“You two look like you’re up to something, old man,” he says when she is gone.

I shrug. “I realized I haven’t been very civil to you. This must be difficult to adjust to.”

He hitches a shoulder. “I’m rolling with it. But it is kind of like ordering the prime rib and getting a cheeseburger. I mean, I can’t touch her. I can’t talk to her. So what’s the point?”

“If you truly care for Julia, you will learn to put her needs above your own. Being a Sleepbringer is truly a most selfless profession. Something you should be proud of.”

He rolls his eyes; he doesn’t share my sense of pride.

“And after a hundred years you may go back to your life and complete your unfini—”

“Unfinished business, got it. Whatever that means. By the time I get back there, everyone I know will be dead.” He shakes his head. “What is your unfinished business?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “I’d had plans to go to college for architecture. My father died coming over to America, but he’d wanted me to have these opportunities he never had in Italy. And then I went and got myself killed. You asked me how before, and I didn’t answer. It was an accident at the mill.”

“For real? Bummer. Was it gruesome? Blood and body parts scattered everywhere?”

I shrug. I can’t remember much from that day so long ago, besides the shock.

“Mine was. Like Night of the Living Dead.” He beams, as if he’s proud of this fact. “But I didn’t have any plans for the future. The only thing I was into was … I dunno, enjoying life. I cruised. Had fun.”

“But you did enjoy your life. And when you died, you had two choices—either leave it forever, or become a Sandman and return to it after a hundred years. You made the right decision, did you not?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Definitely. But … a hundred freaking years. Holy hell.” He rakes his hands through his hair and sighs.

I motion to Julia’s window. She’s going to bed early tonight. She’s wearing my favorite simple loose white gown and looks beautiful; I have to hold myself back from going in there and conducting my business. It’s no longer mine. “If you’d like, you may seduce Julia tonight,” I say, somewhat saddened by the prospect.

His eyes fill with hunger. I knew he’d be eager, but I had no idea how eager. He practically pushes me aside and storms through the window, rubbing his hands together greedily. He stalks to her—he still hasn’t gotten to floating yet—and I move to the other side of the bed. He takes a handful of sand from the pocket of his jacket and begins to spread it over her.

“Not too much, only a bit,” I advise, clenching my teeth. “Or else she will sleep far too long.”

He raises his eyes to me for a moment and then continues his work. Julia is lying on her stomach, which she does often, so I cannot see her face. I cannot tell if it’s working. He puts his hand over her and begins to run it the length of her body. His fingers are like plump sausages and move awkwardly, which is probably why, after a half hour or so, she rolls onto her back and exhales, still awake. Poor Julia. His hands stop in place and begin to shake.

“Don’t touch—”

“I know!” His voice is a frustrated whisper. He starts to move his hands again. I want to tell him, Gently, gently, but I know he’d meet any of my attempts to help with the same unpleasantness, so I bite my tongue.

Another fifteen minutes pass. It’s excruciating. I am told there will come a day when, as a human, I won’t put the needs and worries of these women before mine, but right now that seems utterly impossible.

She turns onto her side and then sits straight up in bed, checking the clock. I, too, check the clock; it’s likely Vicki or Evangeline is waiting for us. When Julia looks around the room, Mr. Colburn jumps backward, then studies her. Waves a hand in front of her face. She doesn’t flinch. He waves his hand again, more fiercely this time, then screams, “Hello!” loudly enough to rattle my bones. No response. He shakes his head. “Wow. She really can’t see or hear me.”

I motion with my chin. “Keep to your work.”

He steps back, his face stone. Giving up. Clearly he isn’t used to being ignored.

I move to the bed and begin to run a hand over her, and within minutes, she is asleep. “See?” I say. “You were almost there.”

He glowers. “She really, really doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Yes, but she might dream of you,” I offer as consolation, though I know that Julia’s dreams have rarely, if ever, been of him. It’s most always those magnificent buildings, their tops hiding amongst the clouds. “Would you like to see her dreams?”

He cocks his head. “I can do that?”

“Sometimes. Just close your eyes, and think of her sleeping there.” He does as I tell him to, and I do the same. “Can you …”

He’s silent for a moment. “Oh, yeah … cool. She’s … at the food court. At Sweetie Pi’s. That’s where she works. She’s making … ha. She’s making an egg cream. This is her dream? Seriously?”

“Yes.” I watch the scene as he narrates it. So that is her place of employment. In all those times of visiting that place in her dreams, I’d never realized that. As she fills a cup with seltzer, I see someone approach. At first I think it is Mr. Colburn, which startles me; I have not yet shown him how to insert himself into her dreams. But then I realize it is another young man.

“What the—” Mr. Colburn breathes. “What the hell is he doing in Julia’s dream?”

“Who is he?” I ask.

“My best—” he begins, his words clipped, but he stops midsentence as the young man drifts across the counter so that the space between him and Julia is nonexistent. His open mouth meets hers. He kisses her so ravenously, pressing his body against her with such force, that I can barely watch. I feel my face growing hot for her and have to pull myself out of it when I feel the heat radiating off Julia’s skin.

“No, Bret!” a voice mumbles. Julia’s.

Mr. Colburn’s eyes spring open. Julia turns to the other side, clutching her pillow, still sleeping, still unaware of our presence. “Julia …,” my student says, bowing low to her ear. “Julia!”

“She cannot hear you,” I remind him. I’m glad I haven’t yet told him he can speak to her in her dreams; from the look on his face, he is far too unstable.

His hands tremble. His voice is ragged. “Why? Why was he in her dream? Why was he kissing her?”

I give him a smile to cut the tension. “When was the last time you were able to control what you dreamt of? It means nothing.”

He processes that for a moment and then rubs his eyes.

“It’s got to mean something.”

“Trust me. It doesn’t.” I say this only to calm him; any fool who has ever had a dream knows that sometimes they do have meaning. But only Julia knows what exactly it means. Thank goodness, his face softens. I check the clock at her bedside. “And we must be going on to our other charges.”

He slowly follows me out the window but then stops to watch Julia before he passes into the night. For the first time, that happy-go-lucky grin has been replaced by a troubled frown.

“What are you thinking?” I ask him.

He doesn’t answer, but I know. I know he is wondering if joining the Sandmen was the right decision after all.

CHAPTER 9

Julia

“How you holding up, Jules?” my locker neighbor Ebony asks when I stop to throw my bag into my locker.

“Fine, thanks,” I say. It’s the same answer I’ve given to every one of the three dozen people who have asked me the same thing. Maybe I should come up with something wittier. After all, I know the drill: they don’t really want to know the answer. If I said something else, their eyes would glaze over.

Monday morning, all eyes are still on me. People step aside in the hallway as I pass. The funeral was weeks ago. I wonder how long it will be before they stop thinking of me as Front-Page Julia and start thinking of me as Julia again. Maybe that won’t ever happen; after all, I was known as the victim for years after that incident when I was seven. That is, until I met Griffin. I remember the first time he kissed me. He stroked my cheek, right by the scars, and his hand felt like sandpaper. I shuddered. “I bet you’re wondering how I got those, huh?” I whispered to him.