“Four Carnie Coins for one camel coin,” Nate said. “I hope it’s actually a Desert Token.”

  “Can we go?” Trevor asked.

  Nate gave his friend a hand up.

  “How did I pee my pants?” Trevor asked. “I hate that I lost my head like that. What’s the matter with me?”

  “I’ve never had an issue with clowns,” Nate said. “But Growler is freaky.”

  “I hope nobody notices,” Trevor said. “Especially my parents.”

  “You spilled some water on your lap,” Nate said. “That’s what I saw.”

  They walked through the bazaar, along the lonely boardwalk, past the darkened ticket booths, and over to the bike rack. Nate and Trevor claimed their bikes and started pedaling across the empty parking lot.

  “Nate. Trevor,” a gruff voice called from the darkness as they reached the end of the parking lot. “Don’t be afraid. It’s John.”

  Nate and Trevor both hit the brakes.

  “Are you boys all right?” John Dart asked.

  “We’re okay,” Nate said. “I’m not sure how we’ll be after we arrive home so late.”

  “Sandra has it handled,” John said. “It’s good to have a dream expert on our side. Just go home and get to bed. Big field trip tomorrow.”

  “What did she do?” Trevor asked.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” John said. “Come to the cafeteria as early as you can. We’re not serving lunch, but we’ll have breakfast. We shouldn’t talk too much out here. I don’t want anyone at the carnival linking you to me. But I’ll be watching you get home safely.”

  “Are Pigeon and Summer all right?” Nate asked.

  “Safe and sound,” John said. “I was worried that you two were taking so much longer to get back. You need rest. Get going.”

  Nate rode to Trevor’s house first. All the lights were off. After he made sure his friend was inside, Nate pedaled up the street to his own house. He parked his bike off to the side instead of in the garage to avoid extra noise. The front door was unlocked. He eased it open and made his way through the dimness to his room. Kicking off his shoes, Nate flopped onto his bed.

  He knew he should get up and brush his teeth.

  That was his last thought of the day.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Circus Act

  Ladies and gentleman!” the ringmaster cried, flecks of spittle peppering his microphone. “Children of all ages. I proudly present the high-wire daredevil you all came here to see. The one, the only, Nathan Sutter!”

  The crowd in the bleachers at either side of the big top roared. Spotlights raced across the striped interior of the tent, circles of light crisscrossing until they focused on a single performer high above the circus floor.

  Nate gulped.

  He stood on a little platform near the top of the tent, a balance pole in his hands. Spectators in the highest bleachers were tiny below him, their features too distant to distinguish. Just beyond the tips of his shoes, a long, thin wire stretched before him, leading to another small platform near the top of another tentpole. He wore a tank top, soft shoes, and snug, flexible pants. He had chalk on his hands and held a balance pole horizontally.

  The spotlights shining up at Nate from multiple directions were hot and blinding. Somewhere beneath him, a drumroll began. A hush fell over the crowd.

  Nate was supposed to step out onto the high wire. Everyone expected it. Had he ever taken a single step on a tightrope before? Was there even a net down below? With the glare from the spotlights, it was impossible to tell.

  Nate glanced at the rungs leading down from the platform. What if he set aside the balance pole and climbed down? At this height, that would be scary enough. Would people boo? Would they throw things?

  “Nathan Sutter adores tension,” the ringmaster declared. “The suspense is overwhelming. Let’s give him some encouragement. Na-than. Na-than. Na-than.”

  The crowd took up the chant, repeating his name. The drumroll got louder and faster.

  Nate took a tentative step onto the wire. It wobbled slightly, thin and taut beneath his sole. He slowly dragged his other foot off the platform. He felt unsteady, but retained his balance. The pole in his hands offered a mild illusion of security. Underfoot, the wire had very little give. The room grew quiet except for the drumroll. He managed another step. Nate’s center of gravity wavered, and he leaned, eliciting a gasp from those below.

  Could he leap back to the platform? Why was he doing this?

  How had he gotten here?

  The realization hit like a thunderbolt.

  This was a dream.

  There was no way he would have agreed to walk a high wire without training. The whole situation was absurd. He felt like he was going to die.

  His balance gone, Nate chucked the balance pole aside as he fell. He caught the tightrope, palms stinging. The audience let out bigger gasps. One woman screamed.

  Now he was dangling. Could he travel hand over hand back to the platform? It shouldn’t be far. When he turned to look, he saw Growler seated on the platform’s edge, legs swinging, eating a banana.

  “You’ve gotten yourself into quite a pickle,” the purple-faced clown said.

  “Get out of my way,” Nate demanded.

  Growler casually tossed the banana peel. It landed on the high wire near one of Nate’s hands. “That would have worked better if you had stayed on your feet!”

  The crowd laughed.

  Nate brushed the banana peel off the tightrope. It fluttered downward, splaying wide and rotating.

  Growler produced a hacksaw and moved it back and forth in the air.

  The crowd laughed harder.

  Nate concentrated on flying. This was his dream, so theoretically he could take control. If he just believed, he should be able to do it. But the downward drag of gravity felt real and relentless. The tightrope dug painfully into his fingers. He doubted that flying was an option.

  “It’s fun when amateurs try to compete with the pros,” Growler said as he started sawing. Little fibers of the metal tightrope snapped and frayed.

  Nate concentrated on the hacksaw, trying to transform it into a violin bow.

  “Are you challenging my saw, featherweight?” Growler said with a derisive laugh. “This is my dream too.”

  The hacksaw severed the tightrope, and Nate fell. The crowd gasped.

  Nate knew that if he held to the high wire, he could swing like Spider-Man, except he worried about hitting the pole beneath the far platform. Catching a glimpse of the net below, Nate released the tightrope. Air rushed by as he plummeted. He turned so he would land on his back. People screamed. He smelled buttery popcorn.

  His body dropped into what felt like a springy hammock. It flexed downward, absorbing his momentum, then tossed him back into the air. The next time he landed was gentler, and soon he was just bobbing in the net. Nate scrambled to the edge of the net, rolled himself over it, and dropped the final few feet to the ground.

  The crowd laughed and applauded, appreciative of the spectacle.

  “Get him, boys!” Growler called from above.

  Roustabouts came rushing from different directions, grim-faced men in flat caps and work boots. One held a tire iron. Another had a mallet. Any empty hands were clenched into fists.

  Nate faked to the left, then sprinted to the right, knifing between two of the roustabouts. “I can fly,” he told himself, jumping forward, but the best he could manage was to keep running.

  The audience laughed as the roustabouts gave chase. A quick glance showed six or seven angry men on his tail. A round bomb landed in his path, bouncing and rolling, fire sparking from the diminishing fuse. Nate swerved away from it. The bomb exploded, shooting confetti in all directions. The shockwave hurled Nate to the ground, ears ringing from the deafening boom.

  Nate staggered back to his feet. Dust and colored bits of paper hung in the air. A huge divot cratered the floor of the big top. The roustabouts were still coming.

  “He’s a squirrelly one,” Growler hollered from above.

  The audience laughed and hooted.

  “Nate!” called a female voice from up ahead.

  Racing forward, wiping dust from his eyes, Nate recognized Sandra’s dark hair with its distinctive silver and white streaks.

  “This way!” she called, leading him under the bleachers.

  Nate ran into the gloomy space striped with light. Peanut shells, soda cups, and stray popcorn littered the ground. Above him, feet, purses, drinks, and snacks could be seen through long, narrow gaps.

  Sandra faced Nate calmly. “We’re safe here.”

  Nate looked over his shoulder. “What about the roustabouts? What about Growler?”

  “I secured this area for us,” Sandra said. “This is mostly your dream, though the people who run the carnival are trying to stake a claim. I walled us off in here. We need to talk. I’m glad I found you.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’ve wanted to give you this,” Sandra said, holding up a woven friendship bracelet that matched the one on her wrist. “You can only receive it in a dream. We can share dreams if you wear it.”

  “Sure,” Nate said, holding out his hand. “Could you tie it on?”

  “I have your permission?”

  “Yes,” Nate said. “As long as you’re really Sandra.”

  “I am,” she said, securing the bracelet around his wrist.

  “Why couldn’t I fly?” Nate asked.

  “Doubt and fear,” Sandra said. “You believed the dream more than you believed in your own power. It’s all right. You’ll get better at it.”

  “How did you find me?” Nate asked.

  “It’s what I do,” Sandra said. “I sensed your distress. It was easy since I had your permission.”

  “John told me you somehow handled my parents last night,” Nate said.

  “I coaxed them into falling asleep before they could realize how late you were out and guided them into pleasant dreams.”

  “You didn’t have their permission,” Nate said.

  “I can still exert a fair amount of influence without permission,” Sandra said. “Especially if the target isn’t resisting. Just like how somebody at the carnival tampered with your dream tonight without full permission.”

  “Did I give partial permission?” Nate asked.

  “Anyone who reads the posted signs at the carnival and still attends grants access,” Sandra said.

  “Sneaky,” Nate said. “We learned there are people trapped in the carnival who are asleep and can’t wake up.”

  “That goes well beyond ordinary dream tampering,” Sandra said. “I suspected something like it might be happening. Every sleeper they add increases their power. They must be stopped.”

  “What should I do?” Nate asked.

  “Having the bracelet will help,” Sandra said. “You received it in the dreamscape, so they can’t keep it out of the carnival.”

  “I forgot to drink Mr. Stott’s potion,” Nate realized. “I was so tired.”

  “Which made it easier for them to access your dreams,” Sandra said. “Easier for me too. That oversight may end up working for our good.”

  “What now?” Nate asked. “The school’s field trip to the carnival is in the morning.”

  Sandra motioned to a bed in a dark corner. “Go rest. I’ll make sure the remainder of your dreams are untroubled tonight. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

  “What should my priority be in the morning?” Nate asked.

  “Wake the sleepers,” Sandra said. “We must rescue them before the carnival grows too strong.”

  “I feel like I’m in over my head,” Nate said.

  “You’re right,” Sandra said. “But somehow you must succeed.”

  Nate crossed to the bed and slid under the covers. He could still hear the clamor of the circus, but it was distant, muted. He closed his eyes, and sleep enfolded him into oblivion.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Field Trip

  Buses clogged the parking lot when Nate arrived at school. He parked his bike and hurried to the cafeteria where John Dart sat with Summer and Trevor eating breakfast burritos. Two extra trays containing burritos, vanilla yogurt with blueberries, and orange juice waited beside them. The huge bowling ball remained in the room, having been rolled into a corner.

  “Join us,” John called to Nate, indicating an unclaimed tray of food.

  Nate sat down. “You guys got here early. I was exhausted this morning.”

  “I’m just happy not to be grounded for a month,” Trevor said. “It was a miracle. My parents were asleep when I got home and mentioned nothing about my late arrival this morning.”

  “Same,” Nate said. “I forgot to take the potion Mr. Stott gave us, and I had a weird dream.” Nate shared his dream and his conversation with Sandra.

  “I want a friendship bracelet from Sandra,” Summer said.

  “You may have to risk a dream without the potion to get one,” John said.

  “It disappeared when I woke up,” Nate said, holding up his bare wrist.

  “It’s there,” John said. “I have one too. It will only appear when you’re dreaming.”

  “Hi, guys,” Pigeon said, approaching.

  “How do you feel?” Summer asked.

  “Way better,” Pigeon said. “Not sick to my stomach. Just kind of worn-out.”

  “Have some breakfast,” John offered.

  Pigeon glanced at the tray and looked relieved. “Good. No hash browns.”

  “We met Mozag as an aardvark,” Nate told John. He explained about the undercarnival and the roustabouts who took Mozag away. “Mozag wanted me to tell you we’re facing an extinction-level threat.”

  “I figured,” John said. “But it’s sobering to have that confirmed.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Sandra should arrive any minute.”

  “Do we know anything about Zac and Benji?” Trevor asked.

  “Zac was in and out of the carnival yesterday,” John said. “He and Benji left before the regular closing time.”

  “How will today go?” Summer asked.

  “You’ll travel with your homerooms to the carnival,” John said. “You have until two o’clock. I would say continue your investigations. Build on your leads. We need to make quick progress. Even viewed from outside, the carnival is significantly bigger today than it was yesterday. After you kids were settled, I spent last night catching clowns and pirates who were trying to raid the town.”

  Sandra approached the table and sat down. Dressed in sweats, she looked a little ragged, dark circles under her eyes. “Everything depends on you kids finding the sleepers,” she said without preamble. “The carnival is gaining strength every day by recruiting sleepers. Think of every new sleeper as mass added to a black hole. The more massive a black hole becomes, the greater its power to consume all matter around it. Eventually, nothing can escape. With enough sleepers, this carnival could potentially swallow everyone and everything, pulling our entire waking reality into the dreamscape.”

  “How do we wake them up?” Nate asked.

  “I don’t believe you can,” Sandra said. “The problem we must solve is one of access. First, you must find the sleepers. They will be heavily guarded. Then, Nate, you must fall asleep among them.”

  “Wait a second,” Nate said, glancing around the table. “I thought falling asleep inside the carnival was bad.”

  “Normally, yes,” Sandra replied. “But thanks to your dream last night, you have one of my friendship bracelets. If you dream alongside the sleepers, I should have access to your dreams. I’ll wake you up and them as well.”

  “It’s risky,” John warned.

  “More risky than if the carnival devours the world?” Nate asked. “I’m in.”

  “After attending the carnival today, all of you besides Nate should skip taking Mr. Stott’s dream suppressor potion,” Sandra said. “The sooner I get a bracelet on you, the safer you will be.”

  Trevor ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I can handle being hunted by clowns. It crosses into a type of fear I don’t know how to control.”

  “If that happens in your dream, I’ll rescue you,” Sandra said.

  Trevor looked at John. “What if it happens in real life?”

  “Do your best,” John said. “For me, it helps to picture the worst-case scenario ahead of time.”

  “You get scared?” Pigeon asked.

  “Not so much for my own life anymore,” John said. “I’m content with who I am and how I’ve chosen to live. I’ve made peace with my past mistakes. I’m ready to meet my demise if needed. But sometimes I fear failing my missions. I fear what may happen to others. I fear for you kids.”

  “What do you mean you picture the worst-case scenario?” Pigeon asked.

  “I picture the worst outcomes that could happen,” John said. “I get used to how they might feel, and I decide how I will behave even if the worst results come to pass. Even if I fail. If I’m only willing to sacrifice for success, then failure becomes terrifying. Surrendering the need for a guaranteed outcome cuts the tension for me. I accept the darkest possibilities, and then work for something better. It’s not a method that works for everyone.”

  “I might try that,” Trevor said heavily. “The worst thing I can imagine is clowns dragging me off to be their eternal prisoner.” He shivered. “The thought makes me want to run away screaming. But would I rather my friends were hurt or killed? Could I face clowns for a chance to save the world? I don’t know . . . that might be enough to shatter my brain.”

  “We all have breaking points,” John said. “Just do your best.”