The transition from the surreal luxury of the "book world" to the gritty, dusty reality of the classroom felt like a physical blow. I couldn't decide if what I'd experienced last night was a dream or a haunting; it felt so visceral that I had to drain three glasses of water this morning just to wash away the phantom taste of high-end cocktails.
I was a ghost as I prepared for school, my movements sluggish and heavy. My mother's voice pierced the morning air, a sharp reprimand because I hadn't made breakfast. It was only my father's quiet intervention that shielded me from the usual barrage of her insults.
I leaned against my desk in the lecture hall, letting out a long, shuddering breath. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and my brow was locked in a permanent furrow. I hated those kinds of dreams. They weren't an escape; they were a taunt.
Across from me, my friends were gathered in their usual chaotic harmony. Sage was meticulously peeling peanuts, while Berna and Xael were deep in a heated debate.
"I don't get it," Berna grumbled, her eyes glued to her phone—likely texting her boyfriend, Kenneth. "They're all acting like idiots just because the new protagonist has the exact same name as Ensley. It's pathetic."
I looked away. Relationships, drama, boyfriends—I had no room for them. My life was a narrow corridor of textbooks and survival.
"They're morons," Xael added, slamming a fistful of peanuts onto the table. "Especially Queenie. That girl is delusional if she thinks anyone's actually going to fall for her act."
"But why did the author reboot the series?" Sage asked, chewing thoughtfully. "And why use our friend's name? Honibee must have some kind of agenda."
I felt a knot tighten in my gut. A wild, impossible suspicion was clawing at the back of my mind—that I hadn't just dreamed, but had somehow stepped through the veil into that printed world. But it was too lunacy to voice. Who would believe that a scholarship student from the slums had spent the night as a socialite in a BGC penthouse?
I forced my eyes down to my textbook, trying to focus on the impending quiz from Miss Magno.
"Ensley? What do you think?" Xael's voice broke my concentration.
I looked up, meeting their expectant gazes. The secret burned in my throat, but I swallowed it. "I... I don't know." I diverted my eyes back to the page. They'd think I'd finally snapped under the pressure of my finals.
"Honibee probably did it to spite her," Berna said, fanning herself with her hands. "Remember how Ensley challenged her at the signing? The author's probably turning her into a character just to mess with her."
I let out a quiet sigh. I wish it is only like that. Let them believe that, I thought. It's safer that way.
The peace didn't last. The classroom door swung open, and the shrill, grating tone of Queenie's voice announced her arrival. It was a sound that made my teeth ache.
"OMG! Look everyone, it's the Ensley from Underground Associates!" she squealed, clutching her chest in a mock display of shock. A few classmates snickered.
She was the class clown, but without the humor. Rumors had already metastasized within the Honibee fandom that I had been "disrespectful" to their idol at the signing. I hadn't been rude; I'd been honest. But to a fanatic, honesty is a declaration of war.
Queenie stood before us now, her uniform tailored so tightly it defied school regulations. Her two lackeys flanked her like silent gargoyles.
"Queen Bee says you're too poor for the real world," she sneered, her voice dripping with artificial pity. "So she made you rich in her story. I guess that's the only way you'll ever see a designer bag—in a fountain pen's ink."
She and her friends erupted into a chorus of cackling, a sound so shrill it belonged in a cauldron.
I didn't look up from my book. "I admit, I am poor," I said, my voice cold and level. "But what about you? Do you realize how pathetic you look, tearing people down just because they don't worship the same ground you do? Is that how you 'new money' rich kids act? Just... stupid?"
The laughter in the room shifted instantly. My friends grinned, and even a few boys in the back started to chuckle. Queenie's face twisted in fury. She looked toward Gab, a boy sitting to our right, who was watching the exchange with an amused smirk. When I caught his eye, he gave me a slow, deliberate wink.
I rolled my eyes. Gab was the obsession of Queenie's life, but he never gave her the time of day. They looked perfect on paper—both wealthy, both attractive—but Gab clearly preferred the fire to the fireplace.
"Stop trying to be more than her, Queenie," Sage said, standing up as the professor entered the room. "You'd need to read a thousand books just to reach Ensley's I.Q. And knowing you, that tiny brain of yours would probably short-circuit by page ten."
xxx
The afternoon sun was relentless as we walked toward the parking lot after a grueling three-hour lecture.
"Ma'am Magno's questions were like daggers," Berna moaned, clutching her chest melodramatically. "My brain is literally bleeding. I can't think anymore."
"Oh, shut up, Berna," Sage snapped, though she was smiling. "You always drama like this and then pull an A. Do you want me to smack you for real?"
We stopped at a convenience store near Xael's house to grab snacks. As I scanned the drink cooler, my eyes snagged on a lone book tucked away in a corner magazine rack. It felt out of place, a sleek black spine amongst the glossy tabloids.
I reached for it, but two high school girls beat me to it.
"Look! It's the last copy of the UA reboot!" one of them squealed. "They just stocked these yesterday and they're already gone!"
"It's so weird, though," the other girl said, flipping it over. "The story starts over, but the lead girl has a different name now."
I stood frozen. The memory of the "dream" rushed back—the heat of the man's hand, the rough texture of his palms against my own. I could still see his eyes—dark, bottomless, and utterly commanding.
I looked at the cover in the girl's hand. It featured a man in a black formal suit. The eyes were unmistakable.
Perseus.
He was exactly as I had seen him in the elevator. It wasn't just a likeness; it was him.
How? Was it possible to slip into the ink and paper? I shook my head. It was a coincidence. A hallucination born of a fever and a book signing.
"Girl, chill," Berna said, tapping my shoulder and making me jump. "We've been calling you for five minutes. You're standing there like a statue."
xxx
Later, at Xael's house, the air was filled with the sounds of them preparing food in the kitchen. I sat in the living room with Sage. The silence between us stretched out, heavy and expectant. Sage looked subdued, her usual spark dimmed by the fact that the boy she liked had gone silent on her.
I took a breath. I needed to tell someone. "Sage?"
She looked up, her expression guarded. "Yeah?"
"Promise me you'll listen before you judge," I started, my voice trembling. "I've been thinking about my dream last night. It wasn't a normal dream. I think... I think I went inside the book."
I watched her face. Confusion clouded her eyes.
"That's why I couldn't speak when you guys were talking about the name change," I continued, leaning forward. "I was there. I met him. I met Perseus."
Sage stared at me for a long time. She blinked, then moved closer on the sofa. "Look, Ensley... you're exhausted. You've been working shifts and studying for finals. That 'dream' is just your brain processing stress."
"No, I can prove it! I can tell you exactly what happened in the—"
"I know what happened, Ensley," she interrupted softly. "I've read the first chapter of the reboot. You're just reciting the plot."
I froze. The world felt like it was tilting on its axis. Of course. Honibee had written the encounter. She had used my name, my defiance, my reality.
"Honibee probably used your name because of the argument at the signing," Sage said, standing up to help the others in the kitchen. "It's just a story, Ensley. That's all it is."
She walked away, leaving me alone in the dim light of the living room. I looked at my hands. They felt real. The memory of the elevator felt real. But in a world made of ink, how can you tell the difference between the writer and the written?