Aven's Dream Read Free Page A

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    The bus ride took forever, and as soon as I got home, Darcy followed me into the kitchen for a scoop of kibble and some canned food while I got water and an apple. When we both finished, he followed me upstairs to my room where I threw my backpack on the bed and turned on my ancient laptop to see if I could get on the Internet. While I waited for the computer to turn on, I pulled out my copy of Ernest Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls for Ms. Gilbert’s AP English. Every few seconds, I looked up to see if the screen would come to life. But after an eternity of whirring and clicking, the computer froze like it usually did, forcing me to give up on Internet access and wait for my dad to come home so I could use his tablet. I moved on to my Trig homework. It only took a half hour before I gave up in despair. Math was easily my least favorite subject, simply because I was so bad at it.
    Going over to the dresser, I rummaged around for sweats and a long-sleeved shirt. Prior to our move, most of my running clothes had consisted of shorts and T-shirts—not exactly appropriate running gear for the Oregon winter I had been bracing for. Darcy’s ears perked when I asked him if he wanted to go for a run, and his tail drummed the hardwood floor while he waited for me to change. Finally I texted my dad in the unlikely event he would get home before I finished my run.
    Pulling on my shoes, I felt my heart begin to pound in anticipation. I loved the freedom of running. It was the perfect sport for me—solitary. I relied on no one but myself, and if I wasn’t fast enough, then that was my problem. When we got outside to the front porch, I debated briefly before deciding to take the path toward the woods behind our house. I didn’t want to put Darcy on a leash or wait at stoplights in town. Plus, the farther from school I stayed, the less likely I was to see Allison Monroe and her fan club leaving cheerleading practice.
    I looked past the houses lining our street into the thick cover of trees surrounding Winters. Over the summer, Sean had taken great pleasure in telling me creepy stories about the woods, ancient gossip about people disappearing, never to be seen again. I didn’t believe the stories, but I had still run a quick online search, relieved when I had confirmed that the rumors were just that—urban legends.
    Looking up at the already darkening sky, I shook my head. I still couldn’t process how quickly night fell now that summer had passed. In Southern California, night had always come gradually, the fiery sun slowly dipping into the sharp line of the horizon, leaving behind a fury of oranges and pinks. The sun in our new state, pale and virtually imperceptible behind the gray skies, would disappear hours before I expected, as though someone had suddenly remembered to lower the lights on a stage after a performance.
    Darcy, no doubt relieved to escape the boredom of the house, happily panted beside me as I began jogging. The rain had settled into a light mist, making everything around us appear softer as the streetlamps glowed in anticipation of total darkness. Looking through the windows of the houses on our street and seeing families going about their evening routines, I turned away quickly. Instead, I concentrated on my footfalls, trying to find an easy rhythm as I gulped air.
    The wind that whipped by us was fresh and had an unfamiliar but pleasant scent, a mixture of water and sodden earth. It smelled green , if the color could have a smell. The constant rain took some getting used to, and some nights I dreamed of sunshine. But I was already in love with Oregon. It was like there was more air here than in Southern California.
    Some crows took flight from the trees bordering the empty lot at the corner, their voices sounding lonely in the oncoming dusk. I looked over at Darcy, who tilted his head to listen to their conversation.
    “There’s nothing out there,” I said, lowering my hand to scratch his