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Overview
Becky Seville is excited when she finds her hard-to-buy-for family the perfect Christmas gift: a self-help book about using positive thinking to make dreams come true. All they have to do is write their greatest wishes at the front of the book and then follow the instructions. She even buys a copy for herself to get a date with her gorgeous new neighbor. Her family agrees that this year is going to be different; they are no longer going to let fear hold them back from achieving their goals. The Sevilles are on their way to having everything they’ve ever wanted—or so Becky thinks.
But when everything starts going wrong, Becky realizes that just because you wish for something doesn’t mean you’re ready for the consequences of having it granted.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781504004299 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 02/10/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 215 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
| Age Range: | 12 - 16 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
The Dream Collector
By Joyce Sweeney
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 1989 Joyce SweeneyAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0429-9
CHAPTER 1
"BECKY! WAKE UP! Dad's on in five minutes!" My little brother Tim pounded on my bedroom door with both fists. Saturday, I thought sadly.
I sat up slowly. "All right," I called, looking around for my bathrobe. "Go down and turn on the set. I'll be there in a minute."
"No!" he shrieked. "It's too dark!" Tim's only six and afraid of everything.
I got up and rummaged in the closet. I kept thinking how nice it would be if Dad could get a few more ratings points. Then maybe they'd put him on at nine instead of eight. "I can't find my bathrobe!" I said. "Get Scott to go down with you!"
Tim's voice was shrill. "I can't get him to wake up! Becky! Daddy's on in one minute!"
I could have killed Mom and Dad for giving him that watch. I finally found my bathrobe under a pile of sweaters and ran out into the hall. "Let's go," I said.
"Yay!" Timmy thundered down the stairs and threw himself down two inches from the television screen. The Reggie and Max theme song blared into the room.
I took Tim by the shoulders and gently dragged him back a few inches. "Let's turn the volume down just a little," I said. "Maybe a few of the neighbors are still asleep."
"There's Dad!" Tim cried, pointing at the screen.
"How about that," I said. I've only seen the opening of the show about ten thousand times. There was Dad in his geologist outfit—khaki pants, blue shirt, fisherman's sweater—climbing over a big plaster rock ledge. The theme song tells how he was out collecting rocks one day and found a cave that led to an underground city, Dragonville, population thirty-five. There he met Reggie and Max, a couple of dragon roommates who live together in a scaly-looking town house.
"Yay!" Tim clapped as the song came to an end.
"I have to go to the bathroom," I said.
Don't get me wrong. I'm as proud of Dad as anybody. I can still remember when I was Tim's age and we lived in Chicago. Dad had a terrible job at WGN. He was the host of Commander Muskrat's Cartoon Hour. He had to wear tights and give straight lines to a hand puppet. The kids in school teased me about it all the time. Mom was always after him to quit and get a "real" job.
Then Dad got this idea about writing his own kids' show. I was the first person he read the pilot script to. He said he wanted an "intelligent child's opinion." He showed the idea to WGN, but they didn't want it. Finally he sold it to WSB here in Atlanta, which is why we moved. After a couple of years the show got really popular and went into syndication. Now you can see it all over the country.
When I came back from the bathroom, I stood in the living room doorway watching Timmy for a while. He looked so cute, with his back straight and his little shoulder blades sticking out. In the dim light his hair looked almost white. Tim's my secret favorite. Mom told me once how she and Dad planned to have just three children, but when Julia started school, Dad got depressed because there were no more babies in the house. Mom said she told him, "Okay, one more and that's it." Mom will tell you the truth about anything. Even if you don't want to know. I went and nudged Tim's back with my knee. "Want some cereal?" I asked.
"Coco Wheels," he muttered. He didn't want to miss a minute of the show. The dragons were gearing up for a soapbox race. Reggie was asking Dad how to put wheels on an axle. Dad looked very handsome, leaning over his work, with a wave of hair falling across his forehead. You'd swear he was talking to his best friend in the world, not a third-rate actor in a dragon suit.
While I was making coffee and fixing Coco Wheels, my sister Julia came into the kitchen, wearing her new negligee. Julia's twelve, and right now I'd say there's an equal chance she'll end up a famous writer or an inmate at a lunatic asylum. She bought this negligee a few weeks ago, and Mom almost took it away from her. It's pink chiffon and see-through with a yard of lace trim. It cost the poor kid three weeks' allowance. But she wasn't wearing it to be sexy. Underneath, she had on flannel pajamas with sailboats on them. She just liked the way it floated when she walked. Dad stuck up for her. He said she was old enough to pick out anything she wanted.
So there she stood in the kitchen doorway, four feet ten with glasses and a mane of tangled hair, wrapped in pink chiffon like a movie star. "Hi," she yawned.
"Hey, girl," I said. "Are you hungry?"
"I'll get it," she said. "You don't have to wait on me." She opened the refrigerator door. "Ugh!" she said. She fished out a strawberry and bit into it, cupping her hand to catch the juice. "Is that Reggie and Max I hear in the living room?" she asked sarcastically.
"Don't make fun of Tim," I said. "You were glued to the set when you were his age."
"It's a good show," she admitted. "Can we turn on the tree?" Julia likes to sit in the dark with just the Christmas lights. Since our parents have been on vacation, we've had to put up with several consecutive nights of light shows. When Mom's home, she won't tolerate stuff like that.
"Sure, go ahead," I said.
She took a handful of berries and swished off.
I carried my coffee and Tim's cereal into the living room, which was now flashing like a disco.
Max, the dragon, had found some way to cheat in the construction of his racer. He desperately needed the prize money. Dad was talking to him about sports ethics.
"What time do Mom and Dad get home?" Julia asked.
Today was the day they were coming home from the Bahamas.
"Shhh!" Tim said.
"Sometime this afternoon," I whispered. "Are you going anyplace?"
"No, I've got stuff to do here."
"Are you writing something?" I asked.
"I don't know!" she said angrily. "I guess so." Julia doesn't like to talk about her poetry, but I think it's interesting.
"You guys shut up!" Tim insisted.
"I was thinking about taking a walk later," I whispered.
Julia's eyes sparkled. "Across the street?" she asked.
Even Tim tore himself away from the screen for this. They knew I liked this guy who had moved in across the street. He was in the tenth grade, the same as me, but we didn't have a single class or study hall together. All I knew about him was his name, John Zavakos. He had big brown eyes, auburn hair, a perfect body ... anyway, since Fate screwed me up for meeting him in school, I'd been taking walks past his house every Saturday. "I don't know where I'm going," I said. "I might go across the street. It's a free country, isn't it?"
"Oooh!" said Julia. "Maybe the Greek god will be out sunbathing."
"Don't make fun of John's ethnic background," I said, as snottily as I could.
"John!" Julia cried. "John! I didn't know you guys were on a first-name basis."
"What am I supposed to call him? Mr. Zavakos?"
Julia giggled happily. "Maybe you should call him John darling."
"John darling," Tim mimicked. He fell on his side in a fit of giggles.
"All right, you guys, that's enough," I said. "One more word and I'll unplug the TV and the Christmas tree."
They settled into subdued snickers while we all watched the end of Reggie and Max. Max's plan to cheat backfired, and Reggie won the race. But he gave the prize money to Max because he knew he needed it. Max vowed never to cheat again. Things always work out for the best in Dragonville.
BY THE TIME my brother Scott finally woke up, I was vacuuming the living room, watching out the front window to see when it might be a good time for that walk.
Scott's fourteen. He and I have a Jekyll-and-Hyde relationship. We're either completely on the same wavelength or we hate each other's guts. He came in wearing his bathrobe, clutching a box of Pop-Tarts, and unplugged the vacuum so I'd talk to him.
"When are Mom and Dad coming home?" He threw himself into a chair and opened a Pop-tart packet with his teeth.
"Sometime this afternoon, I think. Mom was real vague in her letter."
Scott ran a hand over his spiky blond hair. "I'm not waiting around. I've got to go Christmas shopping. I told some guys I'd meet them at the mall."
"Just be home by dinnertime," I said absently. John Zavakos had just come out of his house with a plastic bucket. It was time for a walk.
"What are you getting me, anyway?" Scott started on his second Pop-Tart. "I don't want to get you something good if you're getting me something crummy."
"That's sweet, Scott," I said. "That's the true meaning of Christmas."
"The true meaning of Christmas is that you save your money all year and then you have to blow it on junk for a bunch of people you just happen to live with."
"I was going to get you something pretty good," I said. "But now ..."
Scott sighed dramatically. "It doesn't matter. You can't get me what I really want anyway."
John Zavakos was filling his bucket with the garden hose. He wore a gray hooded sweatshirt and cute little sweatpants. I felt like I definitely needed some exercise. "What do you really want?" I asked Scott, going for my jacket.
"I'll show you," he said eagerly. He put down the Pop-Tarts and headed for the stairs.
"Show me later!" I called after him.
"It'll only take a second!"
I decided not to be impatient. John always takes three hours to wash his car, so I had plenty of time.
Scott ran downstairs with some kind of magazine. "Here!" he said, showing me an ad. "Look at it and die!"
"You've already got a bike," I said.
He pretended to have a heart attack. "A bike?" he gasped. "You compare this Amsterdam twelve-speed racing machine to a bike?"
"Oh, I get it," I said. "This is an expensive bike."
He gazed at the picture. "Five hundred and eighty-seven dollars."
I laughed. "Dream on, fool," I said. "Not in this lifetime."
"Oh, yes!" Scott said. "I might not get this bike for Christmas, but I will get this bike! Somehow, before I die, this bike will be mine. And I'm going to buy a helmet and a water bottle, and when I ride around town, people will see me and collapse from envy."
"Right," I said. "Listen, I'm going for a walk. The kids are upstairs, so ..."
Scott peered out the front window. "Is Zavakos washing his car again ?"
"Very funny," I said. "I just want some fresh air."
"Mmm-hmm." Scott laughed. "Dream on, fool. Not in this lifetime. I bet I get the five-hundred-dollar bike before you get any reaction from Zavakos."
"You're probably right," I said, and left.
Even though it was two weeks before Christmas, it still wasn't very cold outside. That's one of the great things about living in the South. We moved to Atlanta when I was six, and I'm the only one who can really remember what the winters were like in Chicago. Today was about fifty degrees with bright sunshine. John Zavakos was sloshing soapsuds across his hood. His gorgeousness radiated all the way across the street.
Trying to look casual, I jaywalked over and stopped by his fence. "Hi!" I called.
He looked up. "Hi."
The only thing I could think of to talk about was the stupid weather. "It's hard to believe it's almost Christmas," I said.
He had found some dirt on his hood and was scrubbing it. "Yeah."
I took a deep breath. "Want to get a Coke with me?"
He looked up again. "Well, I'm in the middle of this." He indicated the soapsuds.
"Yeah." I glanced back at my own house and saw all three of my adorable siblings watching from Julia's bedroom window. When I looked at them, they pointed and made several disgusting gestures.
I looked back at John. He was squatting down now, working on the wheel covers. He had forgotten I was there. I gave my audience a big stage shrug and walked on.
OUR PARENTS didn't get home from the airport until after five. Dad came in first, weighted down with luggage. He got down on his knees so that we could swarm over him. "God, I missed you guys," he said.
Mom came in a few seconds later, holding her cosmetic case with both hands. She looked very angry, so nobody swarmed over her. She stepped around us like we were a big obstacle. Scott jumped up and tried to take her bag.
"Don't bother!" she said, throwing herself on the couch. "Why should anyone be considerate of me?" She tugged on the fingers of her driving gloves.
That gave us the cue we'd better break up the huddle fast.
"Didn't you have a nice trip?" I asked.
Dad got up, plucking Tim and Julia from his jacket. He looked guilty. "I'll just take this stuff upstairs," he muttered, and gathered up all six pieces of luggage.
Mom watched until he was out of sight. "He absolutely ruined the trip," she told us. "Can you imagine anyone not liking the Bahamas?"
Everybody looked nervous. "What didn't he like?" I asked. I figured if she got it off her chest, we could get on to something better.
She kicked off her slings and put her feet up. "I don't know. He got completely obsessed with the social conditions in the place. What are you supposed to do in the Bahamas? You're supposed to sit on the beach and feel warm and forget your job. That's what everybody does in the Bahamas. Everybody but your dad, the social reformer."
Apparently catching some of this, Dad hurried down to defend himself. "There were children begging in the streets!" he said. "Little kids Timmy's age. When the cruise ships came into port, they would call for the tourists to throw pennies in the water and they'd dive for them!"
"Well, what were you going to do about it?" Mom asked him. "Were you going to fix it? Were you going to alleviate poverty in the Caribbean?"
Dad pushed his hair out of his eyes. He has big gray eyes like Timmy's. When he's excited, his voice changes inflection, but it never gets loud. "No!" he said. "But I couldn't just turn my back on it. I couldn't enjoy myself in that environment."
Mom wedged a pillow behind her head. "That's the trouble with you," she said. "You can't enjoy yourself anywhere." She closed her eyes. Mom looks like me—small, dark, neat, and precise. The difference is that she dresses really well and has her hair done and wears makeup. I never want to bother with those things. But I guess when I get older, I'll be more like her. Maybe.
Dad didn't know what to do. He's not a talented fighter. He just kept looking at Mom to see if she'd open her eyes, but she didn't, so he finally sighed and went upstairs.
Julia had plugged in the tree and was sitting on the floor watching the lights flash. Scott pulled a chair close to the couch and looked at Mom anxiously. Tim was about to cry.
"Timmy?" I said. "You want to help me in the kitchen?"
"Yeah," he said in a wavery voice.
I put him to work washing carrots, even though I wasn't going to use them. We could hear Scott in the living room, telling Mom something about his basketball team, but it sounded like she wasn't bothering to answer him.
"Isn't it great to have the whole family together again?" I asked Tim.
He looked at me in surprise, then realized I was making a grown-up joke with him. "Oh, sure," he said.
CHAPTER 2CHRISTMAS WAS A WEEK AWAY and I still hadn't bought anything for my family, so I called my friend Sandi and we spent four hours trudging around Perimeter Mall looking for ideas. I didn't get any.
"You act like your family is from another planet," Sandi said. "I got my mom and dad out of the way the week after Thanksgiving."
"What'd you get them?" I asked.
Sandi stopped in front of Career Image to see how the models in the window were accessorized. "I got my dad some shoe trees ..."
"My dad always wears tennis shoes," I said. "When he dresses up, he wears loafers."
Sandi gave me a look. "And I got my mom some of those sachet hangers with the little calico prints on them."
"Aagh!" I said. "Can you see my mother with little calico prints? Come on!"
Sandi laughed. "Not really," she admitted.
"And the kids!" I raved. "Scott wants a five-hundred-dollar bike, and Julia wants a telescope, and Timmy said he wants a horse."
Sandi snickered. "You'll have to budget carefully."
"You're so lucky to be an only child," I said.
"Don't I know it. Look, why don't you quit worrying about getting them what they want? Do they ever get you anything you want?"
"Not really."
"Just buy them whatever and let's get on to more fun things—like your present to me. Did you see that cute belt I was looking at in Foxmoor?"
Sandi's really subtle. "I can't just buy them junk," I wailed. We were in front of F.A.O. Schwarz. "Let me just get something for Tim, and we'll eat lunch, okay?"
Sandi sighed. "Okay."
We went in. The shelves were crammed with beautiful stuffed toys, robots, electric trains, inflatable dinosaurs—all kinds of things Timmy would love. I picked up a plush cocker spaniel. "Isn't this gorgeous?" I said.
"Sweet," said Sandi, eyeing the guy behind the counter. "Buy it."
I searched for a price tag. "One hundred and seventeen dollars."
"My feet hurt," Sandi said flatly.
"Come on, Sand. You said you'd help me."
"You've got five minutes to pick out a toy for the little creep and then I'm walking."
I tried the price tag on an inflatable dinosaur. "This one is only a hundred and seven," I said, hoping to make her laugh.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Dream Collector by Joyce Sweeney. Copyright © 1989 Joyce Sweeney. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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