I’m not dreaming.

My Aunt Tabitha, who died in a car crash three and a half years ago is standing over me. I have to be dreaming.

I’m not dreaming.

Maybe the not-me’s had come out and are impersonating her. But this isn’t one of them. This is Aunt T.

“Is that really you in there?” She asks.

Time travel? No. Parallel universe? Maybe? One where she hadn't died in the accident?

“It's me.”

“So the other night was real, it wasn't a dream.”

Wait. What? It wasn't? But I'd stuck my hand into the wall. Oh. That would have been easy with the door open. It would have made nearby reality more flexible, malleable. I can see that now.

I can see the wheels turning in her head, too. What’s going on? Then I have a stroke of genius.

“What’s going on?” we both ask at the same time.

“Everything okay out there, Tabi?” a woman calls from the master bedroom.

“It’s fine. I’ll be back to bed in a little bit,” Aunt Tabitha answers.

She gestures for me to follow her.

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In my defense, even though I knew my father was a lying, horrible person, I didn’t know he was downright evil. And I wasn’t even thirteen. And I was a gullible idiot.

In one of his internet paranoia lessons, he had shown me how easy it was to spoof a website. He was teaching me not to trust links to sites that asked for my password. To ‘teach me a lesson’ he had even faked an email from my school website asking me to login and change my password due to recent hacking attempts. I fell for it. He collected my password, then logged on as me and deleted the homework assignment I’d just finished. It could have been much worse, he said, once I start having stuff that really mattered on the internet, like bank accounts and credit cards. Apparently the five hours I had spent on the assignment didn’t really matter.

So, Aunt Tabitha had been on her way to see me, and there had been an accident. That much was true. The other driver (drunk) was the one that was killed, though. My father had spoofed the article. Why, though? The best theory we came up with together was that he was just a complete, evil bastard.

Aunt Tabitha had been in the hospital for a couple of weeks. By the time she had gotten out, my father had moved. She had assumed I’d gone with him, and he hadn’t left a forwarding address. She had sent me emails, but had gotten back responses with me cursing her out. Telling her to leave me alone. Then my father had emailed her and told her to stop emailing me or he’d file harassment charges, or worse.

“I’m so sorry for what I said to you on that last call,” I tell her, “and the stupidest thing is, you were so right.”

“About what?”

“You said I could be anything I wanted to be.”

I stand and do a little twirl.

“Ta da!”

“About that . . .”

Then it’s my turn. She’s seen a few of the videos from Austin, but none of the ones of me. The whole situation there is not getting the kind of coverage I would have expected. Just a ‘here’s this weird thing that happened in Texas, and now, sports.’ It’s amazing that she can follow my story at all. It rambles all over the place. I talk all about the monster stuff, then backtrack to talk about Promise and how awesome it is, which sends me even farther back to talk about how unawesome the rest of my foster experience had been. I leave out the details of my not-quite love life for the time being. Things are complicated enough as it is.

I eventually catch up to tonight.

“Oh, crap,” I say.

I pull out my phone. It’s on one of those local only plans and is getting no service.

“Can I borrow your phone?”

I hear low voices from the bedroom while she’s gone. She comes back soon with her phone.

“Just a sec,” I tell her.

I have to enter the numbers from my phone to hers, so I settle for texting Cindy, Kelly, and Meg.

• This is Parker. Is everything okay there? I’m fine. I’m in

“Where are we?” I ask Aunt Tabitha.

“Palo Alto.”

• Palo Alto. I’ll call soon. Love. 

I almost instantly get responses

• We’re fine. Where? You better. Love. --- Cindy.
• Yes. Make it Very soon. --- Meg.
• ? --- Kelly

 

That done, I give her back her phone and finish the story, up to me tumbling into her hallway.

This whole time, we haven’t touched. When I thought it was a dream, I hugged her right away. Now, it’s weird. Is she afraid of me? Still mad about . . .

“I’m sorry I messed things up,” I say, “I’m sorry I made you leave.”

That’s when the tears come. I can’t hold them back. I’m happy and sad and guilty and mad. And a little hungry. She wraps her arms around me. Holding me tight. Stroking my hair. Rocking me back and forth.

“Little one. It’s okay. Shh. I’m here.”

If any earthquakes are registered in the area tonight, they’re probably from the force of my sobs.

“I’m so sorry,” she goes on, “I didn’t know you blamed yourself. I couldn’t tell you.”

It takes a few tries to get words out. I pull a packet of tissues from my pocket and blow my nose.

“Tell me what?”

She takes a deep breath.

“I’m guessing you’ve figured out that I’m a lesbian, right?”

“Well, yeah. Did he tell you not to talk about that to me?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” she says, “Did you realize your Dad---”

“My father.”

“Sorry, your father, was in love with me?”

“I thought he was, but the way he freaked out when I asked about you getting married . . .”

“You were right, he was. Or at least he thought he was.”

Aunt Tabitha was not in love with him. Oh, she liked him well enough, most of the time. She didn’t like the way he dealt with my gender identity issues, but mostly he seemed like an okay guy. He could be very charming, he was smart, he treated her with respect, even though she knew he didn’t approve of her ‘lifestyle’. Things were fine for years.

But once he fell in love with her, or at least convinced himself he had, things started going down hill. He made passes at her. He insisted that she must be at least bisexual (she had made the mistake of admitting that she had dated boys in high school). He’d done and said it all in such a self-assured, charming way. One night, they both got drunk and he finally wore her down.

After that, he wouldn’t leave her alone. He wouldn’t accept that it had been a mistake, that it wasn’t going to happen again. That’s when she started thinking about leaving.

“I understand, I guess. But why so far? Why couldn’t you have stayed where we could visit? Could have seen each other, at least sometimes.”

This is hard for her.

“You get that I don’t sleep with men, right?”

“Except that one time.”

That came out a little harsher than I meant it to. She lets it pass.

“Except that one time. Now, some women use birth control pills to control their cycle, but that was never a problem for me, so . . .”

It takes me a second to follow the logic. Holy crap.

“Jordan’s my sister?!” I jump up.

A whole new round of hugs starts up. Happy hugs this time. And she was so cute! I could see the image of her little toes sticking out from under her cover the other night. I want to meet her right now. If Aunt Tabitha hadn’t shushed me, I probably would have, what with all the excited squealing. Gah. I hadn’t even squealed over my Ozma costume.

My aunt is very patient while I go through the five stages of joy. Bouncing, hugging, babbling, squealing, and distraction.

“But why couldn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want him to be any part of her life. If he knew she existed, he would have tried to take her, and that man should not be raising children.”

No argument from me on that one.

“He monitored your email,” she continues, “I was ninety percent sure he listened in on all your calls, too. It wouldn't have surprised me for him to spy on us if we met up. And . . .”

She doesn’t have to say it.

“I might have let it slip. He could have browbeat it out of me. You made the right choice.”

I’m not happy with it. I hate it. But I can’t argue with it.

“I was going to tell you anyway. If I’d gotten there, I was going to find a way to tell you. I was going to find a way you could be with me.”

It is a really good thing that I have an infinite supply of tissues.

I finally convince Aunt Tabitha that she should try to get a little sleep, and she loans me her phone again to call Meg. Meg and I have an interesting philosophical discussion. I argue that going through a doorway into my own dream shouldn’t count as leaving my room, whereas she says I should just shut up and figure out how to get home.

All the kids are fine. Pushing Kelly out of the dream to wake everyone up had worked. Kelly woke Layla. They each woke another kid, and so on. I still hadn’t figured out why it was important that that happened, but it was. It was even harder to think about the dream mechanics out here than in there.

I send Valeria an email telling her I ended up out of town on an emergency, and that my phone doesn’t work here. I let her know I’ll call her as soon as I get back in town.

Now that I’ve had time to think of it, I’m excited about the door thing. I hadn’t dared try more than a few miles before, but if I can come here, can I go anywhere? Other than getting to be me, that might be the best aspect of my abilities yet. Well, unless the impostors are lying in wait on the other side of the door, hoping to capture or kill me. That would not be so great.

I don’t come up with a solution right away. It’s better to stop trying for a little while and let my subconscious work on it. I bring up maps on my phone to see how far away I am. About 1740 miles. So if I can keep my speed at fifty miles an hour, I could be back in less than a day and a half. If I don’t get lost. Or run out of steam.That will be plan D.

Plan E is taking the bus. Sitting on a bus for hours and hours had been bad enough as an imposing guy. I’m afraid that if I have to do it now, somebody will end up being thrown out the window. Probably not me. I hope I come up with plans A through C.

The apartment isn’t large, but it’s nice. The living room has a really high ceiling, which makes it seem bigger than it is. I don’t open any cabinets or drawers (except in the kitchen), but I do look at just about everything in view. There are several pictures of Aunt Tabitha, Rachel (her wife. Yay!), and little Jordan.

Rachel looks to be around my height (Aunt Tabitha is five foot six). She and my aunt make a cute couple. I’m a little nervous about meeting her. Which would explain why I almost jump out of my shoes.

“You must be Parker.”

I can sense incoming blasts of pure energy, dodge attacks coming from right behind me, and, with a little attention, know the positions of everyone around me with my eyes closed. But people keep sneaking up on me.

“Yeah. Hi. Rachel, right? Hi.”

I have this whole conversation thing down pat.

“You look so much like her. You could be her daughter.”

“I wish.”

Rachel looks like she’s about to say something, but then pauses and starts a different conversation. Aunt T had filled her in on a few of the major points, but she wants to hear more of the details from me.

“I should put together one of those pamphlets, like those door-to-door missionaries hand out,” I joke.

“That seems a little excessive. Maybe just a laminated card with the high points.”

I can’t tell if she’s joking or not. I start in on my story, again.

Rachel is nice enough, but sort of serious. As we talk, she asks short, to the point questions. I’m worried that she’s angry at me. I did show up at her home in the middle of the night, unannounced, after all.

I don’t go into the level of detail I did with my Aunt. Rachel keeps me focused on the attacks, on my abilities, and on last night’s conflict.

“Could you open the door from here?”

I think about it. Reach out.

“Yes, but---”

“They’re probably watching for you. But could you sneak past, or get to the other end of the hallway before they could do anything?”

“I don’t know. They might not even be waiting. I could just open---”

“It’s not worth the risk.”

She pulls her phone out and fiddles for a minute.

“Do you have your ID with you?”

Sure, why not. I nod. She fiddles a little more.

“Full name?”

“Jordan Parker. No middle name.”

She looks at me for a minute before going back to what she was doing.

“Okay, I’ve got a one way ticket back to Austin for 12:50 this afternoon.”

Yeah, she hates me. She obviously wants me out of their hair as fast as possible. I understand. I’m a disruption in her life. It makes sense. I make a real effort to keep my expression neutral.

“We can work out the other details later,” she goes on, “Do you get an allowance at the home where you’re staying?”

Of course. I’d need to pay them back for the ticket. Neutral expression.

“Yes.”

“Is it enough?”

Geez. In a hurry to get paid back? I shrug.

“I guess.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I feel my neutral expression slipping. Okay, I decide to try for cheerful instead. That’s better.

“Are you okay?”

Maybe not. Luckily, I’m saved by a fireball streaking across the room.

“G’morning Mama!”

Jordan practically flies into Rachel’s arms. After a big kiss, Rachel tosses her in the air. Much squealing follows. Aunt Tabitha follows her in at a more relaxed pace. There is more kissing, less throwing and squealing.

Jordan peeks out at me from behind her moms. She looks me up and down. Her eyes stop at my necklace. Her finger stab out at me.

“Molly!” she yells, “You’ve got Molly!”

Great. I meet my little sister for the first time, and it turns out I’ve stolen her necklace.

“That means you must be my sister Rex!”

I’m distracted enough by my deadname that I almost get bowled over by a high-velocity waist level hug. I scoop her up and just barely keep myself from tossing her in the air like Rachel had. It would have been perfectly safe, but both Mom’s might have freaked out at an eight foot throw.

“When she disappeared, Mommy told me you must have needed her back. She was right, wasn’t she Rex?

I wince at the use of that name again. Rachel and Tabitha are both trying not to laugh. I’m clearly on my own for this one.

“That’s right, Jordan. But my name is Parker now, okay?”

“Okay, Parker. Can I wear Molly again?”

I take off my necklace and fasten it around Jordan’s neck.

“When I need her, she’ll come back to me, okay?”

Jordan nods vigorously.

“Are you going to come live with us?”

I don’t know what to say. I hadn’t even thought about that possibility.

“Not right now honey. Something like that can take a long time,” Rachel answers for me.

Of course.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Do it again, Parker!” Jordan asks, “Please?”

We’re sitting in a cute little restaurant. For some reason, no one (except Jordan) had gotten much sleep last night, so no one felt much like making breakfast.

“Sure, little one.”

Her right fist is clenched tight. I reach over and pull Molly from behind her right ear. She opens her right hand, to verify that the chain is really gone.

“How do you do that?”

“Magic.”

Which it might as well be. I’d made the mistake of doing the trick once for Jordan, and she hasn’t let me go five minutes without repeating it since.

Rachel checks the time on her phone. “We’d better get you to the airport. Maybe we should swing by the apartment and get you a carry-on to take with you.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Traveling without any luggage at all is considered suspicious these days.”

“Although sixteen year old girls are pretty low on the suspect list,” Aunt Tabitha countered.

It seems like a good idea, though. I reach under the table.

“I’ve got it covered.”

I hold up a Hello Kitty duffel. Hmm. That is not exactly what I was trying for.

“Now that’s suspicious looking,” Aunt Tabitha says.

I finish the last of my orange juice and we leave.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I’ve never flown before, but it doesn’t make me nervous. If it looks like the plane is going to crash, I can always jump out. I’m more worried about boredom. I hadn’t thought to ask to borrow a book or two, and books are on the list of things I can’t just pull out of thin air. At least not reliably.

I hadn’t had any trouble at security. I had been a little worried about whether or not my ID would hold up, but the TSA guy hadn’t given it a second look. I’d left Molly with Jordan, so I hadn’t even had to take her off to go through the metal detector.

The flight itself isn’t as boring as I feared. I dig a pen and some paper out of my duffel and start writing my story. I’d been joking when I told Rachel the idea of the pamphlet, but it seems like a good idea to organize my thoughts about all the weird stuff I’m going through. It keeps me busy enough that I’m surprised when we start our descent into Austin.

It’s a nice, sunny day, and I enjoy the run through the neighborhoods between the airport and Promise. I haven’t told anybody my flight was coming in, since I want to surprise them. I did remember my promise to call Valeria, but I’d only gotten her voicemail.

Nobody at Promise is especially surprised to see me. They’d expected me back even sooner. It turns out that once you work a few miracles, people start to expect them from you.

Not that they aren’t happy to see me. There are hugs all around, even from a lot of the kids that I usually don’t have a lot to do with. There’s a sense of nervousness, though.

“What’s the weird vibe?” I ask Cindy.

We’re sitting back in her room. Meg and Harlan are on their way to debrief me, whatever that means, but aren’t here yet.

“Well, I’d say half of the kids are looking forward to a rematch tonight, and the other half are scared shitless.”

“Which half are you in?”

“The half that is going to trust you to figure something out.”

“That’s three halves.”

“Not the point.”

“Thank you.”

My phone buzzes. Meg is here.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I wish I’d written things down backwards. I hadn’t reached the most recent stuff when I was writing on the plane, so I have to go over last night’s events with Meg and Harlan. I just need to start recording these things and set up a podcast.

“Do you really think it’s wise or ethical to go traipsing around in other people’s dreams?” Meg asks.

“Well, they gave me permission, and it turned out to be my dream anyway, so I think it was ethically okay. I didn’t really mean for it to turn into a big thing. Besides, they asked me to.”

“Be that as it may, tonight---”

“I won’t be here tonight.”

“And why is that?”

“Proximity?” Harlan asks.

“Yeah. I really think those guys could only pull the people near me into my dream. I’m not sure if they could do any real harm, but I don’t want to find out.”

“That’s commendable, but---”

Harlan interrupts before I can. “She’s right, Meg. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. If her just being here is making the other kids less safe, we need to accept that, and figure out the best course of action.”

That discussion goes on for a while. I’m impressed that they don’t ask me to leave. Sure it involves me, but that wouldn’t have made a difference to a lot of adults. I mostly let them battle it out, just adding my two cents when necessary. After all, whatever they decide, I am not going to put my friends at risk. I’ll be out of here within an hour of curfew unless Meg has developed superpowers of her own.

Which she hasn’t. It’s finally decided that I don’t have to be there. Harlan tries to convince me to come spend the night at his place. His wife wouldn’t mind. I turn him down. I plan to spend most of the night where no one will be asleep and in range to be pulled in.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Dinner is weirder than usual. I’m used to most of the kids not being quite as comfortable around me as the gang at Table D, but it’s different now. Before, they had all only seen videos of what I could do, other than the clothes trick. But most of them had been a part of the dream, and that makes a difference.

“What’s the plan for tonight?” That was unexpectedly straightforward for Kelly.

I fill them in on my planned absence. Sebastian and Henry both argue that I should stay, but it’s pretty half-hearted on Henry’s part. Kelly is the only one who actually has a coherent argument for me staying.

“They were obviously trying to get us to turn against you. Maybe get you kicked out. Will this just be giving in?”

I don’t think so. It isn’t like I’m moving out. I’ll just spend the night out, like I’ve been doing for weeks.

Oops. Most of them hadn’t known that part. It does explain why the dreams started when they did, though. I’d finally started spending my nights at home again.

Anyway, this is still my home. This is still my family.

“You are such a girl,” Henry says.

“Thanks.”