Dreamer - Savannah Campbell (ready player one ebook txt) 📗

July, 1990             

She opens her eyes and sees a darkened world rush past her as she falls downward at an exponentially fast rate. Only darkness surrounds her as she falls farther and farther. She has no idea what she will land on or if she will ever land at all. Fear quickly takes over as the primary emotion running her decisions and the terror she’s feeling through every part of her body causes her to act in the only way she can.

                I want to slow down! Irene thinks frantically. Almost immediately, the world’s pace around her starts to decrease but the fact that she’s falling continues to frighten her and inexplicitly Irene thinks of the leaves that she always helps her father rake up after they fall all around their yard. As she recalls the piles she loves to jump happily jump into, a stack of them appears below her. She lands softly on them, disoriented about how it happened. The blackness that was rushing by before has stopped moving but still surrounds her. She looks around again, trying to make sense of her new environment. She shudders and reaches forward tentatively and makes a silent wish to get out of her fear alive. She reaches down tentatively toward the red items below her.

                The second her fingers graze a bright red one, her body jerks quickly and then she’s alone on her twin bed. Unfazed by what just happened, seven-year-old Irene Gabbard turns over and quickly falls asleep again. Years later, she barely remembers what happened that night at all. Years pass before she even dreams again and it’s only then that she begins to wonder why certain things happened them.

August 1996

                Irene is walking through a shopping center. Hey, I think I know this place, mom and I went here days ago to buy my ‘new junior high outfit.’ She passes by the clothing stores that are closed. She checks her watch and notices that it’s hours before anything is supposed to be open. She suddenly sees crowds of girls her age run by to a stage at the opposite end of the building.  That wasn’t there before. Irene muses as she follows the crowd. As she gets closer, she hears the girls’ screams for the person in front of the stage.

                “Oh JTT I love you so much!” “JTT I want to be your girlfriend!” The girls yell.

                Well, that’s neat that he’s making an appearance here. Man I wish I had my autograph notebook so I could get him to sign it. Irene thinks as she puts her hands in her pockets before walking away again. As her fingers go deeper into the denim, she feels the spiral rings and paper of a notebook. She pulls it out and discovers that it’s the pocket sized book she keeps in her nightstand. This is too good to be true, she thinks as she sprints back to the teenage crowd and pushes her way to the front of it.

                “Hey JTT over here, sign my book please!” She says in a loud, excited voice.

                Jonathon Taylor Thomas carefully holds her notepad and scribbles his name for her. Irene beams as she walks away in a daze. I’m keeping this forever; this notebook is never leaving my nightstand again. Now how do I get out of here? I just want to leave. Irene thinks as she searches for an open door. I have to meet my mom, I think I hear her calling for me. Before she can search for too long, her body jerks and she’s in her bedroom and sees her mom’s hand knocking on her door.

“Irene honey, it’s time for school. You don’t want to be late for your first day of junior high.” Ruth Gabbard says happily yet softly as she opens her daughter’s bedroom door.

                “Ugh, mom could we tone down the chipper chipmunk attitude today? The first day isn’t as important as you think.” Irene sighs as throws her quilt off her bed.

                “Oh but it is. I met my best friend in junior high, it can be the best time of your life if you want it to be. I know you’ll have fun sweetie, you’re just such a good person to be around.” Ruth says as she opens her daughter’s curtains and leaves to start breakfast.

                Irene turns away and rolls her eyes at her mom’s praise. With it and her dad’s steadfast approval of how she stays productive, she sometimes gets overwhelmed by the positivity. Remembering the last thing she saw before waking up, her mind and eyes wander to her nightstand. She opens the top drawer and digs through the keepsakes and mementos of years past to find a small notebook. Most of the pages are blank until she comes across one page with three names written in blue ink on it.

                “Whoa. How did that happen? I know I’m not still asleep, I saw mom wake me up,” Irene whispers.  “Unless, am I’m still dreaming in some way?” She looks around for a few minutes longer and eventually she walks to her closet. Irene grabs one of the new outfits her mom bought her for this “special year” for the day and walks slowly to her bathroom next door. Everything appears normal and not really dream-like, at least to her at this point. Not wanting to risk hearing her mother yell again about how special today is, Irene quickens her pace and finishes her pre-breakfast shower routine in record time.

                She arrives at the kitchen table just as her mom is placing a plate of French toast at Irene’s place setting. Without a word, Irene pushes the toast slightly to the left of her plate and proceeds to pour a pool of syrup beside it. She cuts bites out of her two toast slices, dips them wordlessly into the syrup one at a time and eats in a polite silence. Also quiet, her dad shuffles the newspaper in front of him as he moves from the business section to the sports.

                “Any news you think this section of the world would like to know too dear?” Ruth asks her husband.

                “Nah, it’s really just the same old thing as yesterday,” Andrew responds with only his voice breaking the paper barrier between himself and the breakfast table’s occupants.

“I think though that today’s big news won’t be found in this paper. Isn’t today someone’s first day of eighth grade?”

“Daaad, today is not a big deal at all.” Irene sighs and emphasizes her last two words. “Millions of kids are starting eighth grade today.”

“Yes but those millions of kids are not my special girl.” He smiles as he folds his news and places it beside his plate. “I’m so proud of you honey, this is a big day for you.”

“Yes sweetie, I’m sure you’ll do great this year in all that you do, just like you always do.” Her mom’s eyes grow moist as she gives Irene a huge grin.

Irene smiles back and forces her eyes to not roll back in annoyance this, her parents’ latest set of the constant praise. Whether she’s starting a new year of school or getting an ‘A’ on a test like her classmates they always give her more verbal accolades and occasional physical expressions of admiration than Irene felt she ever deserved. The family soon resumes their breakfasts and Irene finishes first. She excuses herself and leaves to go back upstairs to finish getting ready for school before the bus gets to their street. As she walks back through the kitchen and to the stairs, she can’t help but hear her parents’ soft conversation.

“I just hope this is a successful year for her friends-wise at least. She’s never seems particularly close with any of the kids she’s met over the years.” She hears her mom say with the tears Irene saw before are now affecting her speech.

“Ruth, I’ve told you before, she’s just cautious when it comes to interacting people. It is a very rare occurrence when you only have to tell your child not to talk to strangers once and she immediately takes it to heart.” Her father replies curtly. Irene knows without seeing anything that even though her dad sounded harsh, he tried to soften the severity of his comment with a pat on her mom’s arm. The gesture is probably the only one of concern and love she has ever seen her dad exhibit for her.

Thanks dad, ‘cautious’ is such a great euphemism for my behavior. You ever pause to think that it may be something I’ve learned from you two, this lack of a need for closeness? Irene thinks as she sprints up to her bathroom.

Within minutes she’s finished drying her hair and applying a big of powdery make-up to her face. Irene smiles at her reflection and feels lucky that she hasn’t had to do a lot of scrubbing in any way to keep her face clear thus far. Please let me be one of those lucky ones who makes it through puberty relatively untouched she thinks. She grabs her backpack from her bedroom and through the window behind her nightstand she sees a faint yellow vehicle’s outline moving slowly toward the end of the street where her house sits.

She rushes down the stairs almost as fast as she fled up them moments before. Her parents have since left the kitchen and now one of them stands on either side of the front door. She hugs and kisses each of them on the cheek before speed walking to the curb. The bus is still a few doors away but she learned last year in her first months riding it that the driver was not one to wait more than a few milliseconds.

Once at school, Irene walks slowly to her locker; the speed she used to get ready in time for today is already depleted. Having been going to the Day School since kindergarten, she finds a strange comfort in already knowing how the first and successive 190 days will go. She had received her schedule weeks ago in the mail and retrieves it from her backpack now.

Students in second grade and above were mailed their schedules of class rotations weeks ago. They were to report to homeroom by or before the third and last bell at 8a.m for a brief role call before leaving as a group to their first of five classes, each lasting 50 minutes. There’s a ten minute interlude between each class including homeroom to give students time to reach their next class as well as to do anything else they need to (i.e. locker or bathroom trips). Lunch periods occur between 11:15a.m and 12:50p.m in twenty-five minute increments with pairs of grades such as kindergarten and first, second and third, fourth and fifth, and sixth through eighth eating together. 

After the fifth class period, students are given an optional twenty-minute free study period to use for homework preparation or completion. The higher grade teachers also stay during this time for meetings and questions their students may have. This twenty-minute period is also used for the occasional detention that is rarely given out for various offenses conducted throughout the day. Those choosing to go to the period or who have the misfortune of a detention sentence are afforded the luxury of being able to ride the bus back home before the driver takes the vehicle around for the county schools once more. Irene has only in the last two years started staying for the study period in an effort to stay on top of her ever pressuring schoolwork and to catch the bus home as well.

She puts the lock back on her locker before getting her schedule out of her backpack for the first time