Don't You Wish (21 page)

The way he says it sounds ominous, so I just wait for more.

“You’re about to meet her.”

“Your mom?” I ask.

“My sister.” He gets out of the Jeep, and I do the same. As I round the car, he reaches way down into the backseat and pulls out his Frank Sinatra hat, setting it on his head at a jaunty angle.

“Sorry about that fountain incident,” I say sheepishly. “I noticed you don’t wear it anymore.”

“Well, don’t tell my sister,” he replies. “She gave it to me and thinks I wear it every day.”

“Sorry,” I say again. “Is she older or younger?”

“She’s my twin.”

I slow my step toward the front door. “You have a twin sister? Where does she go to school?”

“She doesn’t.” He shoots me a very serious look. “That’s why I want you to meet her.”

He opens the door to a small entry that somehow seems brighter than outside. I recognize the strains of a Schubert piece we did in orchestra last year, a tough score with a beginning vibrato that always challenged me.

“Is that your sister playing?” I ask.

He kind of laughs softly. “No.”

“What are you doing home this early?” a woman calls out.

“I brought a friend, Mom.” There’s a serious warning in Charlie’s voice.

“Oh?” A woman appears, petite and dark, a wary expression on her tired but not unattractive features.

She looks hard at me, then lifts an eyebrow toward Charlie like he’s done something wrong.

Aren’t friends welcome? I reach out my hand. “Hi, Mrs. Zelinsky. I’m Annie.”

Next to me, Charlie kind of chokes, and I realize the mistake I’ve made.

“Ayla,” we both correct at the same time.

“Ayla Monroe,” he adds quickly, giving me a funny look. How will I explain that?

“Ooooh,” comes a low noise I think is a girl’s voice from the room behind Mrs. Zelinsky. “A-list Ayla! Are you serious, Charlie?”

His mom’s brown eyes, so much like Charlie’s in color and shape, narrow to slits as she shakes my hand. And despite the sunny house and happy music, she’s blocking the room’s entrance with her body.

“It’s fine, Mom,” he says. “I want Ayla to meet Missy.”

“And I want to meet Ayla.” That’s definitely a girl’s
voice, but kind of … weird. Low, stiff, and strained. “She’s like the celebrity queen bitch of the school.”

I glance up at Charlie, not sure I heard that right, but he gives me a rueful smile. “Just a warning,” he says softly to me. “My twin has no filter. None.”

Slowly Mrs. Zelinsky steps aside to allow me into the living room. “Come on in. She’s in rare form today.”

A girl looks up at me from a chair. I’m riveted by her looks at first, by a heart-shaped face that is far too sweet-looking to have called anyone a bitch, and cropped black hair that sticks out in four different directions, reminding me of an elf. She looks much younger than Charlie, more like thirteen than seventeen. She doesn’t move or reach her hand out or get up to greet me.

Charlie pops his hat off and puts it on her head. “Worn almost all day,” he says softly. “As promised.”

The hat tips to the left, and she makes no effort to right it but smiles at me. A beautiful, bright, blinding smile.

Only then do I realize she’s in a wheelchair.

“Wow, you’re right, Charlie,” the girl says. “She’s hot! Even prettier than the yearbook picture.”

I’m speechless.

“And that’s a good picture,” she adds with another winning smile. Nothing has moved but some muscles on her face. Everything about her is completely still.

Everything is … paralyzed. And so is my brain. “I didn’t know Charlie had a twin,” I say, still trying to process what’s going on.

“I’m Melissa, the family secret.”

“Stop it,” Charlie says, taking his hat back. “You can call her Missy,” he says to me. Then he turns to his sister. “You need to get up?”

Can she? I feel my chest squeeze with hope. Maybe she just broke her leg. Maybe this chair is temporary.

“Nah, my bag isn’t even full yet.” She looks down toward her lap, that strange, strained voice clearly a part of her physical problem, her eyes doing most of the work while her head stays relatively still. “And Mom has tonight off, so I’m getting a shampoo. Woot!”

“But I might run an errand now that you’re home, Charlie,” Mrs. Zelinsky says, crossing the room to put both hands on Missy’s shoulders. “You okay if I’m gone for an hour?”

“Of course. I can talk to Ayla Monroe!” Missy says my name like I’m some kind of movie star. “Will you sign your picture in the Croppe Academy yearbook?”

“But you were just about to nap,” her mother says.

Missy turns her head slightly, not more than an inch, but somehow it’s comforting to finally see her move. “I can stay awake for a few more minutes, Mom,” she says. “This is a special occasion.”

Mrs. Zelinsky kisses her cheek softly, closing her eyes as she does. “I’ll be back in a little.” She straightens and looks at Charlie. “I have my phone if you need me.”

“We’ll be fine, Mom,” he says.

“What happened at school?” his mother asks, searching his face and reaching out to touch a bruise on his cheek. I didn’t notice it before, but I guess that’s Ryder’s handiwork. “Is everything okay?”

For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to tell her about the bathroom incident. “Yeah, it’s cool. Just a light class load today.”

“You sure?” She’s frowning at him, then at me, as though I should cough up more information. I take my cue from Charlie.

“Yes,” I tell her.
Except your son was taped into a box an hour ago
. “Fine.”

“Then I’ll be back in an hour.” Mrs. Zelinsky scoops up a handbag, and Charlie digs into his pocket and holds out his keys.

“You’re welcome to it, Mom. In fact, if you fill ’er up, I’ll love you forever.”

His mother just shakes her head, her expression a mix of sadness and appreciation. “No, baby. But thanks. I’m just headed down to the market, I’ll walk. I’m glad you’re home, because now I can pick up some things I’d rather not ask you to buy.”

He rolls his eyes. “Mom, nothing bothers me. Even lady stuff.”

She smiles and nods to me. “It’s nice to meet you, Ayla. Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you,” I reply, perching on the edge of a sofa, still facing Missy, who hasn’t taken her gaze from me.

“Did you cut today?” Missy asks me as soon as her mother is out the door.

“Well, yeah,” I acknowledge. “Charlie wanted me to come here.”

She beams at her brother, her eyes bright. “You’re the best, big guy.”

“Then you better let me win Scrabble tonight,” he says easily, heading toward the kitchen. “Want a soda, Ayla?”

“Okay.”

“How ’bout you, Missy? Chocolate or strawberry?”

“Ugh. I want a Coke.”

“You’re getting Ensure, bones. Chocolate or strawberry?”

“Whatever is handy,” she says, then slides her eyes back to me. “Have you ever tasted that crap? Like they put chocolate sauce in Elmer’s glue.”

I laugh. “Never had the stuff,” I admit.

“No, you wouldn’t,” she says, drinking me in with her wide ebony eyes. “You’re perfect.”

“Far from it,” I say quickly.

“I’ve read every word about you in the yearbook and when Charlie brings home the
Cropper
.”

She reads the school newspaper?

“Isn’t Ryder Bransford your boyfriend?” she asks.

She reads
more
than the newspaper. “Not anymore,” I say.

Charlie comes back in, sticking a straw into a pink can. “Don’t grill her, Missy. She’ll never come back.”

Missy manages a little smile, but I can tell it takes concentration to move those muscles. “I think she’ll come back. Won’t you?”

“Not if you scare her off.” Charlie holds the can to Missy’s mouth, carefully placing the straw between her lips. “Suck it down, Georgia Brown.”

I’m mesmerized as she works to drink and I see the liquid rise in the straw. Little more than a bird’s-size sip reaches her lips. She makes a grunting sound, and he moves the can away and a trail of pink liquid dribbles down her chin.

“Charlie,” she says, mortified.

He’s quick with a paper napkin I didn’t even see him
holding, dabbing at her chin. Color rises to her face, and she averts her gaze.

“So much for being normal,” she says, her slightly unnatural voice tight in her throat.

“Hey,” Charlie says. “You were doing good. Wanna try again?”

She shakes her head, but not vigorously. Slowly, from side to side. “Ayla doesn’t want to see me slobber. Maybe I’ll go watch TV in my room.”

“But I want to talk to you,” I say, surprising myself with how true that is. “Relax.”

She looks up and smiles at me. “Wow, you really aren’t a bitch at all.”

“I can be,” I tell her with a laugh. “Just ask my brother.”

“Trent? He’s really hot.”

I snort softly, realizing that I was thinking about Theo. In fact, since I walked into this house, it feels like I’ve forgotten I’m Ayla. I have to be careful. “Trent the Tool? Not hot,” I tell her.

She laughs so hard, she starts to choke, and Charlie’s by her side instantly. “You okay?” he asks.

The coughing spell lasts a few seconds, but it shakes her thin body in a weird way, and while her eyes are closed, I take a moment to look at the chair and the coverlet over her. She’s completely paralyzed, I decide. Neck down.

My whole body sinks in sympathy for her.

“Trent the Tool,” she finally says, working not to laugh. “You are too funny.” She turns slightly to Charlie, giving me the impression that moving her head is tough. “No wonder you adore her.”

He just gives one of those partial Charlie smiles, like he isn’t going to deny it, but he might be humoring his sister too. “I think you adore her more,” he says.

“I admit I spent too much time on your picture in last year’s yearbook,” she agrees.

“Like an hour.”

“Charlie holds the book for me,” she says.

“That’s really nice of him.” Like everything else he does for his sister.

He tries to get her to drink again. “Have some more, Missy.”

“I don’t want any,” she protests, but he patiently waits for her to change her mind, then helps her take another sip, more successful this time.

After she finishes, he takes the can back to the kitchen, and Missy’s eyes move to meet mine again. “He’s the best brother in the world.”

“I see that,” I say, unable to imagine Trent
or
Theo doing that for me. My throat tightens up. What I’m really unable to imagine is what it would be like in that wheelchair.

“You know, don’t you?” she asks.

I look at her, wondering how much of my thoughts are all over my face. “Know what?”

“How much he likes you.”

“Um, we’re just friends.”

Her smile says she thinks differently. “He wants to kiss you so bad. That’s all he thinks about since you saved him in literature with the whole
Lord of the Flies
thing.”

“I—I …” Have no idea how to respond to that.

She has no filter
. No kidding.

“You’re not going to break Charlie’s heart, are you?” she asks in a soft whisper.

Am I? The question throws me. “I don’t plan on it.”

“You’re not going to disappear and leave me to pick up the pieces, are you?”

“I—”

“ ’Cause I’m not very good at picking things up.”

I laugh softly at the dark humor. “I won’t disappear.”

“Do you promise?”

I stare at her. Can I promise that? “Well … I …”

“Because a promise is a promise. Just ask Charlie. When you make one, you can’t break it.”

“No, I realize that, but …”

“So, you’re not going to disappear.”

“Why would I?” I ask. “We’re friends, and …” I pretty much sealed my permanent outcast status at school this morning. “I don’t disappear on my friends.”

Except for Lizzie, but she doesn’t know I disappeared
.

“Good, because the last girl ran screaming when she met me.”

“Really?”

“She’s full of shit.” Charlie comes out of the kitchen and hands me a soda. “That’s what you need to know about my twin sister. She loves to exaggerate and take all the credit for everything in my life.”

I feel a little like my head is spinning. They are acting so normal.

“You can’t possibly last with Charlie,” Missy says as I take a drink of soda. “You’re the queen bee of Croppe Academy. A-list Ayla. The most popular girl in the school.”

“You’re not getting the latest news,” I tell her.

Charlie falls back onto the sofa next to me, draping one arm along the back. “Sorry to break it to ya, Miss,” he says, “but Ayla’s coolness factor is on a serious downslide, probably because of me.”

I turn to him and actually have to work not to suck in a soft breath. He looks so cute right now, so completely comfortable in his own skin, and so different from the science nerd in the Frank Sinatra hat I first met.

He’s lanky and thin, but broad enough to look like he’d be a great hugger. He crosses his long legs, looks at me from under thick lashes, and gives me that half smile, and all my insides just melt. A great hugger
and
kisser.

He wants to kiss you so bad
.

Missy’s words echo around in my head … and I can only think of one response: The feeling’s mutual.

“Aw, Ayla’s got a big bad crush on you,” Missy announces with a giggle. “She blushes when she looks at you.”

Am I blushing? Really? I hadn’t felt the dreaded red face since I stepped into Ayla Monroe’s life.

But Charlie laughs. “I warned you.”

“I’m homeschooled,” Missy says suddenly, the unexpected change of subject like a cool drink of water to a parched throat.

“Oh?” I reply politely. “What classes do you like?”

“Music,” she says quickly. “That’s what I was doing when you got here. I live for music. It’s really the best medicine for … me.”

“I play the violin.” Jeez, why did I say that? Speaking of no filter.
Ayla
doesn’t play the violin.

But Missy’s eyes are saucer-wide. “You do?”

I can tell by the way he shifts forward that Charlie thinks I’m lying, and doesn’t know why.