BooksBarbecue
Back Reverie
Chapters (53)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Letter from the Author
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Contents
  6. • One •
  7. • Two •
  8. • Three •
  9. • Four •
  10. • Five •
  11. • Six •
  12. • Seven •
  13. • Eight •
  14. • Nine •
  15. • Ten •
  16. • Eleven •
  17. • Twelve •
  18. • Thirteen •
  19. • Fourteen •
  20. • Fifteen •
  21. • Sixteen •
  22. • Seventeen •
  23. • Eighteen •
  24. • Nineteen •
  25. • Twenty •
  26. • Twenty-One •
  27. • Twenty-Two •
  28. • Twenty-Three •
  29. • Twenty-Four •
  30. • Twenty-Five •
  31. • Twenty-Six •
  32. • Twenty-Seven •
  33. • Twenty-Eight •
  34. • Twenty-Nine •
  35. • Thirty •
  36. • Thirty-One •
  37. • Thirty-Two •
  38. • Thirty-Three •
  39. • Thirty-Four •
  40. • Thirty-Five •
  41. • Thirty-Six •
  42. • Thirty-Seven •
  43. • Thirty-Eight •
  44. • ∞ •
  45. • Thirty-Nine •
  46. • Forty •
  47. Epilogue
  48. Acknowledgments
  49. Excerpt from Be Dazzled
  50. One
  51. Two
  52. About the Author
  53. Back Cover

No one had told Kane what was going to happen to him. They weren’t allowed to talk until his parents arrived, which made him want to throw up. He wondered what would happen as he pulled himself into a knot of shivering limbs on the couch. He wondered if a person could shiver apart. If they could, would it happen slowly, or all at once, like a Jenga tower flying apart after one, singular piece is oh-so-carefully removed?

Kane became sick of wondering. He held himself tighter and clutched a book—The Witches by Roald Dahl, a favorite he’d stashed in his backpack. He’d grabbed it from Sophia’s car before he was dragged off in the police cruiser. He turned the pages every few minutes, but only pretended to read in case he was being watched.

Were the police meeting with his parents separately? Should he text Sophia? His phone had been lost in the crash, but he had her old one on loan.

Kane turned another page, though it wasn’t words he saw but the shadow from the Cobalt Complex. His mind drifted over it, tentative, like approaching the memory of a dream you know will break apart if it sees you coming. Even at the edges, he knew there was something messed up about what he’d seen. Something unreal and unbelievable.

He shook off the notion. He couldn’t afford unbelievable right now. He needed to figure out a way to explain all of this. A real explanation for what really happened. And he needed to figure it out before Detective Thistler did.

Kane tensed at the thought of Thistler, who wore a suit with a badge clipped to his belt, who smelled like cigarettes and spearmint. Thistler was always smiling when he questioned Kane, like he thought they were about to share a secret adventure. Kane had a fear of people who smiled too much, and Thistler proved why. In their first meeting at the hospital, Thistler laid out Kane’s circumstances in a cheerful, rushed explanation, like someone enthusiastically describing their odd hobby. He let loose terms like “Third-Degree Arson” and “Permanent Record” with a flourish. When Kane was suitably panicked, Thistler started his strange, meandering questions about Kane’s life. Did Kane have a girlfriend? No. A boyfriend? Not yet. Did he participate in any clubs at school? No. How did he feel about school? Good. And so on.

Toward the end of their two hours, Thistler began circling in on something much larger than useless details about Kane’s life. He was targeting Kane’s stability. The questions turned pointed. Why do you find yourself lying to avoid people? I…I…don’t. Why would you decide to hurt yourself? I wouldn’t. I didn’t. You seem angry. Does talking about what you did make you angry? Yes, but—Why is that?—but I didn’t do what you think. You seem upset. Why are you upset?