Fourteen year old Bridgette Larson stood on a branch, looking down at her best friend, Jac Mason, rereading The Lord of the Rings, his blonde hair falling in his eyes.

The idea had been bothering her for a few days, and she had no idea how to bring it up. He would think she was crazy, an absolute nut job. Oh, well, she thought. It's not like I haven't done stupid stuff before.

"Jac," she said.

"What?" he mumbled, scarcely looking up.

"Jac, what if things in books were real? What if it were true that? All of it?" her voice rose as she spoke, getting more and more excited. "What if the authors didn't write just on imagination, but on experience?"

This time she managed to steal Jac's attention away from the book. "You've got to be joking. Bridgette, you've had some," he paused, "ideas in the past that were…interesting, but this? This time I am entirely sure you have once and for all lost it." He shook his head.

She jumped from the branch, landing evenly on her feet. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice icy. "I will not stand here and be called a crazy by my best friend." Bridgette tossed her light auburn curls over her shoulder, glaring at him.

Jac sighed, sticking his book mark between the pages. "Look, I'm sorry. But why would you ever think that? What exactly have you been reading?"

"I'm bored! There's nothing, nothing here!" she cried, rolling her green eyes. "All there is for us to do is soccer and cross country! Don't get me wrong, you know I love it, but there's only so much I can take!" The sporty girl was almost hysterical.

Jac stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Would you calm down? Sorry, but it's not true. There's only one world: ours." He looked down at her through his cobalt eyes, and shook his head again. "Honestly, I wonder about you…" Jac trailed off.

He bent down and picked up the soccer ball. "Practice?"

^..^

That evening Bridgette sat in her bedroom, backpack lying open on her bed. She threw two pair of her jeans, soccer tee-shirts, a pair of her running shoes, and some other necessities inside, and zipped it up.

Bridgette growled. What am I doing? Really, what am I doing, she thought. She threw it to the back of her closet, her gaze falling to the window. The sun was just setting behind the trees in the distance, sky in an array of colors.

She sullenly walked over to her book shelf and grabbed one. "Inkspell by Cornelia Funke," read out loud. "You know, you got me into some trouble today."

Bridgette's eyes widened slightly. I am talking to books. That's just great. Maybe Jac's right. Perhaps I have lost it for once and for all.

She walked absent-mindedly over to her rounded double chaise lounge, and opened it to the page she had last read. When Bridgette looked up, it was almost nine-thirty. She groaned and went to her dresser and grabbed her pajamas, before sulking off to her bathroom.

Bridgette opened her door after changing, and her mouth dropped open slightly.

There, in something like a hologram, was Meggie and Farid at the exact spot she had left off: The Wayless Wood.

Not taking her eyes off the picture, Bridgette grabbed her backpack, slung it over her back, and wrote a quick note.

Mom and Dad,

Be back soon. Not sure when.

Bridgette.

Cautiously, nervously, Bridgette slipped her hand through and watched as it disappeared. Rapidly, she pulled it back in.

Glancing briefly over her shoulder, Bridgette leapt through the portal.