’s supposed to have nightmares in middle school. I’m told it’s part of the experience.” She turned away. “Hang it by your bed and try not to touch the strings too much.” She headed back down the hall.
    She heard him follow her. “So you really believe this works?”
    â€œWould it hurt to try?” Sophie countered. She’d heard her parents use that argument in the bookstore. It usually worked.
    â€œGuess not,” Ethan said.
    She kept walking.
    â€œHey, why me?”
    â€œSorry?”
    â€œLots of people have . . . you know. Sleep problems.” He held up the dreamcatcher. It spun and twinkled. “Why give this to me? You don’t even know me.”
    She didn’t have an answer for that. Maybe because she was curious what his dreams were like? Maybe because he tried so hard to pretend he had no problems? Or maybe it was because some mornings he looked so haunted that she thought someone had to do something. She went with the last option: “Because you need help. And I can help you.”
    He shifted from foot to foot. “Look, Sophie . . . you won’t, you know . . .”
    â€œTell anyone?” she finished for him. “I never do.”
    He nodded once and then trotted toward the counselor’s door. She watched him until he reached it, and then she turned and headed back to her locker. That had been easier than she’d hoped. His nightmares must be really bad. Or else he was just being nice. She wondered what the somnium would show of his dreams.
    As she walked through the hall, she felt like smiling. She’d done good here, on her birthday. Ethan would never know, but his nightmare would be sold to someone who needed it. His bad dream could be the perfect distraction for someone who wanted to escape his or her own life for a little while. Or it could give someone a safe way to face their own fears. Or serve as inspiration for an artist. That’s what Mom and Dad did in their dream shop: turn something unwanted into something wonderful. It was the best kind of recycling.
    She reached her locker. The hall was clear of kids now. Everyone had scrambled for the buses. If she hurried, she could still catch hers. She unlocked her locker and opened it to retrieve the used dreamcatchers . . .
    Both of them were gone.
    She shot looks up and down the hallway.
    She emptied out her backpack.
    A red envelope fluttered out. It was unlabeled. She opened it and pulled out a card. On the front, a fluffy black cat held a bouquet of balloons. She opened the card. In neat black handwriting were the words:
    Happy birthday, Betty.
    It was signed,
from Mr. Nightmare.

 
    H ER FIRST THOUGHT WAS, I’ M NOT B ETTY.
    Her second thought was,
I
am
Betty.
Or at least she was to this morning’s buyer. He’d said, “Unusual cat, Betty,” when he’d seen Monster. And now this card . . .
    It had to be a joke. A bad, creepy joke. She felt prickles walk up and down her spine, and her hands, holding the birthday card, began to shake. Somehow, he’d put this card in her locker. He could still be here, watching her read his note, waiting for her to laugh. Or scream.
    Sophie scooped everything into her backpack, slammed her locker shut, and ran as fast as she could through the hall, out the front door, and toward the school buses.
    She threw herself onto her bus. She was the last one on. Panting, she