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Janie nods, then blushes, remembering Miss Stubin can’t see her. “I will. Miss Stubin?”
“Yes, Janie?”
“About the green notebook . . . ”
“Ah, you’ve found it, then.”
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
“Does Captain know about it? About what’s in it?”
“No. Not the notebook.”
“Does she know anything about how dream catching works?”
“Some,” Miss Stubin says guardedly. “We talked a little over the years. She’s certainly someone you can talk to when you need to.”
“Does anyone else understand this besides you and me?”
Miss Stubin hesitates. “Not that I know of.”
Janie fidgets. “Should I read it? Do you want me to? Is it horrible?”
Miss Stubin is silent for a very long time. “I can’t answer those questions for you. In good conscience, I can neither encourage you to read it nor discourage you from reading it. You must decide without my words swaying you either way.”
Janie sighs and reaches for the old woman’s hand, stroking the cool, paper-thin skin. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
Miss Stubin pats her gnarled hand on top of Janie’s soft one. She smiles wistfully and slowly disappears into the misty evening.
7:54 a.m.
It’s Sunday morning. And it’s time. It’s been ten days since Janie found the green spiral notebook.
She slips back into bed with Cabel for a few minutes. He’s just dozing now, not dreaming, and she holds him tightly, taking in whatever she can from him before she goes.
“I love you, Cabe,” she whispers.
And goes.
Back to her room two streets away.
8:15 a.m.
With the notebook resting ominously on Janie’s bed, Janie procrastinates.
Does her homework first.
And pours herself a bowl of cereal. Breakfast—one of the five most important meals of the day. Not to be skipped.
10:01 a.m.
She can’t stall any longer.
Janie stares at the green notebook.
Opens it.
Reads the first page again.
Takes a deep breath.
10:02 a.m.
Takes another deep breath.
10:06 a.m.
Picks up her cell phone and hits memory #2.
“Komisky,” she hears.
Janie’s voice squeaks. She clears her throat. “Hi, Captain. I’m sorry to call on a—”
“It’s okay. What’s up?”
“Um, yeah. The dreams . . . Did Miss Stubin ever show you what was in the files?”
“I’ve read the police reports she’s made, yes.”
“What about her other notes on handling dreams and stuff?”
“I glanced at the first few loose pages in the file, but I felt like I was invading her privacy, so I put everything away as she requested.”
“Did you two ever . . . you know, talk about her ability?”
There is silence.
Plenty of it.
“What do you mean?”
Janie cringes silently. “I don’t know. Nothing.”
Captain hesitates. “All right.”
“Okay.”
There is a nervous sigh.
“Captain?”
“Janie, is everything okay?”
Janie pauses.
“Yeah.”
Captain is quiet.
Janie waits. And Captain doesn’t press it.
“Okay,” Janie says finally.
“Janie?”
“Yes, sir.” It’s a whisper.
“Are you worried about Durbin? Do you want out of this?”
“No, sir. Not at all.”
“If something else is bothering you, you may say it, you know.”
“I know. I’m . . . I’m fine. Thanks.”
“May I give you some advice, Janie?”
“Sure,” Janie says.
“It’s your senior year. You’re too serious. Try to have some fun. Go bowling or to a movie or something once in a while, okay?”
Janie grins shakily. “Yes, sir.”
“Call me anytime, Janie,” Captain says.
Janie’s throat is closed. “Bye,” she finally says.
Hangs up.
10:59 a.m.
Janie takes a deep breath.
Turns the page.
It’s blank.
11:01 a.m.
Turns the blank page.
Sees the familiar scrawl.
Smoothes out the page.
And then her stomach lurches, and she slams the notebook shut.
Puts it back in the box.
Into the closet.
11:59 a.m.
Janie calls Carrie. “Do you feel like going bowling?”
She imagines Carrie shaking her head and laughing, telling Stu, coming back to the phone. “You are such a dork, Hannagan. Hell yeah, why not. Let’s go bowling.”
NITTY-GRITTY
February 13, 2006
The names and schedules of Chem. 2 students are burned in Janie’s brain. But the problem is, most science nerds don’t sleep in school. And even if they did, the issue remains of how Janie can be in the same room with them when—if—it happens. It appears impossible.
And seeing how it’s winter, it’s futile to creep around outside their bedroom windows at night. She has high hopes for the chemistry fair. It’s all she has to bank on.
Cabel tries making a connection with each student on the list. He has more of them in his classes than Janie does. But they remain aloof, associating him with the popular Hill crowd, because of his past ties to Shay Wilder. He’s frustrated.
There are eighteen Chem. 2 students in all this year. There were thirteen Chem. 2 students last year. All thirteen graduated and went to college, Cabel discovers, some of them as far away as southern California. Doggedly, Cabel tracks them, in case their lives changed somehow in the nine months since graduation. He spends hours each evening on the computer, checking their blogs, their Facebook and Myspace pages, looking for any wild tales they may have thought they were keeping semiprivate.
And together, they have a whole lot of nothing.
The one and only lead Janie has at the moment is Stacey O’Grady from first semester of Chem. 2. She’s in Janie’s study hall. Stacey has horrible nightmares, if she sleeps at all. Which is rare.
But lots of people have horrible dreams, and it doesn’t mean anything, as far as Janie can tell. Even if the dream is about a rapist. Janie knows that a dream about being chased by a rapist could possibly be literal, but more likely it’s a hint of an underlying fear in some other part of your life. The fear that something’s catching up to you, or that you can’t run fast enough, or that you’ve lost your voice and can’t scream—all could simply indicate being overwhelmed with school or home pressures or feeling helpless to change things. Being a senior could do that to many people.
