Out of the corner of my eye, I watch a few pieces of trash float down the river: a newspaper and then, more peculiarly, an athletic sock, followed by a lime-green bra. But what comes next is really odd—a rubber ducky. I am about to point it out to Max, but when I glance back, it’s so far away, it looks more like a juice box or can of soda.
Instead, I tell him about the birthday cards from CDD, the peacocks, and Dr. Petermann’s cycling outfit. I’m rambling, I know, but I can’t stop. Being with him, knowing he’s just lying here listening to me and only me—it’s invigorating. I could talk forever. But there are more important things to discuss . . . like why any of this is happening at all. “Ever heard of it?” I ask hopefully. “The Center for Dream Discovery?”
Max doesn’t say anything, so I glance over to find him just staring at me, his mouth slightly agape.
“Are you being serious?” he asks.
“About which part?” I ask, genuinely confused. “The peacocks?”
“You went to CDD, too.” He says it like he’s getting used to the notion. Like he can’t even believe it.
“That’s what I just said . . .” I start to say. “Wait, too?”
Max looks back up at the sky and shakes his head. “This just keeps getting weirder and weirder.”
“You went to CDD, too!” I nearly shriek. This is even better than I was hoping for. If Max and I dream about each other, and we both went to the same place to have our dreams monitored as kids, CDD must hold the answers to our questions.
“I did,” Max affirms. “I had pretty bad nightmares when I was a kid, and my mom heard about the CDD from my pediatrician. But I didn’t save the birthday cards. Unlike some people I know . . .” He opens one eye and smirks.
“My grandma saved them!” I reach out to give him a shove, but Max catches my hand before it is actually able to make contact with his shoulder and holds it for a moment. I swallow, and my heart starts to flutter at the feeling of my hand in his, somehow warm and cool at the same time, before he gently places it back along the dock.
“How’d you know I was going to do that?” I ask.
“Come on, give me some credit,” Max says. “You always hit me when I tease you. Over the years a guy learns to protect himself.” I wish there was a casual way to dunk my entire head in the river to make me stop blushing.
We hear some noise behind us and see that a few members of the crew team have already begun to arrive for afternoon practice.
“That means I’m already late for soccer.” Max winces, hopping up. “I better go.”
“Wait,” I say. “Can we meet back here afterward? I was thinking you could come with me to CDD.”
“But I thought you already went?” Max looks confused as he loops his backpack over his shoulder.
“I did, and I’m going back,” I say, standing up and swatting some dried leaves off my butt. “Tonight.”
“I thought you said Petermann wouldn’t see you?” Max asks, his tone a warning.
“I did say that . . .” I hesitate, studying a leaf as I break it into tiny pieces. “He doesn’t exactly know I’m going to be there.”
Max tilts his head to one side. “What did you do, Alice?”
“Why do you assume I did something?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “You are terrible at taking no for an answer. How exactly do you plan to get in?”
“I may have stolen a key card?” I raise my hands on either side of my shoulders like, whoops.
Max just sighs.
“Come on,” I plead. “Don’t make me go alone. All of this affects you, too.”
Max turns and starts walking away toward practice. “I’ll think about it,” he calls back.
“Fine,” I call after him. “But just remember, if you don’t come with me, who else is going to keep me out of trouble?”
Max turns and walks backward on his heels. “Maybe you should consider not getting into trouble in the first place.” He smiles. He looks like a heartthrob in an eighties high school movie.
“Why would I consider that?” I yell after him. But he’s already gone, around the side of the boathouse, and I am left grinning, awake and happy for the first time in weeks.
9
We’re Looking for Us
“MY LIFE IS basically lying in a pile in the corner with a pair of dirty socks on top,” Sophie says when she answers the phone.
“Do you ever just say hello?” I ask.
“Rarely,” she replies. “Anyway, I failed my Spanish test and Zeke Davis is apparently dating Marla Martinelli. I see no other option but to move to Iceland. Or Greenland. Wait—which one is actually green? And why are you whispering?”
“Because,” I hiss, holding my phone between my chin and shoulder as I clip my bike lock on. “I am sneaking into CDD tonight, potentially by myself, so if I get arrested or murdered, you will need to tell my dad what happened.”
“You are really hard-up for friends, huh?”
“There’s nobody I’ve quite reached the breaking-and-entering level with,” I say. Well, I bet Oliver would be up for it, but we’re really starting to become friends now. No need to ruin it by convincing him I’m insane.