Don't You Wish by Roxanne St. Claire Page A

tomorrow on this planet.

CHAPTER TEN
     
    By the time the three of us are dressed to “go to a school function,” as I felt compelled to tell Tillie when she brought what looked like a thousand-dollar order of room service up to my bedroom, we’ve each been through six different outfits, a dozen pairs of shoes, and enough makeup to paint the red carpet.
    My room looks like the backstage dressing area for the final runway show of
America’s Next Top Model
, and despite the fact that I haven’t had a sip of the vodka that Bliss brought in a water bottle, I’m high on life.
    And five-inch Louboutin shoes. You know, with the red bottoms? In Pittsburgh, we’d look like hookers. In Miami Beach, I have a feeling we’ll fit right in. On our way out, as I’m stuffing my fake ID and cash into a Kate Spade bag,I have a wave of … emotion. This is going to end when I wake up, and all I want to do is seize the moment of what might be the most wild and fun thing I’ve ever done or ever will do.
    Soon we’re clattering and giggling our way downstairs, where I expect to see … someone. Anyone.
    A parent, a sibling, even one of the ubiquitous staff. But there’s not a soul in sight.
    Bliss is giddy, shredding every other word she uses in an effort to seem smarter. And she looks gorgeous in black leather hot pants and a red halter. Jade is just totally chill, all in her signature color of cream with only one splash of burgundy in her accessories. I went with a black miniskirt and soft pink top, cut low over my well-endowed boobs and cropped short at my waist.
    In my whole life, I’ve never felt pretty, but tonight I am magic itself. The garage is stocked, with keys hanging on a wall like valet service at a high-end hotel, and my hand hovers between keys for a grown-up-looking (but very sleek) silver Mercedes and a much safer Lexus SUV, when Bliss grabs another set.
    “Come on, Ayla. Take the freaking Aston.”
    Somehow, I doubt that’s the car my dad bought me for my birthday.
    Bliss clicks the remote entry and the lights of a cobalt blue sports car flash, and even I, who know next to nothing about cars, realize she just picked the most expensive car in the garage. Maybe the world.
    “I don’t know.… ” I eye the machine and think of thedented ten-year-old Toyota Sienna I’ve been learning to drive. “Will we all fit in that?”
    “Jade’s tiny. We’ll slide her in the back.” Bliss is already headed toward the car. “You want me to drive?”
    After vodka? “I can handle it,” I say, snagging the keys from her and dropping into the driver’s seat, which smells of leather and spice and … no cologne Mel Nutter would ever wear.
    Oh, my God. I’ve never even met my dad, and I’m stealing his best car.
    Oh, well. I may wake up by the time Dr. Jimbo gets home.
    “You can drive a stick, right?” Bliss asks.
    “Sure.” We shoot forward like a rocket in response, and all three of us burst out laughing. “Maybe. I drove one once in driver’s ed.”
    I’m not very good at it, but somehow we manage to get off Star Island, down the big causeway, and over to Miami Beach, laughing our asses off the entire way.
    “Cruise the strip!” Bliss hollers, and we turn onto Ocean Drive and go four miles an hour with everyone else, getting hooted at by all the guys, and of course, Bliss hoots right back.
    Like everything else in this freakish dream, Miami Beach is vibrating with color, wildly alive. The hotels are bathed in pastel lights, and the sidewalks are crowded with barely dressed beauties and seriously intense men.
    “You girls are hot!” calls a guy in a red Corvette.
    “You got that right!” I holler back, my pulse beating like the constant thrum of bass from cars all around. This is insane!
    We finally get to Mynt, and I hand the keys over to a darling valet who winks at me and promises to protect the Aston on his mother’s life.
    “You better,” Bliss says. “ ’Cause Daddy’ll kill her if it