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1
Sleep to Dream
Christina
“She’s not dead. She’s just asleep.”
Laughter broke over me as I raised my head. My book lay open, a pillow I’d faceplanted into. Sitting in back meant every face in my Victorian Literature class was turned toward me. Smirking.
I didn’t belong here. I was a business major. I was the girl who’d fallen asleep while people discussed the tragic deaths of the Bronte siblings, the girl who was currently checking page 178 for drool.
It was January, the second week of spring semester. Not too late to drop the class.
But I had my reasons.
“Nope!” I said brightly. “Not dead. Not asleep now, either. Sorry,” I added to Professor Lowe.
He shook his head, amusement crinkling his eyes. “All right, Christina. Back to Patrick Bronte. Marcus, you had a remark to make…”
Patrick.The name flipped my stomach.
I hadn’t seen Patrick in months.
If I was smart, I wouldn’t try.
I still had the note he’d written me. Stupid.
As the discussion continued and I paged though my book, all I saw were letters on paper.Pale blue eyes watched me fumble, amused. The seminar room was overheated on this wintry Friday afternoon, but I shivered.
After class, I knotted my scarf around my neck and approached Professor Lowe.
“Sorry again about earlier,” I said breathlessly. “Seriously, I never fall asleep in class. I appreciate you making an exception to let me into this seminar. It won’t happen again.”
“Don’t feel too bad about it, Christina,” he chuckled. “The discussion was getting pretty heavy. I’d say your little snooze lightened it up.”
“Okay. Great. Happy to help with that.”
I turned to leave and caught Marcus Jackson’s eye. My skin prickled as he fell into step beside me. His long legs matched my stride.
“How’s it shaking, Christina?” he asked heartily as we descended the stairs. “How’s cheerleading?”
“I quit. ”
“You? No,” he gasped. “You’re to the cheerleading tradition born.”
“Have you ever been to a game?”
“Don’t need to. You infected our dorm with school spirit. I got a dose for all four years.”
I exited the building and zipped up my parka against the cold, but he caught up to me. The January air was clear and sharp. Sunlight sparkled on the powder that had fallen the night before.
I forced a smile. “Can I help you with something?”
Marcus motioned with his head toward a secluded area between two buildings. I sighed and followed him, my boots crunching on the snow.
“You owe me,” he said in a low voice.
“I know!” I brightened up my smile and put a hand on his arm for extra reassurance. “I said I’ll pay you.”
