Don't You Wish (13 page)

Jade shakes her head. “Nobody talks to him, Ayla. If you talk to him, one of two things is going to happen.” She holds out perfectly French-manicured fingers to count. “One, he becomes popular by week’s end.”

Bliss exhales as though the world just ended. “That is so not going to happen. But we might lose our position.”

“Then we probably don’t really have it, do we?” I say.

“What is wrong with you, Ayla? You’re acting like some kind of lunatic. Like, who
are
you?” Bliss asks.

Good question.

“Chill, Bliss,” Jade says quickly.

“I’m not going to chill,” she snaps. “I’m reminding little Miss Get Hot and Bothered over a Needs Scholarship Kid that she can’t drag us into the lower ranks because she’s becoming some kind of … of … philanthropologist.”

“He’s on a needs scholarship?”

They look at each other in disbelief.

“Dude.” Bliss puts her hand on my arm, her tone softer, like she’s speaking to a child. A stupid child. “Did you forget? He lives in a cardboard box.”

“What?” Something inside my heart slips. Does she mean he really
is
homeless?

“Not anymore,” Jade says. “But his mother
was
, like, a hobo or something, for crying out loud. Then she was on the news, and he was all over the papers and
Good Morning America
as some boy genius living under a bridge.”

“Next thing you know,” Bliss continues, “we got Box Boy at Crap because the powers that be thought paying his ride was a ‘good PR move.’ ” She uses air quotes and a sarcastic tone. “So we’re stuck with him, even though half the school’s parents tried to fight it. Who wants a homeless kid here?”

“No one,” Jade says. “And we sure as shit don’t talk to him.”

“He doesn’t still live in a box, though,” I say with hope. Because for some reason, this idea just rips me inside.

“Might as well,” Bliss says. “It’s an apartment in Hi-a-le-ah.” She whispers and drags out the offending town’s name, syllable by syllable, as though she can’t really bring herself
to let the word be spoken from her lips. “And his mother cleans
offices
, Ayla.”

“He doesn’t belong at our school, and he sure as hell doesn’t belong talking to you.” Jade points at me.

“He’s still …” A
person
. But something stops me from saying that. “Not even that bad-looking,” I finish weakly.

“Oh. My. God.” Bliss stares at me with incredulity. “You really are psychopathetic.”

I fight a laugh at this latest malapropism. “Just psychopathic, but I’m not. I just talked to the guy. I don’t understand the big deal.”

“The big deal,” Jade says, deep into her peacemaker role, “is that we”—she makes a circle with her finger that indicates the three of us—“only talk to certain people. Some of the cheerleaders, not all. Some of the jocks, and the occasional noob or invisible, yeah. That’s all fine and kind and stuff. But this guy.” Again, she shakes her head as if I just don’t get it. “Nobody even wants him at school, and talking to him? Just … no, Ayla. No.”

Inside, a war rages. It’s physical, a tearing in my chest, right down the middle. Part of me—the new, rich, popular, cool, pretty part—just wants to agree and move on.

“I guess,” I concede.

But Bliss doesn’t notice, because she has stopped walking again, this time in front of a glitzy-looking boutique called Mia Cara. She’s mesmerized by a jeweled belt in the window.

“Now, that,” she says with a sigh, “could eradiate all your sorrows.”

“I don’t have any sorrows that need to be eradiated
or
eradicated,” I say with a smile, giving her a friendly squeeze. “But I do have my brand-spanking-new American Express Centurion card, so let’s melt that sucker.”

Bliss freezes me with a look. “You’re not going to take all the fun out of it, are you?”

Damn. Somehow I knew she was letting me off the hook too easily. “I don’t know, Bliss,” I say coolly. “Depends on your idea of fun. I love to shop.”

She leans very close to my ear. “Well, I love to shop
lift
and,
mia cara
, it’s your turn.”

I’ve never stolen anything in my life.

“Jade and I will do the D and A.”

“D and A?”

“Distract and annoy,” Jade says as though I should know. “You get the belt. And maybe that cute little gray leather clutch next to it. Win!” She looks hard at my Fendi bag. “Open it and clear space. Remember, we’re the decoys. I’ll buy earrings or, if we have to, try something on.”

“What’s wrong?” Bliss demands, probably smelling the sweat that’s starting to make my armpits sticky.

“Nothing.”
Everything
. “I’m fine.”
I’m sick
. “Why …”
Are we doing this?
“Are we waiting out here?”

“So you can get your shit together,” Bliss says darkly. “If that’s even possible anymore.”

She gives me a hard nudge toward Mia Cara. “Get me the freaking belt or it’s going to be all over Crap Academy that the Queen Bee has lost more than her honey.” She looks ridiculously smug with her pun. “You lose everything. Including us.”

“Then, maybe you weren’t worth anything.”

“Ayla,” Jade whines. “Guys, stop this. Let’s go in there and make it fun. It’s always fun. You call it your favorite high, A-list.”

Dear God, I do?

I stare at the belt, the purse, and my still unfamiliar reflection in the window. So who’s going into that store … Ayla or Annie?

They’re experts. That much is obvious as we walk in and one of two salesclerks is instantly on us asking if she can help. Jade and Bliss take her full attention, getting her to help them find some tops. While the other lady rings up the only other customer, Bliss shoots me a look, surreptitiously pointing to the hanging belt display.

The one she wants is out of view of the cashier. Their salesgirl has gone to the back to find a size zero for Jade, and I casually round the display and finger the jeweled belt.

The price tag is a mere $189. A day’s allowance for this crew. Is it really some kind of incredible high to flip that thing off the hook and drop it into my bag?

No.

Unless the high is walking out the door without having a store security alarm blare and three armed guards throw you down, cuff you, and remind you that you’ll never get a driver’s license or get into college or spend another day outside of a prison cell.

I slide my wet palm over my skirt and hear the footsteps of the other clerk coming from the back.

“I have a double zero. Do you want to try that?”

Jeez Louise, who wears a double zero?

I do, now. This is my life. Cool girls. Hip stores. To-die-for clothes. And … shoplifting.

How bad do I want to fit in?

If I don’t do this, am I on my way down the high school food chain again?

My hand reaches for the hook. I look around, not seeing any eyes on me, no security camera, no other customers. Jade and Bliss have the clerk’s full attention, the other salesperson is busy bagging some clothes.

I close my fingers over the belt, slide it off the hook, glance down to the opening of my handbag to aim, and … make my final decision.

I step away from the display, re-shoulder the bag, and walk over to my friends, who pull me into their conversation about jeans and tops.

“You ready to go?” I ask, an edge in my voice.

Bliss’s eyes widen enough for me to know I’ve broken some golden rule of shoplifting.

“Let me grab these earrings,” Jade says quickly, waving them at me as she heads to the cash register. “I can’t live without them.”

My heart is still clomping triple time as she pays and we head toward the door.

Bliss is quiet, Jade is texting, and as I step one foot out the door, a man appears on my right.

“Miss, open your bag.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, vaguely aware that every cell in my body has turned to liquid.

“Are you kidding me?” Bliss asks, dumbfounded.

“Open your bag here or at the Coral Gables police department.” He pulls out a leather wallet and shows me a badge. “Miracle Mile security.”

“Knock yourself out,” I say with full Ayla flair, popping open the Fendi bag. “I don’t think you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

He flips my wallet and makeup bag to the side, knocks around some mints and a hairbrush, frowning.

“No contraband. Sorry,” I say as snottily as possible.

He digs deeper; then his hand slows. “You’re sure?”

Oh, shit. The joint I’d taken from Bliss is still in there. I didn’t shoplift, but I’m about to be busted for drugs.

He gives up the search and levels me with a gaze. He’s young and kind of cute, and I see his eyes travel over my face. My pretty, pretty face, which can get away with anything.

“Get back to school, ladies.”

Oh, yeah, there are some serious benefits to beauty, and I just reaped some big ones. I lock arms with Jade and stroll on past the ladies watching from inside Mia Cara.

“Dude,” Jade whispers. “How the hell did you pull that off?”

“I smelled trouble.”

“You are, like, the luckiest person in the universe,” she adds, giving my arm a squeeze. “I thought we were toast.”

Bliss nestles to my other side, her look not quite as admiring as Jade’s. “Didn’t take the belt, huh? You really have changed, Ayla.”

“Back off, Bliss,” Jade insists. “She saved our ass.”

Bliss sniffs dismissively. “Not what I’d call it.”

“What would you call it?” I fire back, unable to resist. “
Masturbate
when you mean
masterful
?”

She’s not amused. In fact, she’s just pissed enough for me to remember: The only thing stopping Bliss from being me is … 
me
. And the more I become Annie instead of Ayla, the sooner she can slide onto Ayla’s vacant throne.

When I get home, I find Mom upstairs in a huge exercise room, sweating to the sounds of Katy Perry. Well, not exactly sweating. Her back is to me, and she’s bent over a leather bench, a free weight in one hand, but it doesn’t appear to be moving.

“Hey,” I say, staying at the door, our relationship so weird and strained, I don’t even know if she wants to talk to me.

She looks up to the mirror and meets my gaze, then exhales, dropping the weight with a thud. “Oh, it’s you.” Disappointment darkens her voice.

Mom doesn’t like me very much, I’m beginning to guess. “Who were you expecting?”

“A new trainer.” She touches a remote and lowers
the volume of the music. “I wanted him to think I was warming up.”

“Well, go ahead,” I say, stepping into the room. Three walls are mirrored, and there’s high-end gym equipment everywhere over a shiny oak floor. “Don’t let me stop you.”

She lifts a shoulder and places her hands on narrow hips encased in black spandex. “I haven’t exactly started. But God, I need to. Which is why I’m trying a new trainer.”

“You’re in great shape, Mom,” I say as I get closer to her.

She tilts her head a little, like she doesn’t trust what she heard. “Thanks.”

I’m not lying; she’s an easy fifteen pounds lighter than the Mom I left behind, and more muscular. With the fixed face and thick hair, Emily Monroe is hands down more attractive than Emily Nutter.

Which reminds me exactly why I wanted to talk to her. “When did you and—” I can’t call him Jim, but I can’t think of him as Dad. “… my father get married?”

The distrust darkens her blue eyes. “Why?”

There’s no easy answer for that. “I’m just curious. Did you marry him when he left Pittsburgh, or—”

“
Why
, Ayla?” She drops onto the workout bench.

“I need to know for a … school proj—”

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice is sharp, so she takes a calming breath before continuing. “Look, I know we have our differences. I know …” It takes her another second to collect herself. “I know we don’t agree on anything and you will side with your dad on everything that matters because you two are so much alike—”

“We are?” I get a funny feeling in my gut. I am not like that man, not at all. Unless, deep down, in the
soul
 …

I don’t know why, but I feel the answer to what and how and why I’m here lies in these questions. I have to ask them.

“You are,” she tells me softly.

“I just want to know some stuff, Mom.” I close the space between us and perch on the edge of her bench. “About …” Her life, her history, my being here. “You.”

“Jesus, Ayla, do you think I’m an idiot? He wants anything he can use against me, and he’s paying you to get it.” She snorts softly. “That man thinks money solves everything.”

I sigh, adjusting my technique. I have to remember I’m Ayla, not Annie, and that’s who Mom thinks she’s dealing with. And, worse, she thinks I have some agenda to help Jim. I’d like to tell her I don’t, but I have a feeling she won’t believe me.

“That’s not why I want to know,” I say. She just looks at me, all skeptical and tight. “I need to …”

“You want to decide which one of us you’re going to live with?”

I blink, horrified. “Do I have to make that choice?”

“Don’t be naive, Ayla. The court makes the decision based on what you say you want.”

“So you really are getting divorced.”

She looks like she’s going to laugh. Or maybe cry. Instead she turns to the mirror and speaks to her own reflection. “After the last one … Lisa …” She shakes her head, lips tight. “I don’t even care that there’s a new one. After a while,
they all run together. The patients, the nurses, the franchise owners, the … women of his
flawless
world.”

There’s so much sadness in her voice, I could cry.

“You deserve better than that,” I say.

She meets my gaze in the mirror, and I realize what’s so different about this Mom. Not the glossy skin or better body. Not the high-end haircut or the sizeable studs in her ears. It’s her smile.

There isn’t one.

“I’m glad you finally realize that, Ayla. Is it because you’re in love yourself?”

I frown, not even sure who I might be in love with. “Ryder?” I ask, the impossibility of that obvious in my voice.

“You don’t love him?”