Free Dreamland Social Club by Tara Altebrando

agitation. “Ever hear of it?”
    Jane felt foolish but, of course, she hadn’t meant that everything would be re-created. She was pretty sure, for example, that a reenactment of the Boer War would bore people to tears. And shows like Fighting Flames were too gory, too dangerous.
    Babette seemed to shiver. “Every once in a while I have a dream that I’m living in Midget City and I can’t get out. That stuff’s best left in the past.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I want the place to turn into a shopping mall, though.”
    “Sorry,” Jane said, not knowing what a shopping mall had to do with anything. “I wasn’t thinking of rebuilding Midget City—or a mall. I just think a lot of the stuff that’s here now, on the boardwalk, is so run-down. I think some new rides”—she couldn’t stop herself—“maybe a new roller coaster or something, would be good. That’s part two. A big new ride. A proper theme park.”
    Her father could design it!
    Leo’s hand shot up, and Mr. Simmons called on him.
    For days Jane had been hoping for some kind of sign from Leo, some kind of acknowledgment that he’d found the postcard or at least looked for it, but so far none had come. He said, “I think it’s important to remember that the people who have kept those businesses on the boardwalk alive all these years shouldn’t be locked out of new plans. I mean, what happened to the Go Karts just wasn’t right.”
    Jane had almost forgotten about the first day of school, the bottle throwing, the shards of glass splayed in the air like confetti. A second ago she’d thought that people would absolutely want the sort of coaster her father designed, but maybe it was more complicated than that. The sick feeling she’d had that first afternoon came back.
    “Unless they can’t afford the rent,” someone in the back of the class said, and Leo said, “Oh, screw you.”
    Clearly they weren’t talking about puzzle pieces anymore. But Jane wasn’t sure exactly what they were talking about.
    Mr. Simmons returned to the head of the class. “Like I said . . .”
    Everyone waited.
    “Embattled.”
    Mr. Simmons changed gears then and went on to other areas, then circled back to assign homework. “I want you to write one sentence describing the most fun you ever had on Coney Island. Don’t overthink it. Just do it. We’ll talk more about the full assignment next time.” He stopped by Jane’s desk. “And Jane, I know you just got here. You can pick another place if you like.”
     
    “Hey,” Jane said to Babette after class. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
    “No big deal,” Babette said. “No pun intended.”
    “Still,” Jane said, thinking of Preemie in his incubator, a neighbor of Midget City himself. “So did your grandparents work in Midget City or something? Did your parents grow up here?”
    Of course Babette would have told her if her parents had grown up with Jane’s mom, wouldn’t she have? Still, the thought of it got her hopes up for a split second.
    “Actually, my parents and grandparents are completely, painfully normal. My father’s a cop and my mother’s a teacher in the elementary school in Brighton Beach. We only moved here like four years ago.”
    “Oh,” Jane said. And then a more surprised, “Oh!” because she had been picturing Babette at home with a small family.
    “It’s just a gene mutation,” Babette explained. “Straight-up dwarfism, unlike perfectly proportioned Minnie Polinsky, who has primordial dwarfism, which is like the rarest of the rare, and also the reason she’s so darn cute like a china doll while I’m just”—she looked down—“like this. Anyway, my parents look happy in old pictures but they don’t seem that way anymore, not since I came along. I try not to blame myself.”
    “You shouldn’t!”
    “I don’t. Not really.” Babette shrugged. “Just put in a good word with your brother for me, will you?” Her T-shirt today featured a drawing of an