Don't You Wish by Roxanne St. Claire

from the queen of wordkill,” I say, expecting a laugh from the table. But they’re all kind of looking at me with the same expression: disappointment and doubt.
    “What?” I shoot back. “I’m just not feeling the meanness today, okay?” I slide a look to Ryder. “I’m too happy.”
    He gives me a really hot smile and another leg squeeze, but Bliss is having none of it, smacking her plastic fork onto her tray. “Well, thank you, Ryder, for turning our little Ayla into the Patron Saint of the Invisibles.”
    I look out toward the tables and trees, just to avoid her face, which is really starting to get on my nerves. My gaze lands on the boy in the hat, sitting alone at a table with a broken umbrella, the sun blazing on him and his fedora.
    “Hey.” Ryder says with a different kind of pressure on my leg. “What is it with you and that loser Zelinsky?”
    I brush his hand away. I don’t know where I got these cool put-down moves, but I’m using them for all they’re worth.
    “Like I’d even talk to him.”
    “You talked to him plenty in lit.”
    Standing now, Bliss raises her eyebrows. “She’s been on crack all day.”
    “Shut up,” I order her.
    “You are different today,” Jade pops in, pulling a straw from her mouth and pointing it at me. “You’re, like, acting all weird.”
    “Hell, yeah,” Bliss chimes in, straightening like she has a purpose in life and is itching for more support. “Kissing up to invisibles, wearing two-year-old shoes, and pulling answers out of your ass in lit class.”
    These Michael Kors are two years old? “Shut up,” I repeat. I’m going to have to do better than that to stop the train that is Bliss.
    Ryder scoots back. “How did you know that stuff about that book anyway?”
    “Maybe I
read
, Ryder.”
    He snorts. “Clothing labels.”
    I get ready to argue, then stop. What’s wrong with me? There are a lot of benefits to this world, this life, this lofty position. And I’ve done enough to wreck the delicate balance for one day. Across the grass, I see Candi, sitting at a table full of musicians, the band and orchestra geeks. Do I want to go back there?
    No, I do not.
    I glide my hand up on Ryder’s arm. It’s not painful feeling those muscles, trust me. “I’m just, you know …” I bite my lip so it’s wet and full. “Excited about Saturday.”
    He smiles—a sinful thing, really—and shoots a look at Bliss. “Get off my girlfriend’s case, bitch.” He stands, taking his tray, kissing my cheek on the way.
    When he leaves, I glance over his shoulder at Charlie Zelinsky, who looks a little disappointed in me.
    Too bad, Charlie. I’ve done my good deeds for the day. As long as I’m in this bizarre world, I’m staying at the top of the food chain. Whatever it takes.
    Someone smacks a card or something in front of me, and I inch back to see what it is. A Florida driver’s license? With my picture on it.
    “Consider it a peace offering,” Bliss says, looking smug. “Check the birth date.”
    I squint at the tiny numbers. “That’s wrong.”
    “She’s just so cute when she’s like this!” Jade exclaims.
    But Bliss looks dubious. “Look, I held my end of the bargain. We each have one of those. Your mom has some fund-raiser tonight, right?”
    I have no earthly idea. “Right.”
    “And your dad is never home.”
    That, I’m pretty sure, is true. “Never.”
    “With this thing, you are licensed to drive … and drink. Jade and I will be there at nine, and we hit Mynt in South Beach by ten.”
    I blink at her, barely past “drive” … and “drink.” “It’s a school night.”
    They look at each other, openmouthed. “I’m telling you, she’s precious.”
    Bliss narrows her eyes. “I think she’s some kind of imposer pretending to be Ayla.” She might butcher the language, but she’s smarter than anyone else around here.
    “Shut up,” I say, taking the license. “Tonight’s going to be insane.”
    Why not? There
is
no