Traveler, L.E. DeLano [book series for 12 year olds .TXT] 📗

then gestures to himself. “And I am your Dreamer.”

“What’s a Dreamer?”

Mario goes to the front of the classroom, and the whiteboard behind him suddenly shimmers to life with a picture of a giant urn, the kind you’d see in a museum, with Greek figures drawn on it.

“Dreamers are—for lack of a more current term—Fates,” Mario says.

“Fates? As in Greek mythology Fates?”

“I’m referencing that because you know it and it’s close enough,” Mario says. “We don’t really decide anybody’s fate outright. We’re just in charge of keeping track of all the possibilities. Finn realized he was getting nowhere with you today, so he brought me in to talk to you.”

“Wait,” I say, touching my pen to my lips. “Is this going to be some kind of Christmas Carol–type thing? Like, Finn is the Ghost of Christmas Past or something? Is he visiting me to tell me how to fix my life?”

Mario laughs out loud, rich and full and genuine. “Oh, Jessa,” he says. “You’ve always had the best imagination. But in a way, you’re not far off. Finn is here to teach you, but also to keep an eye on you.”

“Teach me what, exactly?” I close my notebook again.

He moves over to the desk in front of me, turning around in the seat and leaning a forearm on my desk.

“He’s going to help me teach you how to travel between realities.”

Before I can form a question, he lifts a hand to shush me. “I know that sounds far-fetched,” he continues, “but bear with me. You’re dreaming anyway, right? You might as well hear me out.”

He’s got a point. Might as well hear him out.

“Dreams are just another reality, and there are many, many realities,” he explains. “Everyone can visit them in a dream state, though most people don’t have the power to change anything. You and Finn can travel while you’re awake, too. That’s what makes you Travelers.”

“Everyone goes to other realities in their dreams?”

“Sure they do.” Mario shrugs. “The dreams show the other realities. Some realities are wildly different. Some are very close to what you know but just a little off.” He leans in, warming to his subject. “Have you ever tried to describe a dream to someone? You say things like, ‘I was in a house and it was my house except it looked like it was as big as a football field. And then we went down to the diner in town and that waitress who has the weird hair told me that my cousin murdered Matt Damon.’”

My eyes widen. “In another reality I’m related to someone who murders Matt Damon?”

He lifts a shoulder. “You never know.”

I sit slowly back while I try to wrap my head around all this.

“So Finn and I travel through dreams?” I’m getting confused.

“No, you observe through your dreams. That’s where I come in. There aren’t a lot of Travelers, and each Traveler has a Dreamer. We keep an eye on all the realities and their possibilities, and we ask a Traveler to step in when something needs a correction.”

“A correction?”

He moves back to the front of the class again, and the whiteboard behind him shimmers once more. This time, it’s a horizontal line that spans the width of the board.

“There’s a ripple effect when a decision is made that changes reality,” he explains. “Sometimes the ripples are no big deal, and the reality stream remains on course. Sometimes one decision”—he touches his finger to the line and it splits into two lines, now at right angles to each other—“can alter things dramatically, and a new reality shears off and is formed. Dreamers can see that and figure out the potential repercussions.” He touches one of the lines again, and it branches into five more. “We brief you through your dreams and then dispatch you to make the necessary adjustments.”

“And how do we do that? Is there a wormhole or something?’

“It’s a lot simpler than that,” Mario says. “I’ll leave the hands-on training to Finn.”

I set my pen carefully on the desk. “Look … Mario…”

“You’re not sure if you believe me. And you want to wake up, write it all down in your journal, and make sense of it. I know,” he says. “But that won’t work. It won’t make sense. Not until you’re ready to believe.”

“You have to admit, it’s a lot to take in.”

“It is. And you haven’t even heard the rest of it.”

“The rest of it?” How much more could there be? “I think I want to wake up now.”

“We’re not done here,” Mario says. “I’ve invited some guests to join us.” He gestures toward the bright red door in the corner.

“Right this way,” he says.

I get up from the desk and move hesitantly toward him. “Where are we going?”

“Into the dreamscape.”

“We’re going into my dreams? I thought we were already there.”

“The dreamscape is a place where Dreamers can observe all realities, and all the people who shape them. Including you.”

I must be making a face, because he smiles at me to reassure me. “Nothing’s going to hurt you here, Jessa. This is just an observational platform.”

“Right,” I say, trying to sound like this is all perfectly fine. “I’m right behind you.”

He opens the door, and I take a deep breath.

I step through, and I’m in a baseball stadium. Thousands of fans are cheering around us, and Mario is somehow now eighty years old and wearing one of those cabbie caps that old guys like to wear to cover their bald spots. I have no idea how I know it’s still him, but I do.

He takes the cap off and folds it in his hand. “Yankee Stadium,” he says, gesturing with the flopping hat.

“I saw a game here once with my dad,” I say. “It was a long time ago, though.”

“Huh?” He leans in, cupping a hand to his ear.

“I said, I’ve been here before,” I say loudly.

He nods. “It’s too loud here, don’t you think? Come on.”

He walks back toward the red door again—which is visible in the wall