Nic Tatano - Jillian Spectre and the Dream Weaver

And I'm the one breathing heavy.

I hate to say this, being Ryan's girl and all, but I'm feeling some serious electricity.

This "I'm not dead" thing has some dangerous aspects to it.

My ankle is completely healed after two full days off my feet. Being able to send my alter ego to class was a real asset, so I didn't miss a thing while getting well. However, at one point my projection fell asleep in Economics class and for a moment I ended up back at home. Good thing I'm now a back row girl.

So I'm enjoying the school's welcome-to-the-outside-world dance on this Friday night with Ryan, Roxanne and Jake. Most of the students are freshmen wanting to take advantage of this educationally approved meat market. But there are plenty of upperclassmen as well, ready to swoop in on what Roxanne refers to as "starry-eyed freshmen" girls. College is, as Mom said, a sexual candy store, and everyone has a pocketful of change.

Apparently the school's idea of decorating for a dance is to dim the lights, as the large, rectangular meeting room looks like…wait for it…a large, rectangular meeting room with dim lights. The guys are currently being checked out by one of the school chaperones, the aforementioned Ms. Cruise, who has been licking her lips and giving seductive looks to anything in pants. She's in another cougar outfit, short skirt and tight top, and I note the other teachers are keeping their distance though the males of the species can't stop staring. I've seen Jake looking in her direction a few times, though he hasn't mentioned her and has been paying attention to Roxanne. (We still haven't told him we suspect someone's playing games with his mind, though that may change shortly.) Rox understands there's something going on in the thought control department and is being a real team player by not reading him the riot act.

"Ladies room?" I ask her.

She takes a quick look at Ms. Cruise, who is looking at our table like a cat eyes a canary. "Think I'd better keep an eye on things. Let's tag team. You go first."

I nod. "Sure. Be right back."

I get up and head toward the hall leading to the restroom, then notice there's a giant octopus playing keyboard for the band. I stop dead in my tracks and look around, then see George Washington on the dance floor, doing the jitterbug with Hillary Clinton.

I'm dreaming.

This one's incredibly lucid, so I wonder if Carrielle is hanging out here somewhere. Maybe he has some news about the dream weaver.

"Jillian."

I hear a voice coming from outside the hall. It's not Carrielle, and I don't recognize it, but I decide to follow it, passing a ten-foot blue lobster carrying a tray of champagne glasses who says hello. I move out of the room and into a dimly lit hallway.

"Jillian."

"Who's there?"

No answer.

I keep heading down the hallway. The music fades behind me, until I can't hear it any longer and my heel clicks on the linoleum provide the only sound. I see a silhouette of a man leaning against the wall. He stands up straight and suddenly a soft ethereal light emanates from his body, making him look like an angel.

It's Trip Logan.

"Hey, it's my lifesaver," I say, stopping in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

"It's your dream. You tell me."

"I'm not sure. I didn't even know I was dreaming until a minute ago."

"Maybe you've been thinking about me since I saved your life."

"That explains it."

"Or maybe you've been thinking about me for other reasons."

"Well, you did ask for my phone number. And I am unattached."

Something seems odd as I say that, but I can't put my finger on it. What the hell, it's a dream and a serious hunk is glowing and obviously interested in me.

He moves closer, near enough that I can smell his earthy cologne. Trip is about a foot taller, so his chest is at eye level. He reaches toward me and gently runs his fingers through my hair. He lifts my chin with one finger, locks eyes with me, and suddenly the world disappears. His look is almost hypnotic, and I'm powerless to turn away. Not that I want to. I feel myself being drawn in, like I'm going into a trance. "So, Jillian, you figured out why I'm here?"

"I have been thinking about you. The way you saved me. I loved how it felt when you carried me." I slide my hands up along his arms, stopping on his biceps for a brief visit before ending up on his shoulders. "I felt so safe, so protected." I reach my arms up around his neck.

He bends down and lifts me by my hips. I wrap my legs around his waist, grab his head with my hands and our lips meet with a hunger I've never experienced. The ethereal light grows stronger, emanating from me as well, seeming to gain strength from our passion.

"Jillian!"

Someone's calling me but I don't care. It's my dream and this is too damn good. I keep kissing Trip, running my hands along his massive shoulders, then inside his shirt onto his toned chest.

"Jillian! What the hell?"

Oh, for goodness sake, what? I break the liplock and look to the side.

Ryan.

The ride home is excruciating. Ryan's jaw and fists have been clenched the whole time. I've been looking at the floor of the subway car. Luckily we're the only people in it, so we can talk. Not that we've been doing much of that.

Right now I'm dead sure I'm not dreaming.

And never was.

But it seemed so dreamlike. The famous people, the lobster and octopus. The glow from Trip's body. The fact that I didn't think twice about jumping into the arms of Trip Logan, something I would never do in real life. And that I told him I was unattached.

Because I couldn't remember I have a boyfriend who I love very much.

Then, it was like the alarm clock went off when I heard Ryan's voice. I was jolted back into reality and got walloped with a massive dose of guilt.

Ryan was furious, ready to blow. If he were a cartoon character, steam would have come out of his ears. I dropped out of Trip's arms and put my body between them, hoping they wouldn't get into some sort of duel over me. I mean, my boyfriend is well-built but Trip probably has sixty or seventy pounds on him and looks as though he could easily break Ryan in half.

Trip did the honorable thing and managed to diffuse the situation with some quick thinking, telling Ryan he didn't know I was taken and he'd had too much to drink. He apologized, beat a hasty retreat and left us alone.

Still, what was my excuse? My words sounded incredibly lame. I mean, think about it, you tell the guy you love, "Sorry, I thought I was dreaming so I was giving a tonsillectomy to a guy who is off the charts gorgeous while it looked like he was going to carry me off to the bedroom."

I even told him to read my mind, and he did, but for some reason it didn't back up my story. What I remembered was not what Ryan picked up, as he never saw the dream characters. All he saw was his girlfriend acting like a cheap slut about to hook up with another guy. Why I can remember it and he can't read it is something we need to figure out, and fast.

I'm biting my lip, trying to hold back tears as he stares straight ahead at a Broadway show poster for Wicked that hangs on the opposite wall of the subway car. The only sound is the train rumbling over the tracks. I slide my hand over, putting it on top of his, and his face relaxes a bit. "I hope you know I love you, Ryan."

He doesn't say anything, but slowly nods.

Progress.

"Something is happening to us. To me and Jake. Something we cannot control. I don't know what it is but I'm going to find out."

"Yeah," he says, barely audible. He turns to me, eyes wet. "Jillian, if it was a dream, why would you have been thinking of him?"

He doesn't trust me. He never calls me Jillian. I'm always Sparks.