Bree nodded, taking one last swig. “That’s actually pretty wicked,” she said. “Sorry for assuming, Andi.” She chuckled carelessly. “Pretty surreal stuff, though. Makes me wish I still had that dream interpretation book.”

I sighed. Bree clearly didn’t understand, or just didn’t care. To her it was just one more weird quirk of Andi Slate, wasn’t it? Just a silly little dream. Maybe she was right, too. What did it matter? I’d woken up once again to life in the town where excitement went to die, after all. There was no point in dwelling on dreams, no matter how entrancing they were.

The halls of Portsmouth High were bustling as everyone rushed to their lockers to grab books, papers, folders and such. I hurried to mine, and ran into an old friend waiting there. The only remainder of my San Diego life that was still with me.

He was standing beside my locker, frowning down at his watch. His face brightened when he saw me. “Oh, hi Andi! How are you? I’ve been waiting. I’ve got something to show you that you’re going to love!”

“Hey, Vik,” I replied, feeling too tired to be as excited as he was.

Bree wasn’t, though. Maybe if she weren’t so fond of sugary drinks so early in the morning, she’d learn to relax. “Heya, Vik! How are ya?”

Vik was short for Vivek Mayank, and it’s what I’d called him ever since we were kids growing up in California. I’d known him for so long that he, being four months younger, was like a little brother to me (except Indian, of course). Our parents had been friends since his migrated from Bombay when we were in first grade, and when his mom and dad scored positions with Miskatonic’s archeology department, they’d hooked my parents up with the biology department and our families moved across the country within a month of each other, just in time for me and Vik to start high school.