Don't You Wish by Roxanne St. Claire Read Free Book Online Page A

basement stairs back in … real life. “Thanks, Tillie.”
    Tillie? That monster is as much a
Tillie
as … I am an
Ayla
.
    As Mom’s walking out, she presses her phone and puts it to her ear.
    “Hey, I changed my mind. I’ll be there at one, so order my Manhattan at twelve fifty-nine.” She laughs as she disappears down the hall, but it’s a hollow sound. “Yeah, you were right. He never came home.”
    Only then do I realize she never mentioned school. Or said
Have a nice day
or
Don’t you think that’s too much eyeliner?
or anything.
    Just “Realize your own value” and “Use condoms.” Jeez.
    Across from me, Trent is standing up. “Hey, if we’re picking up the whole country of Skankovia, we gotta fly. Let’s go.”
    “To school?”
    “No, the mall, shit-for-brains. Meet me in the garage.”
    I’m still hungry, but it doesn’t look like Tillie’s going to cough up a bagel and cream cheese, and I don’t dare attempt to touch her fridge again.
    I scoop up the bowl, which is heavy—real crystal—and take it to the sink. When I reach for the faucet to rinse, a large hand lands on my arm.
    “What is with you today? Why are you doing this?” Blue eyes slice me, the first set to meet mine today and look truly dubious.
    “You know this is all a dream, don’t you?” I ask.
    Her gaze never wavers. “It’s a rare day when you recognize that, Miss Ayla. Give me the bowl.”
    I let her take the crystal out of my hands. “I was going to clean it.”
    Her eyebrows rise like mountaintops. “You’ve never cleaned a dish in your life.”
    Okay, the rules in this house are different. And definitely in my favor. But Ma-Tillie the Hun is dangerously close to making me wake up and have this dream end, so I book to my room before she can drag me back to reality.
    There I find a bag—Fendi, which feels freakishly like plastic, who knew?—and a pair of Donna Karan sunglasses. I check out the rose and read the card.
    A flower 4 u, since u r giving me urs .
Ryder
     
    Ayla’s getting deflowered by a guy who writes love notes in text speak? Dream, this is juicy.
Just go for the ride, Annie. I mean
, Ayla.
    I slide on the sunglasses, covering my dazzling green eyes. Because this dream is so bright, I gotta wear shades.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    The dream does not disappoint.
    From the moment we leave the garage—which is like a hotel parking lot stocked with so many cars I lose count—and Trent the Tool guns a spiffy blue BMW over a bridge to leave someplace called Star Island, the day is unreal.
    Sunshine, blue skies, palm trees, tropical breezes, and aquamarine water remind me that Billionaire Jim lives in Miami, and today, so do I. We go to another exclusive neighborhood with gabillion-dollar houses, called Cocoplum. There, Jade Sterling, who is no skank, ambles to the car slowly enough for me to drink in every detail. She is a little bit of everything—Asian, Hispanic, black, white, with some island flair thrown in for added spice. Her skin is like toffee,her hair ebony and perfectly straight, her clothes right off the New York runway.
    She joins me in the backseat because Trent refuses to let either of us in the front, and greets me with a curled lip.
    “What are you wearing?” The question is a mix of repulsion and uncertainty.
    I root around my memory for the label. “Seven for all … the men.”
    She almost laughs. “Cute, A-list. But Juicy? Like, to
school
? It’s so pedestrian.” Jade’s in a stunning black miniskirt with a cream-colored off-the-shoulder sweater and big chunky jewelry. “I thought we decided all Marc Jacobs on Tuesdays,” she whines.
    “Dang. I forgot.” I give her a big grin. “Let’s do it tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow is Dior. And, Jesus, Ayla. Jeans? Seriously?”
    “I like to wear jeans to school,” I tell her.
    She rolls her eyes. “Then so will every single kid in Crap Academy by the end of the week.”
    “Really?” Too bad I can’t stick around to see