The man nodded eagerly and took out his wallet, but Lishta held up a finger. Maren ducked under the counter and pulled out a sheet of paper with the dream contract printed on it.

“We have one key rule,” said Lishta, and, although this was all part of the usual spiel, Maren’s chest warmed, as it always did, at the word “we.” At the fact that it was her rule, too. “You must agree to the rule and sign this contract before we can sell you the dream.”

The tall woman sighed again and made a show of checking her watch, but Lishta ignored her. Following her lead, Maren gave the man the kind, yet serious expression she’d been working on all summer, and slid the contract across the counter.

“This dream is only for your personal consumption.” Lishta pulled on a pair of wire-framed glasses and switched from her kind voice to her stern, rules-following one. “You must promise never to give it to anyone else without their consent. The subconscious brain is a fragile and easily influenced thing. No person should ever take or be given a dream he or she does not understand or expect, and no dream should ever be given with the intent of influencing another person’s thoughts, fears, hopes, memories, or wishes.” Lishta peered over her glasses. “Is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” said the dark-haired woman, though nobody was speaking to her. She rolled her eyes at Maren, who pretended not to notice.

“If we find out that you’ve broken this rule, the next time you come to the shop, the door will be locked,” said Lishta to the nervous man. “And the next time, and the next. There are no second chances. You’re banned for life.”

The first time she’d ever taken a dream, Maren had signed a copy of this contract, too, and Lishta had been very clear that she’d face the same consequence if she broke the rule. But as she listened to her grandmother recite her speech for the thousandth time, a seed of an idea sprouted in Maren’s head.

A birthday-present-shaped seed.

Even more than a birthday present. If dreams could cure all kinds of ailments, why not a brain injury? Maybe there was a way to fix Hallie that the doctors hadn’t thought of. Maybe it was worth breaking the rule if it meant getting her sister back. Maren’s feet began quietly tapping the steps for her upcoming dance recital.

Step toe toe heel step shuffle ball change.

The bald man picked up a pen. “Is that it?”

“That is it,” said Lishta. “Do you solemnly swear?”