Asleep

55 What is It Like to Swim?

Charlie~~

Rose in hand, I stand on Nora's porch as the sun sets.

The flower is to make Dad happy.

Nora opens the door, a mischievous smile on her face as she sees the rose. "You shouldn't have."

"Believe me. I definitely should."

Accepting the flower, she opens the door wider and steps outside.

She looks stunning. Curls fall over her bare shoulders and down her back. The sleeves start below her shoulders and come past her wrists, and the lighter blue of the shirt brings out the color in her eyes.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Nope, but at least you look ready."

She raises an eyebrow.

"I haven't gotten an answer from my dad about his contingencies so for now don't exhibit any Class One powers."

"Got it." Taking a deep breath, she holds out her hand. "Ready?"

I place my hand in hers and rift us to my driveway.

"I thought it would only be right for you to see the outside first."

She stares up at my house. "I'd call it impressive, but this is a dream."

I nudge her before realizing my hand is still in hers. I let go, but she doesn't seem to notice, her eyes taking in the two-story mansion paneled in wood to give it an older feel as if it's been here for more than the almost ninety years Somnia's existed.

I open the front door, and she steps inside, standing underneath the crystal chandelier Dad chose. He won't be joining us for a half an hour. I wanted time to give Nora a tour first. I also hope this will give her a chance to relax some before he arrives.

I hear the cook I hired for tonight bustling around in the kitchen.

I take Nora through the lounge and then out to the pool where the setting sun bathes the water in its final light.

Nora places her fingers on her lips, her eyes focused on the pool.

"What is it?"

"I've forgotten what it's like to swim."

"It's a bit like being weightless—flying but knowing you can fall."

Her eyes widen, and she grasps my arm with both her hands. "Can we fly? Since this is a dream, I mean shouldn't we—"

I laugh. "I'm sorry to disappoint you but no."

"Oh." She drops her hands from my arm.

"No one's invited you to any pool parties?"

"You're the only friend I have who owns one."

"We're friends?"

Crouching down and grinning, she dips her fingers in the pool, letting them glide through the water. "This whole disaster with your dad doesn't mean you're my boyfriend if that's what you thought."

"No . . . I mean, I didn't even think we were friends."

She shakes her hand, getting the water droplets off. "Before everything happened that day, back when we worked together, I thought of you as something like a friend even if you were my boss."

"My dad was really the one in charge. I didn't even want to hire you."

We walk toward the double doors—called French in the outside world.

"That day we met at Radia's?"

I pull open the door on the right. "My dad arranged the whole thing—Tye and I were oblivious."

She snorts. "So the welcoming committee . . .?"

"Doesn't exist." We walk up the staircase. "I had to come up with something when I saw you and realized the note I was sent to deliver to Radia was only a ploy."

"And so began your trailing of me."

"Don't you mean stalking?"

"Isn't it only stalking if you're obsessed with me?"

I push open my door as she asks with a lilt in her voice, "Are you obsessed with me Char—You have a bed." The rose falls out of her hand and hits the floor, a petal breaking off.

She ignores the dozens of framed photographs of landmarks and cites and nature from around the world, the top hat perched like a trophy on my dresser, and even the bookshelf filled with the banned books of Somnia that Dad only allows employees to read—the original unchanged copies of the books that are edited for dreamers and books on religion, philosophy, and science. Books that were impossible to censor and still retain the story, its meaning.

She places her hand on the gray comforter, her eyes on the long rectangular pillows at the front of the bed. The only pillows dreamers ever see are throw pillows for their couches.

"Why do you have a bed?"

I sit down on the edge of the mattress, next to her hand. "Even here I get tired because I'm a Class One and end up needing to sleep. It will happen to you at some point. And please know, you can use mine whenever you do get tired enough to sleep."

There's a distant look in her eyes, but her cheeks redden. "Already asking me to share your bed, are you? That's rather bold, don't you think?"

I roll my eyes in a weak attempt to hide my own blush. "I wasn't suggesting—not at the same—"

She smiles. "I know." She holds my stare as if she's attempting to see through me. She tilts her head. "Did we know each other before? You were familiar that day we met at Radia's, but that's my first memory of you, isn't it?"

"We didn't know each other. The first time you saw me was when you passed me when you were leaving the classroom before you fell asleep."

She sits down beside me, her face lit up in understanding. "You were the guy who walked into that classroom without being forced. I couldn't figure out who would do that."

"My dad called me there to talk about you."

"That's really weird to hear." Her phone causes her purse to vibrate. She makes no move to check it.

"You're a big deal to him."

"But why before I was even asleep?"

I hesitate. Is it right to tell her about her father being the master dreamer and that the man she thinks is her birth father isn't? I can't imagine the heartache that would come from knowing she can't help her father, let alone meet him, or the betrayal she'd feel from her stepfather.

"Charlie?" Dad's voice calls from downstairs.

I sigh. "We should . . ."

"Right." She leaves her purse on my bed and picks up the rose from the floor. "Let's get this over with."

Who is ready to have dinner with Dr. Pace?