Dream Student (Dream Series book 1) by J.J. DiBenedetto
“Is everybody having a good time?”
“I know you sure are,” Joe answers me.
“And you aren’t? What, you didn’t like dancing with me?”
He drapes his arm around my shoulders. “I didn’t say that. I just didn’t expect you to be so…” he’s got that lost-in-thought expression now. Joe’s usually very particular about what he says and how he says it. “…friendly.” That isn’t quite the word I’d have chosen, but I let it pass. He goes on: “You never got that ‘friendly’ when we were dating. That’s all I meant.” Ancient history. We went out a few times last year. Nothing came of it, there just wasn’t any chemistry, I guess. It never got too serious, physically or otherwise, so it wasn’t ugly or awful when we stopped dating. I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re still friends today.
Beth is curious now. “How ‘friendly’ are we talking here?”
“Friendly enough to make you proud. How about that?” And I don’t even blush when I say it. I think that’s what surprises her the most–she’s utterly speechless now. Hah! I actually managed to shock her. That doesn’t happen often.
We‘re in front of Checkpoint Charlie’s now. It’s a warehouse, or it used to be one. It isn’t much to look at from the outside–rundown is the first word that comes to mind. But there’s a line to get in, so it must be better inside than out. I head for the back of the line, but Beth shakes her head and walks right up to the doorman. She’s talking to him, pointing at us–me, I think, but I’m not completely sure.
It doesn’t take long at all for her to talk him into letting us in. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t what she said as much as her miniskirt. It could get her arrested for indecent exposure if it were about an inch shorter. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, she wears it very well. Besides, the truth is that the whole sex kitten thing she does is mostly an act. A little bit of it is real, but nowhere near as much as she likes to pretend. Not that I’d ever say that to her. Anyway, act or not, if she can work it and get us to skip the waiting-outside-in-line part, I’m all in favor. It looks like it is working; she waves us over to her, and in we go.
The place is decorated in–well, East German chic by way of a military surplus store is probably the best way I can describe it. There’s a big video screen covering almost one entire wall. It’s showing one of those old May Day parades, where all the tanks and planes and missiles drive around Moscow or wherever. There are neon fighter planes hanging from the ceiling; and from the little I can see all the bartenders are wearing military uniforms.
It’s a clever idea, I guess. Cold War military surplus is not something I would ever have thought of, but it is pretty funny, and it’s definitely unique. Popular, too, if the line outside is anything to judge by.
Except, now that we’re inside, it isn’t quite as crowded as I expected. Not that it’s deserted or anything, but there’s room to walk without having to shove past people, and it isn’t so loud that you can’t hear yourself think, like Sharky’s was.
So we’re wandering over to the bar. I look over at a table in one corner with a red and gold neon fighter plane hanging right above it. My eighth grade boyfriend would have known exactly what it was called and all the vital statistics about it. I just think it looks kind of funny. And…
And what?
…Sara is in the stands, watching a basketball game, watching herself down on the court cheering for a tall, dark-haired guy who’s getting ready to take a shot. Watching herself, watching someone else who’s dreaming about her…
It’s him. The guy at the table under the fighter plane is the guy on the court. The one from the dream. It’s definitely, absolutely, bet-my-life-on-it him. That’s impossible, isn’t it? It wasn’t real, he wasn’t real. It was just a stupid, weird dream. But he’s sitting right over there!
And so what? I’m in uncharted territory here, but I know it has to mean something. I didn’t just dream about him. I was inside his head, or he was inside mine. Whichever. There was him, and then there were the nightmares.
At least the dream with him, as weird as it felt, wasn’t all creepy and horrible. Actually, if you take away the weird, it didn’t feel bad at all. So if the nightmares are making me crazy, maybe this guy will–what? Make the nightmares stop? Make me sane again? I don’t know, but I have to find out.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
It’s Beth. I assume she’s wondering why I stopped dead in my tracks and why I’m staring at some random guy. "Nothing. I just need to talk to somebody over there. You go get a drink, I’ll find you in a little while.”
I don’t wait for an answer. I head straight for my mystery man.
***
I’ve seen love at first sight happen. When I say that, I mean two people seeing each other for the first time and the moment their eyes meet there’s an instant connection. It’s almost like electricity, everybody in the room can feel it. I’ve been there when it happened, and there’s no doubt at all that’s what it was. Say what you want about it being silly or sappy or just plain BS, I don’t care. I know it’s real.
That’s what it feels like when I’m halfway over to him, and he turns his head, sees me, and we make eye contact. Everything else disappears. There’s me and him and nothing else in the world. We’re connected. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening.
And now I’m there and he’s staring at me like he can’t believe I’m real. It’s OK, I feel the same way. I reach out, put my hand on his arm and I really expect to feel sparks or something, but I don’t. It’s just him, just the fabric of his shirt.
I slide my hand down his arm and I can feel the goosebumps as I go. I’ve got them too. I take his hand, and now I’m pulling him away from the table and everything else is starting to come back. It’s louder than it seemed a few minutes ago, and it feels much too crowded all of a sudden, and what I need right this second is quiet and just him.
“We have to talk,” I whisper in his ear, and he doesn’t say anything but he does follow me. There’s a back door, it looks like there’s a patio for when the weather’s nice. I head for it, and I need it to be open and it is and out we go.
I don’t feel the cold at all. It’s perfect, just the two of us, and with the door closed the noise from the club is all drowned out. He can feel it, too. He knows we’re connected; he knows this is exactly where we’re supposed to be the same way I do. Neither of us says anything at first. We’re just looking at each other, trying to think of the appropriate words. The silence goes on for probably only a few seconds, but it feels like minutes or even hours.
Enough. I say the first thing that pops into my head: “You’ve been spending your nights with me. I think I deserve to know your name.” No, that’s all wrong! “God, did I really say that?” He nods his head. “I’m sorry, let me start again. I’m Sara, and I don’t know who you are.”
He looks so nervous, he’s got exactly the same expression my dog Lumpy gets whenever someone starts up the lawnmower. It’s a long story. He manages to shake my hand. “Brian Alderson,” he says, but I guess he doesn’t think that’s enough. “I’ve been dreaming about you.”
Now I think about it, I have seen him before–outside the dream, I mean. I’ve seen him on campus. He’s–I think he lives over in Allen House, the dorm right next to mine. Which means he lives probably two or three hundred feet away from me. I never really gave him any special notice before, but now that he’s right in front of me, he actually is kind of handsome. He’s on the tall side and pretty slim and he’s got short, dark hair and the brownest brown eyes I think I’ve ever seen.
And besides all that, we’ve got some kind of psychic connection, apparently. I can keep telling myself that I don’t believe in it, but I can’t ignore the fact that it’s happening to me anyway. “I know. I was there, remember?” He nods. He s
He relaxes, almost. At least he looks slightly less nervous. But to be fair, why shouldn’t he be nervous, too? This has to be just as weird for him as it is for me. “You’re not–not angry about it?” he stammers. “I mean, I understand if you are.”
Angry? Not at all. Freaked out? Yes, very much. But not angry. “No. Why should I be? I’m–I’m flattered, I guess. I didn’t think anyone dreamed about me like that.” If I hadn’t seen it, I never would have believed I was a part of anybody’s romantic fantasies.
“You’re…” I don’t know what he was going to say, but whatever it was, he thinks better of it, takes a second to make sure he gets this right, “…really beautiful and smart and friendly too, why wouldn’t I dream about you?”
Wow. He’s got it bad. He’s had it bad for me for a little while now, obviously. And he’s being so sweet about it. I do the only thing that makes sense right now, without even thinking about it. I lean close to him and I kiss him, very gently, on the lips. He’s really surprised at that. I am, too. “Hey, you know something? That’s the nicest thing I think anybody’s ever said to me.”
“Then you’re hanging around the wrong people.”
“What?”
“Oh, God, did I actually say that?” I just nod my head. Poor Brian, he looks like he’s ready to run for the hills any minute. It’s all I can do not to laugh. “I thought I just thought it. But it’s true. I mean, you are really beautiful.”
Beautiful? He really does mean it, I can see that. Amazing. None of my boyfriends have ever been this taken with me. Not like this. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond. I don’t want to scare him off–and this is incredibly flattering–and he is sort of cute. Not to mention the connection, the love at first sight thing, whatever the hell it is that’s going on here. Maybe the best way to handle it is just to go with it. Why not?
“Like I said, that’s really sweet. I’m totally flattered. But, you know, you should have talked to me before if you felt that way. I’m pretty harmless, honest.” I think just about everybody I know would agree with that.
He doesn’t know it, I guess. He’s still way too nervous, he’s just looking at me waiting for me to do God only knows what. I wish I knew what to do here. Here I am, with a guy who’s acting like he’s in love with me even though we’ve never actually met before tonight. And then there are the weird dreams. It’s not like there’s a guidebook for this kind of thing.
One of Aunt Kat’s bits of advice pops into my brain: “in for a penny, in for a pound.” She says that a lot and she’s right more often than not. Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to be doing now? “Besides, how did you expect to go out with me if you never actually talked to me?”
I don’t think he was expecting me to say that. I’m not sure I was, either. “Go out? You mean go out go out? You and me?”
That could be what everything is about, maybe this really is meant to be. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“Yeah–yes, that would be great. That would be absolutely great,” he says. He takes my hand, but he’s holding it exactly the way you’d hold something breakable. I really hope he starts to relax, or else he’s going to make me as nervous as he is.
“I just have a couple of ground rules. First, I’m not fragile. And second, calm down, please? I already told you I’m pretty harmless. OK?”
He nods; I doubt he’s capable of much more communication than that at the moment. “Great, now that we’ve got the rules sorted out, I think you could probably use a drink and I know for sure that I can. So how about we go back inside and get one?” He’s fine with it, so back inside we go.
***
Beth spots us heading back to the bar. She gives me a “what’s going on?” look and I just smile and point to Brian. I think she gets the idea. When we get home, we’ll be up for hours talking about it, I’m sure.
We get our drinks, and we find a table in a dark corner. It’s not all that quiet, but we can mostly hear each other and that’s good enough. We don’t say anything right away; I sip my beer and he just looks at his. What I’d rather do is dance, but I’m fairly certain he’s not up for that at the moment. I’ve got to say something, just to get things going again. “Are you here with anyone else?” Lame, I know, but conversation openers aren’t really my thing.
“A bunch of us from my dorm. I wasn’t going to come at all, but they talked me into it.”
“Tell me when you see them, so I know who to thank,” I smile, and he almost smiles back. Almost. “Look, I know you’re nervous. But you have to trust me, OK?” I don’t know how to make him trust me; I don’t know what I can say.
Maybe it’s not something I say–maybe it’s something I do. I lean close, I take his face in my hands, and this time I really kiss him. He’s just stunned; I swear I can actually hear his heart beating. But he recovers, he returns the kiss. I break it off and pull away, just a little. We’re still only an inch or two apart. I think it worked, I can see the tension draining away from his face. Thank God. “See? Would I have done that if I didn’t really like you?”
“It’s just–well–I…”
“Take it easy. One word at a time.”
He does exactly that. “I never thought I had a chance with you. You’re–it’s not just that you’re beautiful. I mean, you’re popular, everyone likes you. And I’m a freshman and you’re a senior…”
“Junior, actually,” but close enough. As for me being popular? And beautiful? Please.
But he really believes it. I do understand him worrying that I wouldn’t be interested in him because he’s a freshman. Personally, I couldn’t care less, but a lot of people would. So I get that. The rest of it, though–it’s way more than just flattery. This might be more difficult than I thought. “Don’t go and put me on a pedestal like that. You won’t be able to reach up and touch me. Come on, I’m not a model or anything. I’m just plain old Sara.”
He rolls his eyes. I guess that counts as progress. “Did you look in the mirror before you came out tonight? You aren’t plain old anything.”
Well, I have to give him that one, too. I did go all out tonight, and I haven’t looked this good since–well, ever. “OK, tonight’s a little out of the ordinary, fair enough. This is me at my absolute best. It doesn’t change what I said, though. It’s really flattering that you think I’m beautiful, and I’m glad you like me. But if all you’re going to do is sit there and wait for me to change my mind and decide that I can do better, tell me now, OK? Because if that’s how this is going to be, I can do better.” That’s a lot harsher than I meant it to sound, but better to get it out there right away instead of having it blow up on me later.
He has to consider that for a bit before he answers me. “That’s not me. Usually it isn’t, really.” He sounds more than a little desperate, but I let it go for now. It’s the best I’m going to get, I think. And honestly? For right now, it’s good enough.
“Good. That’s what I was hoping. So now can we talk like regular people? I don’t know a thing about you besides your name.”
He’s still a little shaky as he starts telling me about himself, but he gets progressively less so as he goes on. Better. Much better. There may be hope after all.
***
It’s almost two in the morning and we’re still talking. I was right; he does live in Allen House–if my room were on the other side of the floor, we’d be able to see each other out our windows. He thinks he wants to study mechanical engineering, or at least some kind of engineering. He’s also from Pennsylvania, just like me. His house is actually less than an hour away from mine. Go figure. Things are moving along very nicely, even if I never do manage to get him onto the dance floor. Nothi
I just thought of something. Dancing. I wonder…
“Were you at our Halloween party?” I’ve got a feeling he was. I’ll bet he was the tall, cute guy who supposedly kept looking at me the whole time, the one I didn’t notice. He nods. “And you wanted to dance with me, or at least talk to me, right?”
“By the time I’d talked myself into going up to you, you were gone,” he says with an embarrassed smile.
“If it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t have been very good company. I was obsessing over a lab report and I snuck back upstairs the minute my roommate took her eye off me.” It makes me wonder, though. What could he possibly have seen in me that night that he’d dream about me afterwards?
I realize I may not be the best judge, but I think I was pretty far from the most desirable girl in the room. If I were a guy, I don’t think I would’ve been interested in me based on that night. “I’m curious. Why me? Out of all the girls who were there that night, I mean.”
I don’t really expect an answer, but he surprises me. “You–well, you didn’t have this look like all the other girls did, like you couldn’t be bothered to talk to some freshman who didn’t even have a decent costume for Halloween, you know?”
I’m disappointed; I’d rather have had nothing than that. “That’s not an answer,” I say, and then something more comes into my head and straight out through my mouth. “I am not interested in what he will not be. I am interested in what he will be.”
“What?”
I don’t blame him for being confused; I’m sure he hasn’t seen the movie. It’s only because my Mom loves it and watches it every time it comes on that I remember it. “’Guys and Dolls.’ The movie. Ever seen it?” He shakes he head; I was right. “OK. So Marlon Brando is the lead. He’s a gambler, kind of a mafia guy. A big shot, but still basically he’s just a crook. And he’s trying to romance Jean Simmons, she’s a charity worker, she’s with the Salvation Army, OK?”
“Gene Simmons? From KISS?” I have to give him credit for feeling relaxed enough to joke. I guess that’s something.