Mark let Celeste move into his room that day and that’s where she stayed. It was a good thing he was the only one who could see her because I’m sure his parents wouldn’t be happy about him having a girl sleeping with him. But then again, Mark quickly discovered that Celeste was different from any of the other ideas he’d worked with. She never slept.
“Don’t you get tired?” he asked her one night. She was flying back and forth close to the ceiling.
“No!” she cried. “Why would I? This is the only reason I exist.”
Mark grinned then went back to sleep. But less than an hour later, Celeste landed on his stomach and shook him awake.
“I got something!” she shouted. “I got something! Look at it! Look at it!”
And he jumped out of bed and looked at the object she had in her hand. It was a glowing ball of light that was flashing different colors in the darkness.
“What is it?” he asked her.
“Lemme tell you!” And she flipped off the bed, hovered above him, then told him all about the mysterious object. He grabbed a notebook and wrote furiously as she talked. And hours later, she finally stopped, he put his pencil down, and went back to his bed. But by then, it was already morning and time for school.
This happened every night for an entire week until Mark was falling asleep in class.
“I really like you,” he told Celeste one day on the way home from school. “But I really need to sleep. I’m not a spirit like you.”
Celeste rubbed her chin as she floated at his side, trying to think of a solution.
“Can you just write things down for me while I’m sleeping then I can copy them when I wake up?” Mark suggested.
Celeste laughed out loud. “I don’t have a body, Mark! That’s why I need you to write things for me. I speak. You write. Sleep. Repeat. That’s how this works.”
See, the thing about ideas is that they start off as spirits, floating around the universe. But once they find a partner to work with them, that partner helps them manifest into something in the physical world. And when manifestation happens, the idea materializes into whatever object will help it spread the most. That’s why The Sorcerer’s Stone is a book and not a song. And why relativity is an equation and not a painting. But until then, the idea can’t touch anything physical. It can only touch thoughts.
“Okay,” Mark said as they kept walking. “How about this? You can keep waking me up, but only one night a week.”
Celeste thought about the deal for a second. “What day?”
“Friday,” Mark replied. “Since I don’t have school the next day so it—”
“Deal!” Celeste cried, holding her hand out.
Mark shook it.
That happened on a Monday. For the rest of the week, Celeste stuck to whispering things to Mark in the middle of class, telling him what TV shows and movies to watch after school, and what books to read. But she let him sleep without any interruptions. But once Friday came, Mark woke up at three in the morning to Celeste dancing around the room and singing at the top of her lungs. And when he finally got her to sit still, she vomited knowledge onto him that took him the next seven hours to write and filled two notebooks.
“That was wild!” Mark said, out of breath. He stared at the open notebooks in front of him in amazement then at the Sun outside his window. “But I’m exhausted.”
Celeste hopped onto his desk and crouched in front of him, grinning from ear to ear. “It was worth it. It’s gonna change the world.”