The Girl Who Could Not Dream by Sarah Beth Durst

or maybe singing cupcakes and dancing measuring spoons. The two women hugged, and Ms. Lee left, nearly skipping out the door. Sophie swallowed the wad of cupcake in her mouth as her mom asked, “How was school today, sweetie? Did you have the history test?”
    Sophie wiped the frosting off her mouth with the back of her hand. “Mom, that buyer—”
    â€œUse a napkin. Here, let me.” Reaching over the counter, Mom dabbed Sophie’s face with a stray napkin.
    â€œMom!”
    â€œI know I baby you, but you’re still my baby-waby.” Mom curled her lips into a fishy face and made kissing noises at Sophie. She then turned to the cupcake display to add the new savory cupcakes. Every morning, she or Dad artfully arranged them in a pyramid inside a glass dome. Sophie had helped with pictures of leaves and flowers on the calligraphied sign (
Gourmet Cupcakes $3.00
). “Ms. Lee wants us to add a few tables and chairs. Serve some iced tea in the summer with the cupcakes . . .”
    â€œMom, he stole my used dreamcatchers and left a note.”
    Cupcake in hand, Mom froze. Her eyes widened. The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, like a cartoon coyote about to fall off a cliff. Sophie exhaled. At last she’d gotten Mom’s attention. “Who?” Mom asked, her voice calm. She placed the last cupcake on the pyramid and closed the glass dome.
    Sophie dug into her backpack and handed her the note with the black cat and balloons.
    Mom read it and frowned. “I don’t see—”
    â€œI told the buyer this morning that my name’s Betty.”
    The color drained out of Mom’s cheeks. She strode over to the bookshop door, locked the deadbolt, and flipped the sign to
Closed
. “Your father is downstairs. Come, and tell us both everything.”
    Sophie followed her. “Where’s Monster?”
    On top of one of the bookshelves, something sneezed. Dust plumed into the air. Looking up, Sophie saw a shadow launch itself off the top shelf and call, “Catch me!”
    Tentacles out, Monster sailed through the air and slammed into Sophie’s chest. She staggered back as Monster wrapped two tentacles around her neck. “Oof! Hi, Monster.”
    â€œYou’re upset. Who upset you?” Monster demanded. “Tell me, and I’ll bite him.”
    â€œNo biting,” Sophie and Mom said at the same time.
    â€œLittle nibbles?”
    â€œNo,” they said.
    â€œFerocious licks?”
    â€œEw,” Sophie said.
    Mom unlocked the basement door with a key they kept hidden in a battered copy of
Moby-Dick.
They kept the basement door locked at all times—no one wanted a bookstore customer wandering into the Dream Shop by accident.
    â€œI know what will cheer you up! Honey bacon cupcakes. I know that would cheer
me
up. Honey cheers everyone up. Except bees. But that’s because it takes two million flower visits for a bee to make one pound of honey, and they’re tired. It’s a scientific fact.” Listening to Monster prattle on made Sophie feel safer. She hugged his furry body as she carried him downstairs. He patted her cheek with the soft pad of a tentacle. “You still look worried. Please don’t worry. Monster is here.”
    Downstairs, Dad was at the distiller. His forehead was crinkled as he concentrated on hitting the correct levers. The dream dripped fast from tube to tube, and Dad raced ahead of it, adjusting the valves and choosing levers as it sluiced through the turns and twists. He moved like a bird, his elbows flapping and fingers flying. Each choice he made would shape the depth and duration of the dream. He could even cut or blur details, if he wanted.
    As the dream picked up speed, it glowed brighter and began to sparkle with purple flecks. Reaching across Dad, Mom twisted a dial and pressed another lever, sending the liquid shooting to the left. At last, it poured into the final tube.