Free Bad Dreams by R.L. Stine Page A

Maggie started shouting, “Go, Andrea! Pull!”
    With her bathing cap and dark goggles, Andrea looked like some strange water creature surging through the pool. Maggie barely recognized her. “You can do it, Andrea!” she shouted.
    But Tiffany pulled ahead, and her hand hit the wall first.
    â€œOkay, good race,” Coach Randall called out a moment later. “I need to see the three of you over here.”
    They stood in a semicircle around the team bench, where Coach Randall sat, studying the notes on her clipboard. Even though it was warm in the pool area, the three girls all held their hands crossed over the chests of their dripping bathing suits, as if to protect themselves.
    Maggie had always noticed that about swimming. You felt vulnerable when you came out of the water.
    Raising her eyes to the bleachers, Maggie spotted Dawn in the top row. She was dressed in street clothes, her feet on the bench below her. Even at this distance, Maggie could see that Dawn wasn’t smiling.
    Well, what did I expect? Maggie asked herself. If I had broken my arm and lost out on swimming All-State, I wouldn’t be in the friendliest mood either.
    Coach Randall scribbled something on her clipboard. “All right,” she announced. “Maggie, Tiffany, you’re going to swim the two-hundred IM in the All-State.”
    Tiffany danced away from them, throwing her arms up in the air excitedly. “I made it!” she shouted to Dawn.
    Dawn cheered. “Way to go, Tiffany!” She didn’t congratulate Maggie, of course—no surprise there.
    Maggie congratulated Tiffany. But her smile faded fast when she caught Andrea’s expression.
    Andrea’s lower jaw was jutting out in an expression Maggie knew only too well. Her sister was fuming.
    â€œAndrea,” the coach continued, “if it’s any consolation,you didn’t miss out by much. You’re swimming better than you ever have.”
    â€œGreat,” Andrea muttered.
    â€œI want you to keep training hard, Andrea,” Coach Randall instructed. “The two-hundred IM is the most important event. You’re our number-one alternate.”
    â€œObviously,” grumbled Andrea, rolling her eyes. “There’s no one else left.”
    Coach Randall stared at her sternly. “There’s a whole team left. There are eleven other girls. If you don’t want to swim the two-hundred IM, just say so.”
    Andrea shrugged.
    â€œBeing an alternate is important,” Coach Randall continued. “And don’t forget that you’re a year younger than Maggie and Tiffany. You’ve got another year to go.”
    Maggie gave Andrea a sympathetic glance.
    â€œYou can stop with the pity act!” Andrea snapped at her. She turned sharply and stalked off to the showers.
    Coach Randall turned to Maggie. “Don’t worry,” she said. “She’ll get over it.”
    Somehow, I doubt that, thought Maggie.
    It wasn’t the first time she wished that her younger sister didn’t hate her so much.
    Maggie couldn’t get comfortable. The sheets felt as if they were burning.
    Normally she liked to sleep on her right side. Butthat night, she could hear—and feel—her heart pounding. It made her so uncomfortable. As if any moment her heart might stop.
    Tossing and turning.
    She was tossing and turning.
    Just like the girl in the dream.
    No. Please no.
    I’m tossing and turning like Miranda.
    I’m just like Miranda.
    She felt herself falling now, falling into the dream.
    No turning back.
    She fell through a pink haze.
    From high above, she gazed down at the billowing pink canopy of her bed.
    I’m dreaming, she told herself. It’s just a dream.
    Why didn’t that thought offer any comfort?
    Through the pink canopy. Through the pink gauzy top. Into the bed.
    And she saw the girl. She saw Miranda. Her ash-blond hair matted and wet against the pillow.
    The girl’s face