Jackson Jones, Book 1_ The Tale of a Boy, an Elf, and a Very Stinky Fish - Jenn L. Kelly [40]
Your dreams are not real, read one.
You are not special, read the other.
Jackson didn’t bother getting up. He just sat there looking at the stones, turning them over and over in his hands.
“These are my stones,” he thought dully. And then he began to cry. Not like the little tears that slip out when you’ve hit your thumb with a hammer, and not like the selfish tears that leak out when your brother got the last piece of wedding cake with blue roses. No,
these were the huge tears that pop out of your eyes and plunge to the ground, your body shaking as your nose gets completely stuffed up, and your lips are quivering, and all you want is to be held by your mom and have her whisper to you, “This too shall pass.”
After a few good minutes of crying, Jackson wiped his eyes. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. (Yes, of course it was gross, but what else was he going to do?)
He calmed down. He didn’t feel any better. But now he could go home. He had found his stones.
Jackson thought he’d be happier than this.
He looked around for Meeka. But she was nowhere to be seen. Why would she be? He had told her he wanted to be alone, but, at that moment, he missed her.
The stones fit perfectly into the palms of Jackson’s hands. They were smooth and not too heavy and had little twinkling sparkles in them. They looked like Josh’s braces.
Jackson lifted his head and watched the Book float away. And at that moment, Jackson made a very serious, life-altering, life-changing decision. He grasped the two gray stones in his hand and, with a swift arc, threw them far down the river. Good throw, he thought to himself, pleased.
Jackson turned and splashed down the river, chasing after the Book. Just as it was within his reach he tripped again, but he reached out his hands and caught it before the current could take it away. He opened the cover gently, but one glance told him that the pages were more waterlogged than before. He definitely wouldn’t be able to read it now.
Jackson felt very tired. He lay back in the river. The muddy water felt cool on his hot head. It trickled down the sides of his face, into his ears, and inside his pajama shirt. “Remember who you are. Who am I? The Author made me for a purpose…yeah, right.”
“Jackson.”
Jackson sat up carefully.
It was quiet.
Very quiet. Not a sound to be heard at all. Not even a bird calling out.
He should get going. It was time to go back, to go back home, to go back to…But it felt good to lie down, to do nothing. Jackson lay down again, the water tickling his face. The clouds were far away in the hot blue sky. If only he could have some shade. If only he could eat something. If only…
“Jackson.”
Jackson lay very still. He held his breath. The water was still trickling, making little rushing noises, but the voices were louder.
“Jackson.”
He sat up very slowly. He looked into the water, but it was so dirty, he couldn’t see anything. He ran his fingers along the bottom of the river. His fingers trailed over stones. He grabbed a handful. He opened his hand to look at them. Plain, smooth, white stones.
“Jackson.”
Jackson stared at the rocks in his hand. Then he brought his hand to his ear.
“Jackson.”
He picked up a single one and held it to his ear.
“Jackson,” it whispered softly. He brought the handful to his ear. “Jackson,” they called out.
Jackson picked up his ripped bag and his waterlogged Book and began walking up the river, back to Meeka and back to where Josh the Page was waiting for him.
Chapter 63
In Which Things Are Not as They Seem
There is no point in telling you about the walk back because nothing interesting happened. Well, if you don’t count Meeka climbing a tree and falling into thorn bushes. And if you don’t count Meeka prying off one of Jackson’s shoes and throwing it at a bird who was squawking loudly at them. And if you don’t count how they got the shoe back. Those are different stories for different times, and they really don’t have anything to do with this