The Dream Collector by Joyce Sweeney

Author:Joyce Sweeney
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504004299
Publisher: Open Road Media Teen & Tween

TOM DROPPED JOHN AND ME off at my door. I didn’t invite John in, but he stayed awhile anyway, sitting on the porch steps. “We better not double date with them anymore,” he said.

“Check.”

“Because I don’t think Tom and your friend are right for each other.”

“Neither do I,” I said.

“Don’t think there’s anything wrong with Tom,” John said. “He’s a great guy.”

“I know.”

“I want you to like him. He’s my best friend. He was my first friend in Atlanta.”

I swallowed. “I do like him.”

John pulled me toward him. “I like you, too,” he said. He kissed me gently and slowly. He was a wonderful kisser, I have to give him that.

“It’s late,” I said.

“See you tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’ve got a paper to work on.”

“Do it at my house. I have to study for a test.”

“I can’t think away from my desk.”

“Oh. Tomorrow night?”

“Well …”

“Come on. We can be alone. Those guys really cramped our style tonight.”

I shivered. “I think I’m supposed to baby-sit my little brother.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll call you. Becky?” He looked into my eyes.

“What?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” He smiled shyly.

There it was. I had my wish. My terrible, stupid wish. I let him kiss me again, too tired to resist. He left me and bounced across the street to his house like the hero of a Hollywood musical.

I hated myself.

I staggered into the house, feeling a hundred years old. The living room was dark except for the light of a candle burning on the coffee table. My sister Julia sat on the couch drinking brandy from one of the good Lenox snifters.

“What are you doing?” I cried. “It’s one o’clock in the morning!”

Instead of answering, she held out a piece of paper. It was a rejection slip from Desert Crow, all printed, nothing typed, no signature. We regret your material is unsuitable for Desert Crow. We wish you luck in placing it elsewhere. The Editors.

“Sort of a chicken-shit message,” Julia commented bitterly. She swirled the liquid in her glass the way Dad does when he’s brooding about something.

“Julia, if that’s Daddy’s cognac, you’re going to get more than a rejection slip.”

She offered the glass for my inspection. “It’s Coke. I heated it on the stove.”

“Ugh,” I said, pushing it away. “I swear, you’ve got a screw loose.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” she said. “My life is over.”

I sat down with her. “Julia, I thought you were prepared for this. We talked about how you should expect a lot of rejections and just take them in your stride.”

She sighed. “I thought it was such a good poem. Now I don’t know.”

“Look, didn’t you read the chapter in Creative Wishing about setbacks? You’re supposed to ignore them. You’re supposed to go right ahead with your plan.”

She gazed at the rejection slip. “What did they say when they read it? Did they laugh their heads off? Did they make jokes?”

“You shouldn’t look at it that way. Maybe you came close to being accepted. Maybe one of the editors loved it and one didn’t and they fought it out.

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