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

gets dented.”
    “Wait, do I care?” I ask Bliss. “I never even see the guy.” And who cares if I’m in trouble? I’m in a rule-breaking, risk-taking, earthshaking kind of mood and am so not worried about the quibillion-dollar car or the always absent dad.
    Arm in arm, the three of us head to the front of the line and instantly get ushered through glass doors bathed in neon green light.
    Inside, it’s almost black except for flashes of green, pink, and white. Everything is shaking with bass, noise, people, glitter, and bone-skinny models looking incredibly bored and beautiful. Bliss drags us to the bar, and we don’t even get carded.
    A minute later, she hands me a mojito with a big sprig of mint—I guess everything stays in theme here. I’ve never had one, so I sip slowly, my eyes widening at the delicious taste.
    “I’m driving,” I say to Bliss.
    She rolls her eyes. “The night is young, girlfriend, and so are we!”
    “You’ll dance it off,” Jade says. “Oooh, look over there. Mother lode of hotness.”
    There are a few really nice-looking guys—who have to be in their twenties—giving us the eye, and for a minute, I almost do one of those classic
Who me?
turnarounds.
    One with really perfect hair gives me a chin nod, then angles his head toward the dance floor.
    I just look back, but Jade elbows me. “Are you crazy? He’s asking you to dance. Or are you playing hard to get?”
    In my life I haven’t played hard, easy, or in-between to get. In fact, nothing in sixteen years has been quite like this. Tomorrow I’ll be Annie again, but in this crazy dream, I’m beautiful, rich, cool, and about to dance with a guy who looks a little like Taylor Lautner, so I’m totally going for it.
    With a cool nod back at him, I set my drink on the table Bliss has claimed, and meet him on the dance floor.
    Just getting there is an experience. Sweaty bodies, leather dresses, heady colognes, and a few spilled drinks block my way. But Taylor’s determined, and so am I.
    We meet in the middle and start moving to a song I’ve never heard and won’t remember. It has a beat, and because the gods of this fantasy world love me so much, I dance like Jennifer Lopez.
    As I turn, he takes my hands and pulls me into him. “You’re gorgeous,” he says, a little drunk, but the words still get me.
    “I know!” I add a silly giggle to soften the cockiness of it, but come on. I
am
gorgeous. And I never have been before in my whole life.
    He grabs me again, a little friendlier. Okay, like hand-on-ass friendly. “Wanna do some blow?”
    For a second, I don’t have a clue what he just asked. I inch back and out of his palm to let the words settle in. Thank God Lizzie got me hooked on the crack that is bad Canadian teen soap operas, because only on
Degrassi
have I ever heard cocaine called blow.
    “Not tonight,” I say coolly. But as soon as the dance ends, I manage to slip away, and he gets the message.
    There are more guys at the table with Bliss and Jade, but I don’t really talk to them. Instead I have some water and drink in the glitter on the dance floor and the wild green and pink lights and the very scantily clad girls who dance on the balconies like they’re part of the show.
    The Black Eyed Peas start screaming about what a good, good night it is, and Jade grabs me.
    “Woo-hoo, Ayla! This was our song in, like, eighth grade.”
    “Way to let everyone know how old we are,” I say into her ear, but I let her pull me onto the dance floor, and I have a flash of dancing to this same song with Lizzie … in my basement.
    This is so much better that I let out a little “Woot!” and raise my hands and scream the words while the whole world flashes mint and raspberry.
    “This is amazing!” I scream to Jade.
    She’s laughing and pointing and singing, and then suddenly her entire expression changes to sheer horror.
    I spin around, terrified about what it could be. It has to be Bliss doing something—
    “Jesus