“You know something weird?” “What?” Leslie asked. “I was scared to come to Terabithia this morning.”
The coldness threatened to spread up from his stomach. He turned over and lay on it.
Perhaps it would be better not to think about Leslie right now. He would go to see her the first thing in the morning and explain everything.
He could explain it better in the daytime when he had shaken off the effects of his unremembered nightmare.
He put his mind to remembering the day in Washington, working on details of pictures and statues,
dredging up the sound of Miss Edmunds' voice, recalling his own exact words and her exact answers.
Occasionally into the corner of his mind's vision would come a sensation of falling,
but he pushed it away with the view of another picture or the sound of another conversation.
Tomorrow he must share it all with Leslie. The next thing he was aware of was the sun streaming through the window.
The little girls' bed was only rumpled covers, and there was movement and quiet talking from the kitchen.
Lord! Poor Miss Bessie. He'd forgotten all about her last night, and now it must be late.
He felt for his sneakers and shoved his feet over the heels without tying the laces.
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