Dreamland (Riley Bloom #3)(7)

I gazed all around, wondering where to begin. Then, in a fit of inspiration, I squinched my eyes shut, and when I opened them again, I found myself sprawled in the middle of a huge canopy bed with purple velvet drapes that swooped down from either side, and a big gold crown perched high at the top—just like the one I’d once seen on TV.

Buttercup stood in the doorway, his disapproving nose pitched high into the air, refusing to step onto the leopardprint carpet, and whining in a way that tugged at my heart.

Knowing I should try to come up with some kind of compromise, something we could both enjoy, I shut my eyes again, and this time when I opened them, the walls were light purple, the floors were dark wood, and I’d swapped the big, flashy canopy for a more normal-sized bed with a green satin headboard.

After manifesting a turquoise-colored couch that sat along the far wall, a zebra-print rug that lay right before it, a crystal chandelier that hung overhead, and a mirrored dressing table with a white velvet stool to go with it, it was time for the fun part—the accessories! So I busied myself with pillows, sheets, an aqua duvet woven with bits of silver threads, and some cool modern art that hung on the walls.

“So?” I turned to Buttercup, smiling as he put one tentative paw in front of the other, finally showing his approval in his willing-ness to make himself at home by sniffing every corner.

Then I gazed down at my clothes, seeing I was still wearing the same jeans, ballet flats, and T-shirt I’d had on since I’d returned from the earth plane. An outfit that just a short while before seemed super cute, but not anymore. So I closed my eyes and changed that too—swapping the jeans for skinny cargos, the ballet flats for ankle boots, and the T-shirt for a sparkly tank top and shrunken black blazer. And I was just about to manifest a new, fully loaded iPod with a zebra cover just like the rug, when the front door swung open and my parents both called, “Riley? Buttercup? You home?” I sprang to my feet. Ready to make a mad dash for the door. Eager to see them—to see how they’d react to the makeover—until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and stopped short.

The changes weren’t as great as I’d thought.

They didn’t really go past the surface.

The clothes just sort of hung there. And the boots made my legs look bony and ridiculous.

Replacing the old stuff with newly manifested stuff was the easy part.

The kind of real change I longed for lay just outside of my reach.

So even though I was happy to see them—no, scratch that, overjoyed would better describe it—instead of greeting them with the giant hug that I’d planned, I took a moment to swap the new clothes back to the old, then I stood by my couch, arms folded before me as I said, “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

My dad stopped in the doorway, took a moment to survey the room before he looked at me and said, “Do what?” He smiled, reached toward my nose—an almost exact, albeit smaller, replica of his. Just about to tweak it in the way that always made me laugh—but right before he could, I slipped out of his grasp.

“You don’t have to keep checking in on me like this! You don’t have to pretend that you actually live here when I already know that you don’t. I’m not a baby!” I cried, sounding, well, pretty babyish—even to my ears.

My mom stood behind him, tucking a lock of blond hair that was nearly the same color as mine back behind her ear. Her pale brow rising in a way that took all of my effort to not give into my feelings, to not let loose with the tears and barrel straight into her arms.

“Baby? Who called you a baby?” my dad asked, slipping his hands into his front pockets and shooting me a serious look.

Then before I could answer, as if on the worst kind of cue, my grandparents appeared. My grandma took one look at me and cooed, “Aw, now there’s my baby girl!” I scowled.

Like, seriously, scowled.

I mean, yeah, I was happy to see them.

Yeah, I’d missed them while I was out usher-ing all those lost souls across the bridge.

Heck, I’d even found myself mentally re-hearsing the stories I’d planned to share with them later. And I fully admit that deep down inside, I even appreciated the fact that they cared enough about me to go through the charade of pretending they lived there.

Problem was, I knew better.

I knew they had other, better places to be.

I’d seen the footage. Watched the whole thing back when I was forced to go through my completely humiliating life review when I first arrived Here.

I’d seen my dad jamming with a group of musicians—rockin’ out to his favorite old tunes.

I’d seen my mom in a paint-splattered smock—creating a masterpiece that back on the earth plane would’ve been good enough for any museum wall.

I’d seen my grandmother caring for the tiny babies that departed the earth plane too early.

I’d seen my grandfather, who’d always seemed so old and serious in all of his pho-tos, whooping and hollering as he surfed a fifty-foot wave.

They were all enjoying their soul work—or at least that’s how the Council explained it.

Everyone had a job to do Here, and as much as I was beginning to enjoy mine, it was also becoming uncomfortably clear that it was all that I had.

If I wasn’t out catching lost souls, I had no idea what to do with myself.

My grandmother sprang toward me, ruffled my hair in that way that she had.