In Your Dreams

Chapter 24: The restaurant...date?

I find myself staring at my closet, torn. I care about Chris; I don't want to hurt him. But I remember now. He's definitely hiding something. Something he trusted me enough to tell me in our dreams. And whatever it is, Chris is in trouble. Should I just ask him?

Casey's bed creaks. "Oh, Jessie." She sighs. "What happened to all your clothes?"

I pull myself out of my thoughts, realizing I'm staring at an empty closet.

"Good question." I turn around. "I guess this happened." I gesture to the piles of clothes sprawled across my bed, the floor, and even our desk.

Casey squints at the floor and pulls out the new royal blue top I was saving for the barbecue. "We've only been here two weeks, and we bought new clothes together last weekend. You wore everything already and tossed it?"

I give her a sheepish smile. "Sometimes I take things out of my closet in order to find other things. So not everything on the floor was worn or is dirty."

Casey arches an eyebrow. "You mean it wasn't dirty, but it is now."

"Good point. But actually, I still have this." I reach for a large box at the top of the closet—my back-up collection of clothes I don't usually wear but that still fit.

I open the box and instantly remember why I kept it hidden.

Casey went on vacation to an exotic island with her parents last year and brought back a very unusual top. It's made of an itchy neon green material that comes off in large clumps when it rubs against things. I love that Casey brings me souvenirs as vibrant and full of life as she is, but I usually only wear things that scream "me." This shirt's so itchy it makes me want to scream, period.

I shut the box and quickly spring onto my tiptoes to shove it back into the closet.

I hear Casey gasp. "Jessie, did I just see that shirt I got you last year?" She scurries over and grabs the box before I can give it one last push.

The word "yes" teeters on the tip of my tongue.

In moments Casey is holding the wretched top in her hands, trying to wrestle it out of the plastic bag I stored it in. Tufts of neon green material float onto my bed.

"Careful," I warn her. "You have to treat it gently."

"Well, you can wear th—" She breaks off. "Oh." She gives me a skeptical look. "You told me you liked that shirt. You said it was interesting."

"Oh, it is interesting," I agree. "But..."

Casey bursts out laughing. "I'm just joking! I know this isn't your style."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "It's really itchy."

"That's too bad." Casey holds out the top, trying to picture it on me. "It looks really good with your hair. Plus it's chilly outside; this would keep you warm. How about if you wear a tank top underneath?"

Somehow I manage to make it from my room to Brian's car without scratching the parts of my arms that are exposed to itchy, blinding neon green.

Casey climbs into the passenger seat so Chris and I take the back. I feel distracted; it's difficult to laugh and have fun when I keep thinking Chris has a secret—something's wrong.

Another wave of dread washes over me when Brian pulls into a parking lot. I recognize the Italian restaurant—it's the same one I visited with Casey and her parents. When I see the dark, romantic red of the walls, and the deep mahogany tables sparkling with small tea lights, I feel the same bad feeling in my stomach that came after listening to Casey reminisce with her parents.