Pizza is my absolute favorite, but two large, hot, gooey slices of pepperoni sit untouched on my plate.

I push it away and yawn loudly for the umpteenth time today. My chair squeals when I stand. My parents look up at me oddly.

“Not hungry. Going to bed,” I mutter, eyelids already two-thirds shut. I’m not even sure I’ll make it up the stairs.

I slept fine last night. What is this crazy exhaustion I haven’t been able to shake all afternoon?

There’s a frown in my mom’s voice. “It’s kind of early still, so we were going to watch a movie. Are you feeling okay, Cam?”

“Mhm. Fine. Just so tired.” I drag my feet toward the kitchen’s exit.

“Was baseball practice extra tough today?” My dad asks.

“Nah, same as usu—,” a yawn overtakes me

and my eyes pool with water, “—aaaah!” I smack my lips. “Same as usual.”

I float to the back of the house in a fog, then rock-climb the stairs, calves wobbling and protesting with each crawl to the next step. The landing halfway up is starting to look pretty good as a bed, but somehow I continue on.

In my room, I try to strip down to my boxers, but stumble left into my dresser as I peel off my shirt, then careen right into my nightstand as I shake off my pants. The lamp on it tips and I barely catch it mid air.

“Stay,” I command as I right it. Maybe I’m coming down with something.

Euphoria hits like a silky cloud when I slip beneath my covers. No—I don’t feel sick at all. I feel…amazing. Impervious, even. Mighty, like a superhero. I chuckle at the odd sensation, as my limbs stretch and melt into the sheets.

I have one thought before the darkness swallows me like a whale and drags me into the deep. One image of one girl sitting in the bleachers—the reason I missed Eric’s fly ball into right-field (which even a t-baller could have caught).

Friends chatted all morning about the new sophomore who just transferred in. As a junior, I didn’t have a class with her, but could guess easily enough who she was by the small crowd of girls pulling her along and pointing out things in the school.

They sat on the lowest bench in the stands, shifting their guided tour’s focus to the baseball team, not even bothering to hide who they were pointing out and giggling over.

Their attention soon turned to me. Melinda’s head nodded in my direction, then she leaned in to say something to the new girl.

I was too far away to tell her features clearly. Her hair was wavy and dark, just past her shoulders and she was petite in comparison to everyone around her. That was about all I tell.

She looked my way,and although I couldn’t determine even the color of her eyes at this distance, a sensation that something reached out and connected between us was near palpable.

I stared. She stared. The air cracked and rang. Then the baseball dropped, ten feet away from me.

I smile at the memory like only an idiot would.

The whale rises up and takes me under. I even hear myself snore before I’m fully out.

*****

It’s night on the baseball field. And I’m alone. Bright lights shine down, illuminating the bases. I stand next to the dugout, in my uniform with my mitt in my hand.

My baseball dreams are often distinct with game-related fears and always in the middle of a match. For example, I might hit a home run, but my feet are glued to home plate and I can’t run the bases—that sort of dream.

This emptiness is new. And scary.

I scan the setting more and realize I’m actually not alone. There’s someone sitting in the bleachers. I peer through the dark, but can only see the outline of a person’s form.

I make my way slowly toward it.

Within twenty or so feet the form stands up, revealing itself as a girl.

“Uh—,” I say. I’m brilliant in my dreams. “I-I don’t think there’s a game right now.”

She laughs. “Yeah. I honestly don’t know why l’m here. It’s creepy at night. You’re Camden Cade, right? I’ve heard about you.”

I move closer, heart beating inexplicably faster with each step, until we stand an arms length apart.

“I am. And you are?”

“Vera Finch. I just transferred to your school.” She dimples when she smiles. A breeze sweeps through and she tucks a wayward lock of her raven hair behind an ear. Two diamond studs twinkle there. I look back to her eyes—large and violet brown.

“Vera Finch,” I mumble. “Whoa. Did I just make that up?”

Her head slightly cocks to the side. “Make what up?”

“Your name. I never learned it. I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream this detailed.”

She shrugs. “Maybe it’s my dream, not yours? Who is that rose for?” She points to my hand.

“Rose?! It’s my baseball mitt.” I laugh as I look down. But there in my right hand, I clutch a single long stemmed pink rose. It sort of glows and sparkles.

A few seconds pass as I comprehend it. I’ve never given anyone a flower. This one is a bit extra too, like Disney wrote this scene. I shift from one foot to the next and bite my lip.

Is this her dream or mine?

Wordlessly, I hold it out for her. I guess if she’s dreaming of me giving her roses, I’d better do it right.

“For you, of course. Will you take it, my princess?” I cringe. Why? Just why…did I add that?

She hesitates, reading my expression.

“You have really weird dreams.”

“You said it might be your dream!” I defend myself, dropping my hand with the rose to my side.

She shakes her head, tucking hair behind her ear again. I take it as a sign she is uncomfortable. “I don’t dream of flowers and princesses.”

“You might be right now. No one can control their dreams.”

She holds out a hand. “It feels like I can right now, though. Let’s test it. I wonder if I can feel you. Here, touch my hand.”

I reach out tentatively with my left hand—closer and closer, until warmth emanates from hers. My hand wraps around it. She presses her fingers into mine, clasping.

Music plays. My head swims and stirs. I turn toward the sound and through blurry eyes, reach out my hand and smack the alarm.

I pull it back, twisting it in the faint morning light, clenching and unclenching my fist. The feel of our test still lingers.

First things first when I get to school, I need to find out her name.

~fin