The Girl Who Could Not Dream Read Free Page B

Sophie. If you aren’t asleep, the birthday fairy won’t come and leave you presents!”
    â€œI don’t believe in the birthday fairy,” Sophie called back.
    â€œOh no, you’ve hurt her feelings!” Dad said. “She’s crying. Sobbing! I hate dealing with morose fairies. You apologize right now, young lady.”
    â€œSorry, Birthday Fairy,” Sophie called.
    â€œI forgive you,” Mom said in a pseudo-quivery voice. “But my magic has been so diminished by your lack of belief that I don’t know if I can fly anymore.”
    Monster looked quizzically at the door between bedrooms. “Your mother can fly? I have never seen her do so.”
    â€œI’m not her mother,” Mom said in the same fake voice. “I’m the birthday fairy. My blood is streamers, my heart is a balloon, my flesh is made of cake . . .”
    â€œYum, yum, yum,” Dad said.
    Sophie heard her mother laugh and then a muffled squeak.
    â€œYou know, your parents are very strange,” Monster observed.
    â€œSo says the six-tentacled monster,” Sophie said.
    â€œGood night, Sophie,” Mom called in her own voice. “Happy almost-birthday!”
    Dad echoed her. “Happy almost-birthday, sweetheart!”
    With a smile on her face, Sophie closed her eyes. She listened to her parents’ voices, too soft for her to hear words, continue in the other bedroom. Outside, the wind tapped on the window, and Sophie fell asleep.
    She woke dreamless, twelve years old.

 
    T HE SUN WASN’T AWAKE YET, THOUGH S OPHIE WAS. Sitting up, she poked Monster with her foot. Per usual, he’d crawled up onto her bed during the night. He claimed he did it in his sleep. He was now a warm weight at the foot of the bed. “Hey! Wake up!”
    Groaning, Monster flopped his tentacles over his head.
    â€œIt’s morning!”
    â€œNot morning.”
    â€œAlmost morning, sort of.” Lifting the shade a few inches, Sophie peeked outside. The streetlights were still on, but the sky had that expectant, about-to-brighten look. The stars were pale, and the moon was fading. She let the shade flop down again so no one could see inside, and she flipped on the light.
    â€œGah!” Monster cried. “I’m blinded!” He waved all his tentacles in the air.
    She threw a pillow at him. “Stop it. Mom and Dad said we could sort the new dreams before school if we woke extra early, remember? Special birthday treat.” Having a dream shop meant keeping odd hours. You couldn’t risk ordinary book customers finding out about it, so most of the work had to happen before dawn or late at night. Sophie was used to waking up hours before the bus came. Monster always whined, though.
    He opened one eye. “Do you think there will be more wolf dreams? I like those.”
    Wolf dreams usually featured exciting chase scenes through dark woods. Sophie liked them too, except when they ended with munching on a rabbit. She’d always had a soft spot for rabbits. “Maybe there will be mermaid dreams.”
    Sitting up, Monster licked his fur clean like a cat. He had a golden tongue. “I do not understand why anyone would want to be half fish. Eat fish, yes. Be a fish . . . no.”
    â€œYou could swim with dolphins.”
    â€œIf you want to swim with dolphins, then be a dolphin. At least then you’ll still be a mammal instead of half mammal and half mackerel.”
    â€œBut mermaids sing catchy songs about seaweed.”
    â€œTechnically, the crab sings; the mermaid is an unwilling audience.” Snagging Sophie’s hairbrush with a tentacle, Monster pretended it was a microphone and whisper-sang “Under the Sea.” Sophie drummed in the air, silently so her parents wouldn’t hear. In the middle of a lyric about a fish on a plate, Monster’s stomach growled, and he broke off singing. “Speaking of special birthday treats