Dream Tunnel (Kid’s Sci-Fi Novel)

A young woman makes a dangerous trip through time to get to the boy of her dreams and bring him back to her world.

Conroe Williamson travels back in time to meet the boy she has fallen in love with while observing him on a device she found in the cellar: a time travel computer. She must marry and assume her mother’s throne before her eighteenth birthday or forfeit her destiny as Queen.

Initially, she tricks the boy into thinking they are dreaming together rather than traveling through time, fearing that the truth will scare him away. She is unaware that her evil cousin, who is next in line for the throne, is working behind the scenes to spoil her plans for royalty and happiness.

Raves for Dream Tunnel

“I almost missed class because I couldn’t put it down!” – Amazon reviewer

“There was never a dull or slow time in the book.” – Amazon reviewer

“Delightfully imaginative!” – Goodreads reviewer


Read the six-chapter excerpt…

Chapter 1

Conroe Williamson stepped into the shopping mall looking for trouble, wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket and pants with spike-toed combat boots that added two inches of height to her lean, muscular, six-foot frame. Lipstick color: Dead Black. The silver ring in her nose matched the ones in her ears. Her braid of dark brown hair hung at her back, curled up at the end, threatening onlookers like a venomous snake. The message tattooed across her forehead echoed her attitude: FLUSH IT.

A young mother stared at her as she walked by—obviously wondering what kind of horrible parents raised such a freak. Conroe saw the disdain in her eyes and smirked at her. The woman clutched her two children close to her sides, as though Conroe might try to snatch them away and bite their heads off.

A group of boys clowned around near the escalators. The leader of the pack shot Conroe a wink. Cocky and good-looking, he was probably the star quarterback. But she had no use for him or any of his teammates. She was looking for trouble, but not that kind of trouble.

Conroe saw cliques of girls shopping for clothes, flirting with boys, and eating ice cream in the food court—doing all the things that girly girls do. Maybe she would walk up and punch one of their pretty little faces. She wondered if a broken and bloody nose would be enough to get her thrown in jail. It was an option.

She stopped at a water fountain and overheard two girls talking. From what she could gather, they were planning some kind of mischief, and Conroe wanted to watch. It was a diversion, to be sure, and she had an agenda, a critical mission. Still, she couldn’t resist.

She followed the two girls into Babes, a teen clothing boutique. They headed straight for the sixty percent-off table, which was stacked with hundreds of pairs of shorts in a dozen different pastel shades. One of the girls grabbed a couple of pairs, seemingly at random, and took them into a dressing room, while the other continued to rummage through the pile.

Conroe stopped at a rack of costume jewelry nearby and pretended to study several of the items while waiting for the girls to put on their show.

The girl walked out of the dressing room wearing a pair of pink shorts, with only a black bra on top. “Well, Tiff—what do you think?” She struck a sexy pose.

Tiffany laughed. “That looks hot, Rachel.”

A middle-aged clerk intervened. “Miss, you can’t walk out here dressed like that.”

“Why? Oh—is it the bra? Is it the fact that it doesn’t match the shorts?”

“No. I just need you to—”

“Well, I like black, and I think it goes very well with pink. But if it’s against some stupid store policy to wear black with pink, I can solve that problem.” Rachel unhooked her bra, took it off, and slung it across the saleswoman’s shoulder. “How’s that?”

“Young lady, get back in the dressing room!”

Tiffany began laughing hysterically.

Several customers turned to see what was happening. Two pre-teen girls giggled.

“Please!” The saleswoman placed the bra cups over Rachel’s breasts and pushed her backward, toward the dressing rooms.

“Get your hands off me,” Rachel said.

Conroe had enjoyed watching the girls’ antics, but now it was time to get down to business. She stuffed dozens of the cheap jewelry items into her jacket pockets and walked out of the store.

The security alarm sounded.

Conroe froze.

“I saw what you did,” said an unfamiliar female voice.

The girl was two inches taller than Conroe, and twenty pounds heavier. She wore a denim jacket over a black T-shirt, with faded jeans and white sneakers. Her blond hair was cropped short enough to make her look like a boy—although the large breasts dispelled that possibility.

“It’s none of your business,” Conroe said, turning away, wondering what was taking the mall cops so long to get there.

The girl grabbed Conroe’s shoulder and spun her back around.

Conroe saw the fist coming toward her face and ducked.

The girl lost her balance and fell down. But she jumped right back up and cocked her fist.

“Stop!” a man yelled.

When the girls caught a glimpse of the skinny young man in uniform holding a shaking pistol, they threw their hands into the air.

“Why are you pointing that gun at me?” asked the girl. “This ain’t no bank robbery, Junior.”

“Both of you put your hands against the wall.” His voice cracked, as though he hadn’t quite made it through puberty.

He handcuffed the girl. A second guard arrived to cuff Conroe.

“You’re ridiculous,” said the girl to the skinny guard. “You wear that uniform like a skinny old lady.”

“We’ll see who’s ridiculous,” he replied, “when you’re sitting in jail.”

The girl snapped at Conroe, “What are you looking at, chicky? Wait until they put us in a cell together. I’m gonna tear your face off and stuff it down your throat.”

Conroe smiled. The first step of her plan had worked—although not exactly as she had envisioned it.

Next Chapter —>