Page 87 of When the Stars Rise

He’s cracking up now and, okay, I’ll admit that dream was ridiculous and highly entertaining, especially for Noah. Most likely, itwasa phallic dream.

“Oh man, that was the best dream.” He laughs. “You wanna tickle my pickle, Hales?”

I smack his arm, but I’m laughing with him. “Stop. I didn’t dream about a pickle last night.”

“What’d you dream about?” he asks after he pulls himself together.

“My mom was in the dream,” I say quietly. “But the dream was about Shiloh.”

“Ah, right,” he says as if it all makes perfect sense now. “So what did your mom say?”

Noah is the only person I ever share my dreams with—some of them are so vivid that they feel more like premonitions.

Shiloh mentioned it once when I was around fourteen, and I thought maybe Noah had said something since I’d never mentioned anything to her

She told me her grandmother was a psychic and she’d inherited the ‘gift.’

“Sometimes it felt more like a curse than a blessing,” she said. “I’m not a psychic. But sometimes, I see things and know things that can’t be explained. It’s more like a premonition, I suppose. Some people give off strong vibrations and have a certain aura about them.”

I was fascinated and asked a lot of questions. When she asked about my dreams, I told her that some of the events had happened like they did in the dream. “I mean, not exactly. Sometimes, my dreams are symbolic, but other times, they actually happen, and I recognize it from my dreams. Like déjà vu, maybe?”

She smiled. “Maybe. Or maybe you have a sixth sense.”

Maybe I should have guessed right then and there that Shiloh was more to me than Noah’s stepmom. But why would I have ever thought that?

“Hales?” Noah prompts. “The dream?”

I sigh. I always hope my parents will visit me in my dreams, but last night, I wished my mom hadn’t. “We were sitting at the kitchen counter, and she was doing that thing with her mouth when she disapproved of something.” Orsomeone. “One of Shiloh’s songs was playing in the background, and my mom didn’t mention her by name, but it was pretty clear who she was talking about.”

“What’d she say?”

Noah sounds more fascinated than wary.

“It didn’t make a lot of sense. She kept talking about a mountain, though.”

“A mountain?” Noah repeats.

“Yeah.” I narrow my eyes, trying to remember. “It had a name, but I don’t think it was an English word. I keep trying to remember the name of the mountain, but I can’t. What do you think a mountain has to do with Shiloh?”

“Maybe she was trying to tell you to…” He clears his throat and I wish the lights were on to see his expression. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s symbolic. A mountain of baggage, you know? Maybe she’s trying to help you find a way around it.”

That would make sense, but it didn’t feel that way. “I don’t think so. That’s not the impression I got. I think she was scared of something.”

He’s quiet for a moment while we both puzzle over the meaning of the mountain. “Did your mom talk about anything besides a mountain?”

I love how easily he accepts all this. Noah never tells me that my dreams are stupid, and even though I don’t think he believes in them the way I do, he never ridicules my dreams or makes me feel silly for putting so much stock in them.

“She said, ‘Don’t look for it on the other side. You won’t find it there.’ I think she was talking about the other side of the mountain?” I shake my head, wishing I had a clearer picture of the dream, but I have fragments.

“But I remember one part clearly because I wrote it down. She said, ‘Don’t go. Stay home and be with me.’ And she kept saying, ‘Choose me. Choose me. Choose me.’”

I let out a shuddering breath. “And it’s so clear, Noah. She didn’t want to lose me to Shiloh. My mom loved me so much. Both parents did. And they chose me, you know? They chose to bring me into their lives, and they gave me everything a girlcould ever want. And I just feel so… guilty… about all those times I gushed about Shiloh, always saying how cool she was and how I wanted to be just like her. That was so insensitive. How could I be such a horrible daughter—”

“Hey. Stop.” Noah pulls me against him and wraps his arms around me. “Stop beating yourself up. You were just a kid. And you wanted to be a musician. It’s perfectly normal to look up to someone doing what you want to do and use them as a role model. Your mom understood that.”

“How do you know?” As if he has all the answers. He doesn’t, but not for lack of trying. Noah always makes a convincing argument.

“Because she was your mom, and she knew you well.”