The Categorical Universe of Candice Phee (24 page)

“Hello, Douglas Benson from Another Dimension,” I said. “It didn't work, then.”

“What?”

“Your portal/passport.”

He knelt before me and his eyes flashed with excitement.

“Wrong, Candice,” he said. “It
did
work. It worked beautifully.”

“Oh,” I said. Maybe my brain wasn't very honed.

“I've come back,” he continued. “I spent a couple of days with Mum and Dad and then I returned to this world.”

“Fancy,” I said.

“I came back for you,” he said. “I want you to travel with me across dimensions.”

“Hmmm,” I said. I thought this was an appropriate remark under the circumstances.

“Will you, Candice? Will you? Mum and Dad are so looking forward to meeting you.”

“I thought you couldn't think of a way.”

“I couldn't. But Mum did. We worked it out together.”

“Does it involve trees?”

“Yes.”

“Then I can't, Douglas,” I replied.

His face fell. “Why?”

“Because I am afraid of heights. I cannot climb the tree-portal. Even if I could, I wouldn't be able to jump from it.”

He got to his feet and paced. His hands clenched into fists. He even tried to pull at his hair, but it was so short he couldn't get a grip. Finally, he returned.

“I'll think of another way, Candice,” he said. “A way that doesn't involve trees.”

“Or heights of any kind?”

“Or heights of any kind. It will be difficult. It will be very difficult. But I'll do it. I swear to you, Candice. I
will
do it. You'll just have to give me time.”

“Righty ho,” I said. “Consider time to be given.”

He left after that. Douglas told me he had only come to school to see me and that the doctors had instructed him to take the week off. I watched him walk down the library stairs. To be honest, I wasn't too sorry to see him leave. The new dictionary was calling to me and I wanted to look up the word
delusion
again.

Walking home from school, I heard the sound of a motorbike. I stopped because it sounded like the motorbike was on the pavement. It was. So was I.

It stopped next to me and the rider lifted up the visor on her helmet. It was a postie, and not just any postie. Facsimile Penelope.

“Hello, Candice,” she said. “I thought it was you.”

“Hello,” I said.

“I'm so sorry we didn't get a chance to say goodbye on Sunday,” she continued. “But what with the ambulance and everything . . .”

“That's okay,” I said. “I'm glad Douglas is better.”

“Thank you, Candice. I can't tell you how relieved we are.”

“You can,” I said.

Facsimile Penelope looked puzzled, but then delved into her satchel. “I nearly forgot. I have a letter for you.”

“For me?”

She handed it over. It had a blue sticker with “Air Mail” printed on it. And an American stamp. Facsimile Penelope drove off in a thin cloud of blue smoke. I ripped open the envelope and unfolded the single sheet.

Dear Candice
,

Hey, I am so sorry I haven't replied to your letters! The thing is, the address was wrong. All your letters were delivered to my neighbor, Mr. Singlebaum, who has the apartment above ours. And he's been in Europe for the last year. He got back yesterday and brought them to our apartment
.

I just about died laughing reading your letters. You are either one cool chick or you're completely and totally crazy. Who knows? Maybe you're both. Or maybe you're
deliberately weird. A lot of my friends think I'm crazy, so I guess we'll get along. I have so much catching up to do, but I thought I'd just get this note off to you. Expect tons of letters over the coming months
.

Thanks for the geography lesson, incidentally. Who'da thought Canada was to the north of us (I'm kidding, by the way)? And, yeah, I've got a boyfriend who's our school's quarterback. This Douglas dude sounds unbelievably weird
.

Gotta go and catch the mailman
.

Your pen pal
,

Denille

I looked up at the cloudless sky. I am fairly sure there was a dreamy smile on my face. As I said, you can't move for dreamy smiles in the Phee household these days.

I love it when things work out. And it suddenly occurred to me that I had finished the Alphabet Autobiography as well. Hurrah! Miss Bamford would be pleased (and possibly astonished at its length). But finishing it also made me just a little sad. I'm not a fan of things ending. That's probably why I just go round and round.

I'm already thinking of my next chapter. “A Is for Aardvark.”

What do you think?

BARRY JONSBERG
is a multi-award winning writer of young adult and middle-grade novels and was shortlisted for the Prime Minister's Award. He lives and teaches in Darwin, Australia. Visit him at
www.barryjonsberg.com
.