June, age 12
Afever claims me.
I wake up on Christmas Eve, curled into my bed covers, trembling with chills. It feels like I’m in the water again, fighting for air, desperate for warmth. Shaking, flailing, sinking…
Petrified.
A phlegmy cough rattles my lungs as I roll onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest and burrowing deeper into my quilted blanket. Sunlight pours into the room, alerting me it’s daytime, but it hardly feels like I’ve slept.
What time is it? Is everyone opening presents without me?
My eyes feel heavy. They narrow against the daylight, too weak to absorb the happy sunshine. I try to call out for my mom, but my voice is too small. Only a little squeak breaks through, and I start coughing again.
I’m cold. So cold.
The mattress shifts beside my shivering body, and I feel him looming over me before he speaks. He’s warm. He’s perfect.
He’s my everything.
A hand reaches out, gathering my sweat-soaked hair and letting it drop against the pillow. His breath flutters into my ear, followed by my favorite word in the whole world: “Junebug.”
I inhale a shuddering breath, holding back another cough. “I’m sick, Brant. I’m really sick.”
“I know.”
“I need medicine.”
Brant’s fingers interlace with mine, and he tugs me until I roll over onto my back. Two earthy orbs stare down at me. He has eyes like soil and grasslands, and they make me want to frolic in open meadows and plant a garden beneath the day’s first blush.
But not today… I’m too sick.
“I want to show you something,” Brant says, his dark brown waves of hair falling over his eyes. He sweeps it back with a smile. “Are you ready?”
“I-I don’t think so.” My mouth feels dry, like I’m choking on a mouthful of cotton balls. I blink through my fevered fog and stare at the little dark freckle that dots the underside of his bottom lip. It stretches as his smile grows. “I might need a doctor. My teeth are all chattery.”
“I know what will help. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” Curiosity pulls my heap of weakened, sweaty limbs from the comfort of my bed. Brant wraps an arm around me, hoisting me to unstable feet. “Is it far?”
“Not too far. Just over the rainbow.”
I squeeze his bicep for leverage. “Huh?”
“Come on.”
There’s a dull pulsing in my temple, pounding in time with my heartbeat. I hold onto Brant’s arm with both hands as a coughing fit has me doubling over. “I think I have the flu, Brant. Or mono.”
“It’s pneumonia. You’ll be okay.”
“Pneumonia? My Gramps died from pneumonia,” I tell him, panic causing my head to throb harder.
Brant keeps me upright, smelling like Ivory soap and spearmint chewing gum. Sometimes those scents mingle with fresh herbs, as he’s always cooking in the kitchen. Basil, thyme, sage. Comfort smells. He glances down at me, his dimples so striking against his strong jawline. “But you won’t,” he says. “Now, open your eyes.”
“My eyes are already…” My words trail off when a giant castle appears before me, tall and proud, made of pink bricks and lemon drops. It stands amid dancing clouds and rainbow stars. I gasp. “Where are we?”
“I told you, Junebug,” Brant replies, letting me go and strolling ahead. “Over the rainbow.”
“That’s not real. That’s just a song.”
He’s in a tuxedo, now—it’s a brilliant blue, like the robin’s eggs that hatched on our front door last spring. Their nest was built upon the Easter wreath Mom made from straw and twigs.
Just when the thought crosses my mind, three baby robins fly across my vision, and I swear they wave at me with their flittering wings.
This fever is making me batty.
I rub at my eyes, confusion causing my vision to blur. “Brant, wait… d-don’t leave me here.”
“I’d never leave you. I love you.”
“How much?” I’m not sure why I ask it, but I do.
“To the moon and back.” Brant pauses, his brow furrowing. “No, that’s not enough. How about… over the rainbow and back again,” he settles on. Then he winks. “Hurry up, Junebug. You can’t be late for the wedding.”
The wedding?
I’m not prepared. I have no speech, no gift, no pretty dress. I’m wearing my gym shorts from school and an old dance t-shirt stained with fever sweat.
Forcing my legs into action, I race forward on the pastel bricks, trying to catch up to Brant. He disappears through the grand foyer glimmering with golden pixie dust.
A familiar voice greets me when I step inside. “June!”
I spin to my left, finding a shock of dark red hair bouncing over two slender shoulders as she dashes toward me.
Wendy Nippersink.
This isn’t a dream. This is a nightmare.
My lips pucker. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought you something,” she coos, adjusting a glittering tiara on her thick head of hair, then leaning in to pinch my cheek. “A beautiful gift for a beautiful girl.”
I crinkle my nose at the cheek-pinch.
Wendy has always been nice to me, so sometimes I feel bad for not liking her. But she’s not always nice to Brant, and that’s what matters most to me.
I wish he’d break up with her for good.
She trails her hand to my lacy brown hair, letting it flutter between the cracks in her fingers. “I named him Rupert.”
“Him… ?”
And then there’s a unicorn.
I scream.
Wendy presses a finger to my lips, hushing me. “Shh. You’ll startle him. Rupert doesn’t like loud noises, enclosed spaces, or double negatives.”
“What is happening?”
She stares at me, like she’s the one confused, petting his prism of vivid fur. “You don’t like him?”
Rupert neighs.
“Where am I? How is this possible? Why is there a unicorn?”
“He’s here for the wedding, of course.”
Wooziness causes twinkle lights to dance behind my eyes. I press the heel of my palm to my forehead, inhaling a deep breath. When I start coughing uncontrollably, there’s a gentle pat along my spine. I massage my throat, then glance behind me.
My eyes pop with disbelief.
It’s Brant’s mother.
She looks exactly how she looked in the Christmas ornament photograph, with cocoa butter hair and marmalade eyes. Pure warmth and sweetness. “I-I… I don’t understand…”
“Oh, June. I couldn’t be happier.”
“But you’re—”
“Dead?” She smirks, ducking her head. “I suppose I am. But magic can happen over the rainbow… if you dare to dream.”
Brant’s mom appears to float down a long corridor, so I follow, my fever creeping its way back and heating my ears and neck. She leads me into a Victorian-style room—or a room I’d expect to find back in the olden days, with jeweled hues and vintage furniture, busy wallpaper and heavy drapery.
Brant’s mother—I think her name was Caroline—taps the top of a tufted armchair with a curling iron in her grip. “Come, now, June. Let’s get you all dolled-up.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m too sick.” I begin to sway, my fever spiking. “I can’t make it to the wedding.”
“Oh, but you must. You’re the bride.”
What?
“Yeah, Peach, you can’t bail on us. I spent hours writing this speech.”
I whirl around, spotting Theo collapsed onto a floral settee. He clears his throat, a slip of paper clutched inside his fist. He’s also dressed in a fancy tuxedo. “Theo?”
“Once upon a time, my mom was going to have a baby, and I just knew it would be a girl,” he reads, his opposite hand waving animatedly. “I was going to name her Butterfly, but someone else came along and gave her a different name—Junebug. Not at all a glamorous bug, but the name sounded cute, nonetheless. Just like my baby sister. And they both have wings, which was fitting… because this little girl was destined to fly.”
There’s a tickle on my back, so I arch my neck and discover two giant wings stuck to my shoulder blades. They flap all by themselves.
Flip, flap. Flutter, flutter.
This is madness. This can’t possibly be real. I race over to Theo, shaking his shoulders as I demand, “Please, take me back home. I’m going to miss Christmas. None of this makes sense!”
He only smiles.
“Please,” I repeat, my grip on him slackening. “I’m not supposed to be here, Theo.”
A sigh leaves him, a hand lifting to curl around my wrist. “Of course you are, Peach. Everything in your life has brought you to this day.”
“Impossible. I’m only twelve! I’m too young to get married.”
“None of that matters here, little sis.”
“Oh, Theo, please take me home…”
I collapse beside him on the settee, and he pulls me close. “You are home, silly. Besides, I haven’t even finished telling you my speech.”
“Can’t you tell it to me on the day I actually get married? In real life?”
Theo pauses, dipping his head for a minute before meeting my gaze. His eyes twinkle with a galaxy of stars as a soft smile touches his lips. “I think I’d rather tell you now.”
My head radiates with pain. My lungs feel heavy and full, desperate for reprieve. I rest my temple to his shoulder, while chills pulsate through me. “Fine,” I relent.
“Excellent.” He claps his hands together. “Okay, Peach, listen closely because this next part is important. Got it?”
“I got it.”
“Good. Now, don’t forget…” Theo inhales a big breath, then opens his mouth to speak.
Nothing comes out.
His mouth is moving, but there’s no sound.
Frowning, I lift up from his shoulder. “I-I can’t hear you, Theo…”
“And there you have it. You won’t forget, right?”
No! This is maddening! “Say it again,” I beg. “Please, Theo! I couldn’t hear you.”
“It’s time!” Caroline announces, ushering us out the doorway as she floats through the threshold. “You look absolutely lovely, June. Just wait until he sees you.”
Theo jumps up and follows. “Speech time!” he says, then prances ahead of me.
He truly frolics.
“Wait, I’m coming!” I’m suddenly wearing a leotard with an extravagant skirt made of tulle, silk, and shimmering gems. A rainbow train follows behind me as I make my way to the ballroom I’m compelled to be at, and somehow know the way to.
I’m stopped at the entrance by Wendy, who looks to be crying. Mascara tracks down her cheeks as she pulls the tiara from her own head and gifts it to me. A watery smile greets me as she secures it into place, my hair magically curled and dusted with glitter. I touch it with tentative fingers. “Thanks,” I murmur.
“It looks better on you, anyway,” she shrugs. “Congratulations, June.”
The doors open all by themselves, revealing my friends and family, waiting in diamond-crusted pews. All eyes are on me as I step into the ballroom. My heart sputters with nerves, my fever heightening. I’m afraid I might pass out.
My mother dabs her tearstained cheeks with a handkerchief, smiling brightly as I walk down the colorful aisle. Dad gives me a thumbs up, hollering over at me, “You look remarkable, honey!”
I nibble my lip, looking on both sides of me. Theo looks to be practicing his speech, Grams is knitting an ugly sweater, my school friends are blowing noisemakers, Aunt Kelly has an armful of cats, and even Yoshi is perched on a pew with a biscuit in his mouth, tail wagging.
And Brant…
Wait. Where’s Brant?
I spin forward in a panic, only to be stopped short by a unicorn.
Rupert neighs. I lurch back.
And when I trail my eyes upward, I finally find Brant. He’s perched atop the unicorn with two stuffed elephants in his lap. One is Aggie, and the other looks to be his old stuffed toy… Bubbles. I wonder where he found Bubbles. Smiling fondly, dreamily, he holds his hand out to me. “Ready, Junebug?”
“What?” I croak out.
He’s still dressed in his vibrant blue tux, and there’s a streamer floating from Rupert’s tail that reads ‘Just Married.’
Mortification rockets through me when I realize…
Brant is my groom?!
“Y-You’re the one I’m marrying?” I stutter as the room starts to spin.
“Of course.” He frowns with a sprinkle of confusion. “Who else would it be?”
Anyone! Anyone else!
“You’re my brother,” I say, disoriented. Dizzy with confusion. “Take me home, Brant! Please!”
“Calm down, Junebug. I’m not really your brother.”
“You are! I can’t marry you!” I plead. “Please, I’m sick. I need medicine. I need…” I start to sway again, consumed by furious fever.
My legs wobble, too weak to hold me upright any longer. Stars dance behind my eyes as everything around me blurs. Voices turn intelligible. Colors meld into light. Noise transforms into… beeping…
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I blink.
Artificial light spills into my vision.
I draw in a sharp breath, hardly achieving a lungful when I start coughing. It’s a wet, ugly cough—it hurts. I hurt everywhere.
A hand touches my forehead, gently pushing back my damp hair, and my eyelids flutter with familiarity. The scent of Ivory soap tickles my nose. “Brant…”
“Shh. Don’t try to talk, Junebug. I’m here.”
My head swivels to the right, and I see him. He’s sitting beside me in a chair, while I lie in a cot made of white. Starchy sheets are pulled up to my chest, and the light in the room is harsh and blinding. I squint my eyes, trying to see Brant better. “Are you real?”
The dream spirals back to me, causing me to blush profusely. I’m hopeful the heat from my fever is disguising my humiliation.
I dreamed I was marrying Brant!
Strange images flicker through my mind; from unicorns, to vintage settees, to Brant’s mother floating from room to room.
Madness. Delirium.
I’ve never had a dream so realistic before. So… bizarre.
“I’m real. That fever really took a toll on you,” he says softly.
There’s worry gleaming in his earthy eyes, spun with green and brown. Moss and clay. His hair is a mess of darkish waves—not quite curly, but not straight. Thick locks coil behind his ears, making him look young and boyish.
He’s not a boy, though… he’s eighteen. He’s officially a man.
And he’s my brother—sort of.
I dreamed I was marrying him!
I can’t seem to meet his eyes as my embarrassment continues to climb. My cheeks heat, and my ears burn. “How did I get here?” I mutter to the ceiling tiles.
The last thing I recall is dragging myself up the staircase, weak and warm, while Brant prepped Christmas Eve dinner. Mom said she’d check on me in a bit.
And then there was Rupert.
Brant takes my hand in his, squeezing lightly. “Your fever spiked really high… it was over one-oh-five. You were hallucinating. Scared us all half to death.”
When I brave a glance in his direction, his face looks pained. Truly pained. I swallow back the sting in my throat.
“I thought I lost you in that pond,” he continues, looking just beyond me. He’s quiet for a beat. Reflective. “Tonight I thought I was losing you all over again.”
Tears rush to my eyes. “I’m here, Brant,” I whisper, ragged and strained. “I’m here.”
Well… I think I’m here. Truthfully, I have no idea what’s real anymore. For all I know, the room could dissolve into outer space at any given moment, and I’ll be floating on a shooting star, dressed in a snorkeling suit and top hat.
Brant lets go of my hand, leaning over the side of his chair. His hair falls over his eyes in thick waves, so he brushes it back as he straightens. “I brought you something.”
“It’s not a unicorn, is it?”
He falters, then laughs. “No… it’s not a unicorn. It’s something else—two things, actually.” Brant lifts both arms, revealing his gifts. In one hand, there is Aggie. In the other, there is the custom-built sword I received for Christmas six years ago. “Something for comfort, and something for courage.”
My eyes continue to prickle with tears as my heart swells twice its size. “Thank you. You always know how to make me feel better.”
I think about my dream, and how Brant had both Aggie and Bubbles resting in his lap as he sat on top of Rupert. Our two beloved elephants had finally met.
How I wish that were true.
“That’s because I love you, Junebug,” he whispers. Brant bends over, pressing a light kiss to my hairline. “So much.”
“How much?” I wonder.
My voice cracks. My throat tickles.
He inches away, peering down at me with all the love in the world. His handsome face is all I see. His warmth is all I feel.
I gulp.
“To the moon and back,” Brant says.
“That’s not enough,” I murmur, inhaling a frayed breath. Then I smile, with Aggie tucked beside me on the hospital cot, a hand gripping my sword, while the other holds onto Brant. All the things that make me brave. “How about… over the rainbow and back again?”
