Free The Girl Who Could Not Dream by Sarah Beth Durst Page B

out and then immediately recoiled. “Ew, bathroom floor.”
    â€œWe’ll meet here after school, okay?”
    Monster nodded. Before Sophie could warn him again to be careful, he hooked one tentacle up on top of the stall and used another to pop open one of the ceiling tiles. He climbed into the ceiling and replaced the tile.
    â€œClever,” Sophie said.
    â€œYes, I am.” Monster’s voice drifted down. “Have fun at school.”
    Her backpack much lighter, Sophie left the bathroom. She crashed into three people on her way to her locker because she couldn’t stop looking at the ceiling.

    Sophie stared at her locker door and imagined all the things that could be inside: another card with a picture of a cat; an actual cat; a dead cat; spiders; snakes. Her hand was shaking as she twisted the dial on her combination lock. It snapped open. She took a deep breath before she opened the door.
    Nothing jumped out.
    She peered in and didn’t see anything unusual. She exhaled, took out her notebooks, and shut it again. Maybe Mr. Nightmare was done with her. He’d gotten her parents’ attention. They would give him what he wanted, and he’d go away.
    Hurrying to class, Sophie slunk into her seat and tried not to make eye contact with anyone.
Don’t look up,
she told herself.
Just act normal.
    As the teacher started class, Sophie listened for the sound of pawson the ceiling tile. She’d never been so distracted in her life. She was glad she hadn’t known Monster was here the other times. Every time someone’s chair squeaked, she jumped. Every time the wind blew the branches on the tree outside, she snapped her head to look. When a shadow passed overhead, she looked up—and saw the shape of Monster as he crossed above one of the fluorescent lights.
    She spent the rest of the class worrying that he was going to fall through the ceiling, and then she spent the next few classes watching the ceiling while trying to simultaneously not watch the ceiling. But he didn’t fall. And before she knew it, it was lunchtime.
    She joined the stream of students pouring into the cafeteria.
    Sophie hated the cafeteria. For one thing, it was orange—and not a nice shade of orange but the kind of orange that looked as if a pumpkin had gotten sick on all the walls. For another, it smelled like old eggs mixed with peanut butter. She did like that the cooks tried to make the food look interesting by doing things like carving chicken patties into cute shapes or spelling out words with limp carrots, but that wasn’t enough to compensate for the stench or the noise. Today, the display read
Have a smiley day!
in slightly slimy asparagus.
    She selected a tray and got in line. The line in front of her grew longer as everyone cut, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t trying to sit at a particular table with a particular group. In fact, she preferred to sit with no one.
    Everyone else seemed to have a group, though there wasn’t a popular kids group, or a nerd group, or jock group, like in a sitcom or cheesy teen movie. There were kids who sat together who knew each other through sports, band, ballet, or some kind of other after-school thing that Sophie didn’t do. There were other kids who were in all the same classes together—all the honors students clumped together, and so did the kids in the remedial classes—but that was because they spent all day together and could complain about the same teachers. Of course, there was tension between a few groups. Some kids were mean to other kids, but it wasn’t always easy to spot the bullies versus the bullied. Sometimes the bullies were bullied. When Sophie looked out over the cafeteria, she was sure of only one thing: she wasn’t like any of them. It was better if she sat alone.
    â€œHey, can I cut?” a boy’s voice asked.
    Ethan stood beside her, holding an empty tray. She glanced behind her to see who