Free Unlit Star by Lindy Zart, Wendi Stitzer Page B

for calling you, definitely. Is he worried about calories or something? Maybe he wanted you to tell him to build the ice fort back up so he stays out of it. It was totally his idea to eat it,” I hurriedly add.
    “Rivers doesn't like ice cream.”
    I search my brain to remember whether I did, in fact, actually see him raise a spoon of ice cream to his mouth and swallow it. Yes. I did. Why didn't he tell me he doesn't like ice cream? Why did he get himself a bowl and a spoon? Why did he eat it? It isn't like he's sensitive to my feelings or anything. What purpose did any of that have?
    “He must have decided he does.”
    Her response is slow and not completely confident. “Right. I'll call again tomorrow. And Delilah?”
    “Yes?”
    “Whatever you're doing, keep doing it.”
    I don't want to take credit for something I haven't even done, but I say, “Yeah, okay.”
    After getting off the phone with Monica, I give my mom a quick call to assure her I am still alive and unharmed, then find a movie on the television to watch. As the minutes turn into hours and night descends upon the sky outside like a dark blanket with specs of light in the form of stars, my brain continually tries to wrap around what Monica told me. It doesn't make any sense. Why would he eat something he doesn't even like, and why would he tell his mother about it too?
    Obviously he didn't bring up his fall in the bathroom or what I am sure he considers bullying. Why would he do that? Bring up the ice cream and not the other stuff? I get him not bringing up his fall, because he probably views that as a sign of weakness, but me forcing the curtains open in his room, what about that ? That's the first thing I would have thought he'd bring up to his mom as a reason to get rid of me. He has a growing list of ammunition to use against me and he hasn't used any of it.
    Why?
     
     
    MY EYELIDS FLY OPEN AND I stare at a ceiling blackened by night as I fight to remember where I am and what woke me up. I sit up and look out the windows, realizing I am in the Young house instead of my own. The moon is bathing the night with a faint glow. I hold still, waiting. Nothing moves outside other than bushes and tree leaves in the wind. The only sound in the room is the ticking of a clock, marking off the seconds of time, but I know that isn't what forced me from sleep. I'm about to lie back down when I hear the sound again.
    I vault to my feet and from the room, thinking, What now?
    Without hesitating, I fling open Rivers' bedroom door. He's writhing on the bed, his back raised as he cries out. The sound is harsh, broken. I flip the light switch up to see if he is in actual pain or in the grasp of a nightmare, my eyes stinging from the sudden light. His eyes are closed, his features twisted in a grimace, and a layer of sweat is covering his face and chest. I watch him struggle, feeling helpless. I don't know what to do. I don't want to make it worse by trying to drag him from a world only he can see, but I also can't leave him like this.
    I step back from the bed and bite my lip. “Rivers? Rivers . Rivers, wake up.” I know it's probably not the best idea because he could unintentionally and unknowingly hit me in his sleep, but I can't stand to see him like this any longer, so I step closer. I scan his taut body and rest my eyes on his hands bunched around the blankets of his bed, minutely reassured that they aren't swinging in the air. I'm thinking a punch received from him would be painful, even while in the clutches of slumber.
    Placing my cool palm against his hot forehead, I lean close to his ear and speak soothingly, “Rivers, you're okay. You're okay now. I'm here and you're okay. It's just a dream. It can't hurt you. Wake up, Rivers. It's okay to wake up.” For a moment I don't think it's doing any good, but as I continue to talk to him, my words slowly reach him through the blackness of his mind and he settles down.
    I give nonsensical details about myself as