Get Out of My Dreams Read online

  My teammates started cheering me on, shouting at me not to stop, to run harder and faster. I ran, feeling the encouraging support of my team. I lengthened my strides and, though I was getting winded, I managed to keep control of the ball. The players on the opposing team began to reorganize themselves; they hadn’t expected a defensive player to abandon his position and take off for the other end of the field. I had taken them completely by surprise.

  A player from the other team ran toward me—a big, muscular guy. His mad scramble to get to me was so sudden that he was on me before I could pass the ball to a teammate. I had to dribble around him or the play would end right then and there. I could see he was a good defender, but he wasn’t very agile. The ball bounced off his leg and was about to head in the other direction but I managed to regain control of it and got past him. Now I was near their goal box.

  It was all up to me. Adrenaline coursed through my body. There was only one defender between me and the goalie.

  “Over here! Pass it to me!”

  The voice was coming from one of the forwards on my team. I didn’t see him yet, but I knew he was out there, breaking away from a defender somewhere across the field. I took my eyes off the ball, searching for his voice to figure out his position. I spotted him on the right side, with no one marking him. I also saw Claudia a few yards from him. She was standing, her hands clasped together in excitement, caught up in the emotion of the game. Claudia was staring at me.

  I made my decision in a fraction of a second. I knew if I passed the ball to the forward, he’d score the goal and get all the glory, while I’d be relegated to the background in spite of the fact that I was the one who’d created the play. This was my chance to win the game for us, to break the team’s losing streak and, most importantly, to impress Claudia. I had to be the one to score the winning goal.

  I took advantage of my favorable position in relation to the last defender, faked a pass to my teammate who was still unmarked, and then changed my direction. The defender couldn’t risk letting the ball make it over to the forward, assuming he’d surely score a goal. He took the bait, sticking out his right leg to block the pass that never happened. But he was good—and agile—and immediately picked up on the fake. He turned his shoulders and reacted with brutal speed. I should have been able to leave him in the dust, but I was low on energy from having crossed the whole field running full on. I’d never make it to the goalie before the defender caught me. And if that happened, it’d be over.

  So I took the shot.

  My foot hit the ball squarely, forcefully, aiming at the right post of the goal box. The ball shot straight through the air—as did the goalie, who leapt like a cat, his arm outstretched and his hand open wide. He’d calculated the ball’s trajectory perfectly.

  I saw it all in slow motion. The ball slowly sailing past the hand of the goalie, who hadn’t gotten there fast enough to block the shot . . . The ball looking like it would enter the goal box . . . The ball finally crashing into the goal post and bouncing out. My illusions came crashing down as soon as I heard my teammates’ moans. I didn’t even want to raise my eyes and face the looks of disappointment that would be fixed on me. I knew I deserved every last one of them.

  “Dude, I was open,” protested the forward to whom I had not passed the ball like I should have.

  “I didn’t see you. I’m sorry,” I lied.

  “Well put on your glasses when you play! If we lose, it’s on you.”

  That hurt.

  “Hey, calm down,” Ivan intervened. “Like you haven’t missed any goals, dude. And nobody gives you crap.”

  Having my friend’s support finally gave me the strength to raise my head. I jogged alongside Ivan and back to my defensive position as the goalie laid into me.

  “He was right to tell me off,” I admitted.

  “I know that,” Ivan said. “You’re a jerk. But it was a really good shot. It almost went in! I would’ve done the same thing—but I would’ve scored! C’mon, cheer up. There’s still time. We’re gonna make a goal and win this game.”

  But instead, they scored on us. And, once again, we lost.

  When we got to the next class, with the bitter taste of defeat still on my lips, I made sure not to meet eyes with Claudia.

  My history teacher was a peculiar character. No one knew his exact age but it sure seemed like he was ancient. He was short with thick, long hair as white as snow that he always kept in a ponytail that hung down almost to his waist. He was never without his cane, but it wasn’t clear if he used it because he had trouble walking or trouble seeing. His eyes were obscured by a whitish veil but, even so, he was acutely aware of what was going on around him. I discovered that important tidbit when he caught me cheating on a test—so he was definitely not blind.

  His first name was Tedd but no one knew his last name. At first glance you might think he was a sweet old man. But only at first glance.

  “Put away your books and notes, boys and girls,” instructed Tedd with the sweetest voice you’d ever hear coming from a teacher in a school. “Today we’re having a surprise test.”

  The sweat from the soccer game that was still running down my back froze at the news. My father’s words thundered in my head, reminding me of the agreement we’d made: that I could stay in the public school as long as I got good grades. It wasn’t enough just to pass. And I was surely going to flunk this test because I hadn’t studied at all. If my father found out I got a zero, at the very least he’d rub my face in the fact that he’d warned me not to leave all my studying for the last minute.

  “Little bastard,” murmured Ivan.

  I wasn’t the only one whose face was awash with fear.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to save it for tomorrow?” I said, raising my hand as I stood up. Even if it was useless, I had to try to postpone this test.

  Tedd’s seemingly sightless eyes turned more or less toward me. I shuddered under his gaze.

  “That would eliminate the element of surprise, don’t you think?”

  I heard stifled laughter.

  “What I meant was . . .” I stammered. “It’s just that I wasn’t able to study. My family moved last week,” I lied.

  “I understand. Surely it was that and nothing else that caused your unexcused absences from my class.”

  “Exactly. I took care of getting the notes from a classmate, but I haven’t had time to study them.”

  The other students were looking at me curiously. Very few of them would actually think I was telling the truth but they evidently wanted to see if I’d get my way and convince him to bag the idea of the surprise test.

  “I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” the teacher said as he fiddled with his cane. “Seeing as you had family problems, I’ll change the only question on the test. It will now be about a topic we dealt with one month ago. That way you will have had more than enough time to have studied it. It will be an easy question, one that any student who reviews a bit each day should have no problem answering. And surely your classmates won’t mind being tested on a topic we covered a few weeks ago instead of one we went over just a few days ago. We all win this way, don’t you think?”

  My classmates’ looks of astonishment turned into looks of hatred.

  “Thanks,” I said halfheartedly. “Great decision.”

  I sat back down at my desk as I imagined all sorts of horrible deaths for this nasty little man who was about to destroy my chances of getting a good grade. In fact, averaging in a zero was going to make it tough to even pass.

  “You tried,” whispered Ivan empathetically. “But with that old geezer there’s nothing you can do. He knows every trick in the book.”

  I had no choice but to reluctantly agree with Ivan. Tedd’s message was perfectly clear: not only are you not going to get out of anything, but if you try I’ll make it even more difficult for you and turn the rest of the students against you. And it had worked.

  “Next time, keep your big fat mouth shut,” one student
barked at me, his face glowering.

  I didn’t answer him. I took out a blank sheet of paper and started forming in my mind the image of the drawing I would be making over the next hour to keep from getting too bored. The other alternative would be to copy off Ivan, but I’d already gotten myself into enough messes for one day. Besides, he didn’t look like he’d studied much, either.

  After tripping over his own chair, the teacher stood leaning on his cane in the middle of the classroom just in front of the chalkboard.

  “The test is over World War II,” he explained. “You have one hour to explain everything you know about the Normandy Invasion and how it affected later developments of the war.”

  I jolted upright in my seat when I heard those words. At first it took me a moment to understand why the hair on my arms had stood on end; why a chill had shot through my whole body. But then I remembered my dream.

  The museum, the twins that handed the stick back and forth, Eloy who’d looked like an ape . . . and the painting. Holy shit! The painting in which I’d seen the battle about which I was now taking a test. The coincidence was incredible, but I was too excited at that moment to spend much time thinking about it. The important thing was that I’d seen the landing in Normandy with my own eyes. And if that weren’t enough, the blond twin had explained every detail to me. I just had to remember her words and write them down, one by one. I barely even had to think.

  When the hour was up I’d filled three pages—both sides—and my hand hurt from having written so much.

  “One moment, boy,” Tedd called out to me just as I was about to leave the classroom.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sure it will not inconvenience you in any way to bring me a note signed by your parents verifying that you moved last week,” he said, curling his upper lip. “I will need that so as not to have to lower your grade on the test for having missed class.”

  “No problem.”

  Now I was really thinking about the dream, about the incredible coincidences that had taken place. I was headed for the teachers’ offices to meet with my math teacher who had summoned me. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t really care. I was completely absorbed with the dream.

  Again and again I went over that surreal visit to the museum. Thanks to that dream, I had gotten out of a tight spot with Eloy and his friends and had passed a surprise history test. I had no doubt I was going to get a perfect score. There was still the problem of the signed note to deal with, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d forged my mother’s signature.

  The only thing that bothered me was that I didn’t understand what had happened. I could hardly believe I was capable of dreaming about the future. Among other things, that would imply that Claudia was going to be seduced by a disgusting mutant and I was going to show up naked somewhere. The only logical explanation that occurred to me was that it was all one, big coincidence. But something inside me told me it wasn’t. And it wasn’t like I could consult with anyone about it. They wouldn’t believe me; they’d think I was crazy, and my level of popularity would tank even more. And it was already low enough since I’d lost the soccer game for us and provoked the teacher into changing the question on the history—

  A lightbulb suddenly went on in my head. If the dream had shown me the Invasion of Normandy so I’d pass the test, it meant that my argument with the teacher was foreseen. Either that or he was thinking about using that question anyway and had blamed it on me to make me look bad in front of the rest of the students.

  I kept turning it over in my head but hadn’t arrived at any conclusion by the time I got to the teachers’ offices—well, other than the conclusion that I’d go crazy if I didn’t start thinking about something else.

  The math teacher greeted me rather coldly and asked me to sit down.

  “You cheated on today’s homework,” she accused without preamble.

  “What? But I solved the problem on the board, in front of the whole class,” I answered angrily.

  “Precisely.”

  “I don’t understand. I did it perfectly. You can’t just memorize a system of equations. Well, maybe you can, but that’s absurd. Who would ever do something like that?”

  “No one,” she agreed.

  “So, that proves I didn’t cheat.”

  “On the contrary. You solved the equation just fine, but the problems you turned in to me were all wrong. Not just the one you did correctly on the board—every single one was wrong.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. I’d never imagined Ivan—that fool—would have screwed up the homework.

  “Well, actually, I—”

  “It’s not advisable for you to keep lying,” she warned me. “That would be a serious mistake.”

  “Serious mistake? I copied a few exercises. It’s no big deal. Take a point off, or whatever you need to do, and we can call it even.”

  “Not so fast. It’s serious because it’s not the first time. Besides, you miss class a lot and your attitude leaves something to be desired. And there are other teachers who agree with me.”

  “I can’t believe this. I know more about math than anyone in the class. I’ve proven that and I can prove it again. So what if I didn’t do the homework yesterday? You should still give me an A.”

  “For starters, lower your voice and watch your tone. I won’t warn you about that again. It’s true your grasp of math is excellent, but I’m evaluating more than that; things like your work, your effort, and your general performance. Getting an A on the final exam isn’t enough.”

  “So you’re gonna fail me for not turning in some exercises?”

  The teacher hesitated a moment before responding.

  “I should. The school’s rules apply to everyone. You can’t ignore them whenever you want to just because you’re good at a subject.”

  “I’m sure that goes against some rule,” I said sarcastically.

  “I see you’re intent on arguing about this, even after you’ve admitted that you cheated. I don’t know where you get that rebellious spirit from, and I don’t like it. But it doesn’t seem fair to me to fail you without good reason in a class you have some skill in, either. So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to turn in a paper to me as punishment for having cheated. If you don’t turn it in, I’ll fail you. Do you understand?”

  “A math paper? Gladly.”

  “Yes, a math paper, but it won’t be about something that’s too easy for you. I want you to put some work into it, so it’s not just going to be a handful of exercises that would be no big deal for you. Choose a famous mathematician and write a paper for me that tells about his life and his contributions to the field of mathematics.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. This sucks,” I sighed.

  “Minimum of fifty pages, handwritten, and they had better all be written by you. I’ll be checking your handwriting. If you don’t turn it in, you fail. Now go on home.”

  My father wasn’t home when I got there. He was usually late and I was glad that today was no exception. I was still confused by what had happened at school and angry about the punishment I’d been slapped with, so I told my mother I was going to go do my homework and ended up spending the rest of the afternoon in my room so no one would bother me.

  And I didn’t have to face the question I hated most until dinnertime.

  “How was school?” asked my mother as she put the dressing on the salad.

  I cut the bread and gave us each a piece.

  “Fine,” I answered distractedly. “I scored a goal and we won today’s match. If things keep going this well for us, we’ll win the league.”

  “I thought you played defense.” My father folded his napkin and placed it on his leg. He filled everyone’s glass with water, leaving his own for last.

  His comment annoyed me. I didn’t see how my father could know I was lying, but with him I could never be sure of anything.

  “It was a weird match. I saw an opportunity and I took it. Defensiv
e players can take a shot at the goal too, you know.”

  “I was just saying,” my father explained as he tried the salad, “that maybe you should be playing forward. I think you’d be good at it. And you seem happy to have made a goal.” He added a little more salt to the salad and stirred it.

  I wondered if I’d really sounded that happy when I talked about the soccer match. I was also curious to know if my father had been a good player when he was young. Surely he was—just like he was at everything—even though now he didn’t seem interested in soccer. He never watched professional matches on television. He’d taken me once to see my favorite team but he’d spent practically the whole time poring over documents he’d brought along in a bunch of files from his office. But he’d bought two of the best seats in the stadium, of course. That was my father.

  “Always talking about soccer,” my mother interjected as she cut the pizza with a pizza wheel. “Can’t we talk about a more interesting topic?”

  I grabbed the biggest slice. “Sure, Mom. What do you think’s more interesting?”

  “Girls. It’s been a long time since you’ve told me anything. Remember Natalie and how in love you were with her?”

  “Mom!” I shook my head. “I was eight. Back then I was in love with a different girl every month. I was just a kid.”

  “You were so cute!” She reached out her hand and pinched my cheek. “Now I’m sure there must someone who tickles your fancy. Oh, look! You’re blushing!”

  I wasted no time in taking a massive bite out of my pizza, hoping to stall for time and delay my answer while I was chewing.

  “Can I have a Coke?”

  “Not with dinner. I’ve told you, it’s not healthy.”

  “One time isn’t going to hurt anything,” my father pointed out. He took a can out of the refrigerator. My mother gave him a dirty look but gave in.