Molly Doogan sat on her bedroom floor next to her opened dresser drawer unaware of the warm tears sliding down her flushed cheeks.

"No! Please! Not again!" she wanted to shout, but couldn't. If her parents heard her, they'd come to her room, and then they'd want to know what was wrong. Then she'd have to tell them about what she'd found before and kept hidden in her drawer -- about the things that were happening to her that she couldn't explain.

And now these. She looked at the pebbles in one hand and the small leather pouch in the other.

It was all too confusing. Things like this aren't supposed to happen in real life. But what was real and what wasn't? She wasn't sure any more. She felt like she was living in two different dimensions.

And all because of that night -- that night she and her dad sat in the car waiting for her mother . . . .

"Your mom's really late tonight."

Molly noticed her father eye the Volvo's dashboard clock for only about the two hundredth time. She could tell he was bored, too. But nowhere near as bored as she was. Forever -- that's how long it felt they'd been waiting in the medical clinic's parking lot. Forever and a day.

Molly let out a noisy sigh to let her father know her impatience. Now that she'd turned eleven, she tried to be less fidgety, act more mature. But she thought she would explode into a kazillion pieces or something if her mother didn't walk out the clinic door soon.

"Guess your mom had a lot of patients today, what with the flu going around." She saw her dad look at the clock again. That made two hundred and one.

Except for times like this, Molly liked having a doctor mother. She always got a little kick when she heard, "Calling Dr. Doogan. Calling Dr. Doogan," on the clinic speakers. Sometimes at home when her mother called her, she'd answer with, "What's up, doc?" But right now she wished her mother was a bank clerk, or a librarian, or a teacher even -- some job with a more regular schedule.

Molly tried squirming into a more comfortable position. Nothing worked. Then she searched through the glove compartment but found nothing but a burnt out flashlight, some broken pencils, a tattered map, and a hair clip she thought she'd lost.

Using the clip, she pulled her light-brown hair into a ponytail. Then she twisted the rearview mirror and switched on the overhead light so she could see herself. She turned her head from side to side, then stuck her tongue out at herself.

"You know, you have your mother's blue eyes. And with your hair pulled back like that, you're looking more and more like her."

Realizing her dad had been watching her, Molly blushed. "Well, I wish mom would come out that door right this minute. She's never been this late before."

Molly began fiddling with the radio, punching buttons and changing stations every few seconds. Almost every station had either news, classical music, freeway alerts, or loud commercials. As soon as a station played music she didn't like, she switched to another.

"Molly, must you?"

"But I'm bored, daddy."

"I know, I know."

Molly watched him take off his glasses, hold them up, sigh, rub his nose, and put his glasses on. "But if you can't find something you like, turn it off, okay, kiddo?"

When her dad called her "kiddo," she knew he wasn't really angry.

"I will -- if you tell me a story."

Molly hoped he'd say yes, but he just smiled at her for a moment, his brown eyes peering over his black-rimmed glasses.

"A story, huh?"

"Please? It'll help pass the time for you, too."

"What kind of story?"

"I don't know. Make one up." Molly placed her hands together prayer-like and made a silly, pleading face. "Please, please, please."

"Hey, now, kiddo, easier said than done." Her father smiled and looked through the windshield at the clinic doorway. Molly sensed he was hoping her mother would show up now so he could get out of telling a story.

"Why should it be so hard? You're a writer. You're always writing those manuals and stuff for your work."

"Well, that's a little different. That's technical 'stuff,' as you call it, not stories."

"Oh, come on, dad," she coaxed, tucking on his arm, "just a little one 'til mom comes." She pulled her knees up to her chin, pressed her back against the car door so she could face him, and widened her blue eyes in expectation.

"Oookay," he stretched out the word, "but only if you help me."

"Help? How?"

"Well, like, when should the story take place? In the present, the past, the future?"

Molly thought a moment. "Maybe the past . . . sort of . . . ."

Her father nodded. "The past . . . sort of. All right. Now then, where?"

"You mean, where in the world?"

"The world, or anywhere you like. It could be here on earth but maybe an unknown world, out in space, some place unusual . . . rare. Make it up."

Molly fell quiet for a moment. Then, "How about Raresville? That sounds rare and different." She laughed at herself.

"Raresville, hmm? Not bad. Do you know what 'ville' means?"

"I think so. Small town or village, right?"

"Right. So, do you want the story to take place in a small village or some place bigger?" She saw him look out toward the clinic door.

"Bigger, for sure. And let's make it a really pretty place . . . lots of mountains and hills and valleys . . . clean rivers, lakes, and air . . . lots of jewels . . . rubies mostly."

"Okay. Give it a name."

Molly ran her fingers through her ponytail, then said excitedly, "I know! How about a place called Rairarubia?"

"Rairarubia," her father repeated. "Hmm. I like that. Rairarubia."

"Rare, air, rubies. Get it?"

"Oh, I get it," her dad laughed. "Very clever. Okay, Rairarubia it is. Hey, maybe you should be telling me a story." Her father gave a gentle tug on Molly's ponytail.

"No, no. Together. But you mostly." Molly twisted around to get more comfortable.

"Well, let's see now. We're in Rairarubia sometime in the past, sort of. Where do we start? In the mountains, on the river, the hills? Where?"

Molly's brow knitted in thought. "Hm. What do you think?"

Her father gazed out the windshield again, but she could tell he was thinking, not looking, this time. "How about this. It can change as we move along in the story. We'll let our imaginations take over. So, let's start with a lush, green valley spotted with huge oak, elm, and sycamore trees. A blue-green lake forms at one end, so clear you can see right to the deep bottom. At the other end of the valley, rolling green hills give way to high, snow-topped mountains. A fast running river runs down from the mountains and spills into the lake. Sound good?"

"Yeah, that sounds pretty. I like it."

"But we don't have any people."

"Oh, yeah. We've got to have people."

"So who's in the story? Make up someone."

"OK. Let's see. Well, there's a girl, of course."

"Of course."

"Her name is . . . Romey."

"Romey. Good name. What's she look like?"

"Well, she's got short, dark hair . . . and blue-green eyes . . . she's twelve, no, thirteen, and tall for her age."

"Okay, now how is she dressed?"

"Hmm. Let's see." Molly ran her fingers through her hair again. "How about a yellow T-shirt and overall jeans, with straps, the kind I told you and mom I want to get. And she's wearing AirWalks, like me." Molly paused, then added, "Romey's also very strong. She could even beat you in arm wrestling." Molly gently elbowed her dad.

"Oh, oh, I'll be sure to stay on the good side of this girl," her father laughed. "Any one else around?"

Molly thought for a moment, checking to see if the woman coming out of the door was her mother, but it wasn't. "No, she's walking alone along the river."

"Why? Is she lost? Sad?"

Molly thought a minute. "No. She doesn't know why she's there. She has no memory. She's wondering what we're going to do with her." Molly smiled, wondering herself.

"Ah, I see. Well, let's not keep her waiting."

"You begin it. She's walking along the river." Molly settled back in the seat, no longer bored.

"Hmm. Well, there she is walking along the river, wondering how she got there when . . . ."

Romey suddenly saw a huge shadow cast from overhead moving along the ground toward her. She looked up and gasped. A gigantic bird with a body and head like a pterodactyl, raced toward her in a silent glide. Its wings, thick with rainbow colored feathers, seemed to stretch out forever. Romey saw her reflection in the bird's bulging eyes just as it swooped her off in its claws

At first, Romey screamed and tried to wiggle free, but the higher they flew, the more she realized she'd better not move or she'd fall. The bird's huge, stretched-out wings swished with such a terrible racket as it flapped upward that she had to hold her hands over her ears.

She could see little because of the forceful wind in her face, but as she squinted downward, she noticed everything below growing smaller and smaller. The river looked like a thin blue ribbon dropped to the floor, the lake just an ink splot. Then all she could see was the broken shadow of the bird as it flew above the snow-covered mountains behind the lake.

The bird began to bank and zigzag between mountain peaks. The longer they flew, the colder Romey got. Only the bird's huge scratchy claws wrapped around her kept her from freezing.

Then, without warning, the bird's claws opened!

Romey screamed as she fell through the cold air thinking surely her life was over.

But, of course, it wasn't.

She landed in something soft and bounced twice before settling still. Under other conditions it might have been fun, like bouncing on a trampoline. But Romey found nothing funny about any of this. Especially when she noticed she was sitting between two huge, dirty-white objects splattered with purple specks. Upon a closer look, Romey realized what they were.

Eggs, twice her size!

"The bird's nest!" Romey said to herself. "I'm in the bird's nest."

Then it dawned on her. "And I'm supposed to be the first meal for its soon-to-hatch chicks!"

Romey looked around for a way out, but the dark shadow of the bird overhead dimmed the light. Then she found herself slipping into near total darkness as the bird gently sat on her and the eggs.

Once again she thought she was doomed, but fortunately the bird's nest was so big and soft that Romey found she had room to crawl through the moss-like nest. Careful not to disturb the bird, she worked her way out from under the feathered giant by pulling herself upward toward a speck of light at the rim of the huge nest. Luckily, Romey came out at the bird's back so it didn't see her.

Once out, though, she had no idea what to do next. It was cold without the warmth of the bird. She folded her arms across her chest and shivered.

"How am I going to get out of this mess?" she muttered to herself.

As she looked for some way to escape, Romey noticed some loose feathers lying about. Being a huge bird, some feathers were rather large. Very slowly, so the bird wouldn't feel her movements, she pulled several toward her thinking she might be able to use them to cover herself for warmth.

While gathering feathers, she noticed something gleaming embedded deeper in the nest. She pulled and untwisted the object from the nest fibers and discovered a gold necklace. The chain, made of strong, solid links, had a large, oval-shaped medallion attached. As Romey examined the medallion, she noticed four deep indentations, each one a different shape. It appeared jewels had been taken from it. The bird, Romey guessed, must have gathered up the necklace as part of its nest building.

Romey's first concern was to get warm, so with a shrug of her shoulders, she slipped the necklace over her head and turned back to gathering feathers.

She fashioned the feathers into a bulky, cape-like covering. Then she tied it together with thin fibers the bird had also collected in making up the nest. Awkward or not, the feathered cape felt warm against her skin.

"Much better. Now, how do I get out of here?" she asked herself.

Romey eased herself up the side of the nest toward the rim. She scooted backwards so she could keep an eye on the bird's back without disturbing it. With her clumsy cape, it seemed a lifetime before she made her way up.

Reaching the rim she looked down. She bit her lip to keep from yelling out. Her side of the nest, set into a small ledge on the mountain, hung out over a thirty foot drop into the snow below. There seemed no way to get out of the nest on this side. She didn't dare try to crawl around to the other side for fear the bird would see her or feel her move.

After a moment's thought, Romey started pulling loose some of the rope-like fibers that made up the bottom of the nest. Still taking care not to disturb the bird, she began tying together as many pieces of fiber as she could until she had fashioned a long rope. Once finished, she tied one end to the biggest and sturdiest part of the bird nest she could find. Slowly, she let out her rope over the edge of the nest.

"Well, here goes everything," Romey whispered to herself. "Bird, please take a little nap."

Romey crept over the side of the nest and began letting herself down the fiber rope hand-over-hand. Being strong, this was no problem for Romey. The problem was that her fashioned rope wasn't long enough. When she looked down, everything was too white and bright from the snow. She had no idea how much farther she had to go.

For a moment, Romey just hung there, feet dangling. "Well," she told herself, "it's back up or let go."

She let go.

After a short drop, she felt her feet sinking into deep snow.

But just as she was feeling free of the bird, she heard it give an ear-piercing squawk. Then she could see the shadow of its huge wings on the snow. She looked up and saw the bird rise from its nest and circle her. Her feet didn't have to be told to move.

Knee deep in snow, Romey trudged as fast as she could toward a small cut in the mountain that she thought might hide her. But her bulky feather cape and thick snow made it difficult to move.

The shadow of the bird drew nearer and wider.

"I've got to make it, I've got to," she muttered half aloud, drawing deep, hard breaths.

But she didn't.

Just as the bird swooped in, the snow under Romey gave way. She found herself sliding down on her bottom . . . down . . . down . . . faster and faster, her breath leaving her. She felt like a balloon with its air escaping, twirling, swirling, down and around, down, down through a tunnel of white . . . .

"Hey, you two, sorry to be so late." Molly's mother smiled at them through the car window. Molly and her father had been so wrapped up in the story they hadn't noticed Molly's mother had left the clinic.

"Oh, no, you can't stop now, daddy," Molly pleaded as she climbed into the back seat making room for her mother.

"Can't stop what?" her mother said as she got into the car. "And what about a 'Hello, mommy, glad-to-see-you-did-you-have-a-good-day'?"

"Hi, mom. Sorry. I am glad to see you. Really. It's just that dad and I are in the middle of a story, and it's just getting good." Molly couldn't conceal her disappointment, even though she was happy to see her mother.

"We can continue the story later. You start thinking of what might come next." Her father leaned over and greeted his wife with a kiss on the cheek as he started the car.

"But when? Bet we never finish it now," Molly muttered as she fastened her seat belt.

"Oh, I don't know," her dad said. "I'm getting rather fond of Romey myself."

"And just who is Romey?" his wife asked. "Should I be jealous?"

Molly looked in the rear view mirror and saw her father smiling.