When Alma woke from her half sleep the next morning, the events of the night before seemed hazy and confusing. The most reasonable explanation, she decided—the safest explanation—was that it had been a dream.
“It was a dream,” she said as she brushed her teeth.
“It was a dream,” she said as she combed her hair.
“It was a dream,” she said as she went down the stairs.
Even so, she couldn’t help but check the woods behind her house. Well, at least she tried to. She hadn’t gotten far when she heard her father calling from the back door.
“Alma, are you out here?” He was standing on the steps, his hand shading his eyes against the morning sun. “It’s imperative that we get moving!”
Alma turned reluctantly from the sunlit trees and brush. Her father hated to be late.
Inside, her mother was pouring coffee for herself and for Alma’s father.
“Alma Llama! Today’s the day,” she said, smiling a big, encouraging smile. “Astrology Club!”
“Astronomy,” Alma said as she took her seat at the table.
“I really do have a mental block about that, don’t I!” her mother said with a laugh.
Alma tried to smile, but her mind got in the way of her mouth. Yesterday, she had gotten carried away. Yesterday, with the flyer and the quintescope and the ShopKeeper calling her Alma of the Growing Light, she had felt braver, bigger, brighter.
Now, though, on the day of the meeting, after maybe dreaming about a falling Starling she was supposed to save—now, she was afraid. She wished she hadn’t told the truth. She wished she hadn’t told her parents anything.
“Have some breakfast,” her father said, pushing a plate of toast toward her. “Remember what the doctor said about regular meals. And you certainly need energy today. This is a big step you’re taking. A very big, important step in the right direction.”
“It sure is,” her mother agreed. “We are so proud of you.”
Her father nodded. Twice.
“Oh. Well,” Alma said. “Thank you. Thank you.”
She took a piece of toast while her parents watched.
She would, of course, have to go to the meeting.
“I hope that lightning storm didn’t keep you awake,” her father said. “Sleep is very important too.”
“I only heard one crash,” her mother said, “but it was so loud it woke me up!” She took a sip of her coffee.
“March storms, I guess,” her father said. He sipped his coffee too.
Alma listened to this with her toast gripped in her hand. She waited, breath held, for her parents to say more, but they didn’t. They had seen the flash. They had heard the boom. But they thought it had been lightning and thunder.
“I did hear it,” Alma said, her voice almost a whisper. “But I thought it was a dream.”
She took a bite of her toast.