Theo was too excited to sleep.
Tomorrow was his birthday. He would be eight. There would be a cake, and his cousins would come, and his friend Samir was bringing a present, and Theo had been counting down the days for weeks. Now, with only one night left, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow," he whispered. "Why does it take so long?"
Just then, he heard a sound. It came from far away, but it was getting closer. Choo, choo. Chuggity-chug.
He sat up. A soft white light was shining in through the window. He pulled back the curtain.
In the middle of the street, impossibly, there was a little train. It had a gleaming dark green engine, and three round-windowed carriages, and a funnel puffing a thin curl of silver smoke. It stood perfectly still on the cobblestones, as if it had always been there.
A conductor in a navy cap leaned out of the engine. "Ticket for Tomorrow?" he called, in a low voice.
"I don't have a ticket," said Theo.
"Ah, but you do," said the conductor, and when Theo looked down, there was a little cardboard ticket in his hand. It said: ONE WAY TO TOMORROW. TAKE YOUR TIME.
Theo put on his dressing gown and slippers and tiptoed outside. The conductor helped him up the steps. The carriage was warm and dim, with velvet seats and little brass lamps. A few other passengers sat in the corners: an old woman knitting, a sleepy cat, a man with a violin case. Everyone looked relaxed.
"Where are we going?" whispered Theo.
"Tomorrow," said the conductor. "It is not far. But we go the long way."
The train pulled out. It rolled over the hill, and through a silver forest, and over a long, curved bridge above a dark river. Stars wheeled outside the window. Theo pressed his nose against the glass.
They passed through a station where all the clocks were stopped, and the platform lay empty and still. They passed a field where the grass moved like water. They passed a lighthouse, a windmill, and a city full of tiny, glowing windows.
"Is it far now?" he asked.
"Not very."
"I wish we could get there faster."
The conductor smiled. "Everyone says that. But you see, there is nothing to hurry. Tomorrow always comes on time. It has never been late, not once. All that is left for us to do is ride, and look out of the window, and enjoy the night."
Theo thought about that. He looked at the old woman knitting, and her needles went click, click, click. He listened to the man's violin, which he had taken out and was playing, very softly, a slow, sweet melody.
The train rocked, side to side, side to side.
Theo's head grew heavy. He leaned against the velvet seat. Through the window, he saw the horizon turning pale, a thin line of gold. It was nearly morning.
He closed his eyes, just for a moment.
When he opened them, he was in his own bed. Sunlight was pouring across the quilt. Downstairs, he could hear his mother singing, and the smell of pancakes drifted up the stairs.
On his bedside table, there was a little cardboard ticket. It said: ARRIVED.
"Happy birthday, Theo," he whispered to himself, and smiled the biggest smile of his life.