The Lilac Tunnel: My Journey with Samantha

There’s a knock on the bedroom door. I figure it’s my new stepsister, Gracie, who’s been coming in and out all morning, always finding some new excuse. It’s her room, too, so I let her in. She eyes the suitcase, still half-packed, on my bed and asks if I need help unpacking. I shake my head, and she leaves. I’m spending the summer here in Plattsburgh, New York, with Dad and his new wife and family, and after a day and a half I’m already counting down until I can go back to Mom’s place in New York City.

I miss my best friend, Stella. I miss my own room and my cat, Maggie. I miss pulling out my laptop and cell phone whenever I feel like it, since Dad limits me to just an hour a day. And I miss Mom, who thought spending time here would help me get to know Dad’s new family, but I just miss my old one, the way things used to be. Why can’t things go back to how they were?

My stepmom comes in and eyes the jewelry laid out neatly on my dresser, admiring the friendship bracelet Stella made me. She’s clearly trying to be nice, but I’m not in the mood to talk. She says she has something I might like and leaves. Gracie, only five, pokes her head in again, still curious, to ask what I’m doing. I tell her nothing. She’s been glued to me since I arrived, and sharing a room with twin beds and matching pink princess bedspreads is hard enough without her wanting every waking second of my attention, too.

I organize my jewelry piece by piece and slide Stella’s bracelet deep into my pocket, nervous Gracie will want to share that as well.

My stepmom returns holding out a necklace with a tarnished silver heart pendant, at least 100 years old and nothing like my style. I try not to make a face as she explains her grandma gave it to her long ago, at my age, and it helped her through a tough time. She squeezes my shoulder and asks if I want to join their scrapbooking. I politely decline and she closes the door softly.

Quiet settles over the room again. The clock reads 3:52. I stretch out on my bed and examine the pendant’s hinge closely, sliding my thumbnail carefully along the groove, but it won’t budge. I reach for a nail file to pry it open, and just as I’m about to give up on it entirely, it pops with a sudden pop, springing from my hand over the edge of the bed. I scoot forward quickly to grab it, but the locket on the floor is empty, no photos or messages at all. As I move to close it, my stomach drops suddenly, the ground shifts beneath me, and I’m falling. I brace for impact, and when I hit the floor hard, a sharp pain stabs my temple. Did I hit the dresser?

Reaching for my forehead, my hand brushes against something rough, not carpet, but grass, cool and damp. I open my eyes, blinking, to a field of green.

Sitting up, my temple throbbing, the world spins in a colorful haze. I steady myself and glance over my shoulder at a long hedge of green bushes bursting with fragrant purple flowers, a tunnel cut through it leading to another yard. Across the lawn stands an enormous gray house, several stories tall with a tower on top, and looking up at it makes me dizzy all over again.

I lean against a rock by the hedge, catching my breath, still shaky, and try to remember: I was on the bed, staring at the fallen locket, then I fell and hit my head. But then what?

Something glitters in the grass beside me: the necklace, somehow shinier than I remember. When my fingers close around it, the hinge clicks shut, and this time my thumbnail pops it open smoothly. The ground drops away again, but the landing is softer this time, and I feel carpet beneath me. My eyes fly open to the edge of a pink bedspread inches from my face.

I check the nightstand clock: still 3:52. No time has passed. Did I fall asleep for a few seconds, or dream it? The bump on my forehead says no. I pinch my arm hard and wince. I’m awake. I’m almost afraid to open the locket again, but I can’t not, now that I know it can take me home whenever I need. My heart flutters with excitement as I close my eyes and open it once more, thinking, if only Stella were here, too.