Don't You Wish

by Roxanne St Claire

  His sister. I wrap my fingers around the backpack on my lap, clutching something, anything, to keep from reaching out to him.

  “Well, where the hell is she?” Geraldine demands, already shifting her big old bus into gear. “First thing you learn on my bus, Mr. Ned the New Guy, is that we run on time. No waiting for late sisters, no excuses.”

  “But she’s on wheels.”

  “Well, that should make her faster,” Geraldine says, flicking her wrist at him. “Get off and get yourself to school.”

  “Wait!” The word pops out of my mouth as I almost jump out of my seat, and he turns to me, giving me the first full-on look at his face, and oh, heaven help me, I know this boy.

  I love this boy.

  “Charlie.”

  His smile falters a little. “It’s Chase, actually. I’m new here.”

  Not to me. “And your sister?” I ask, having already shoved my backpack half onto Lizzie’s lap, ignoring her wide-eyed stare of pure incredulity.

  “She’s new, too, but she’s—”

  “I know, I know.” I stand up, knowing that if I’m not on the bus, Geraldine won’t go. But if he gets off to get his sister, the bus driver will take off and strand him. I know what I have to do for him. “I’ll go get her. I can help her.”

  As I stand, I come face to face with the new boy, because he’s still halfway on the lower bus step.

  “She’ll be okay,” he says, his voice so blissfully familiar. Our eyes meet, and it takes everything I’ve got not to kiss him. He looks different, of course, but not enough to fool me.

  I’d recognize Charlie Zelinsky in any universe.

  “Geraldine will wait for me,” I whisper, nodding toward the bus driver.

  “Then so will I,” he says.

  I almost melt right into his arms. “I’ll go …” If I can walk. “I’ll get Missy.”

  He laughs softly. “That’s funny. I call her that sometimes. Her name’s Malina, and honestly, she doesn’t need help.”

  From the aisle, a distinct throaty (and totally fake) laugh trills through the whole bus. Of course, Courtney has zeroed in on Charlie. “Yes, you go find the missing girl,” she instructs me, like I’m one of her handmaidens. Then, she plugs in a thousand-watt smile and points directly at Charlie. “Chase, is it? Why don’t you come and meet your new friends in the back?”

  “Not without paperwork,” he says with a teasing smile directed at me.

  Without responding, I slip by him to get Missy, aware of the electrical charge that zaps me as my fingers accidentally graze his on the way down the bus steps.

  “Thanks,” he says softly, like air on my hair as I pass. “I’ll handle the driver.”

  I leap onto the sidewalk, looking left and right, bracing myself for the elfin girl in a wheelchair. Her mother is probably pushing her, which is why Charlie had to run to catch the bus. It all makes sense.

  Now I just have to find—

  “Cowabunga! Hold that bus!”

  I pivot at the sound, and almost choke at the sight of a slender girl with bright red hair spiked from here to Sunday, crouched down on a skateboard, arms wide for stability, careening down the hill toward the bus stop at top speed.

  “Missy!” Tears spring to my eyes as I reach out, not caring what anyone thinks, just so damn overjoyed to see her flying, riding, standing, living her dream.

  She hops off the board, kicking it easily to a stop right in front of me, bouncing on skater shoes, about sixteen earrings glinting in the morning light.

  “Hey, thanks for holding my ride.” She tucks the board under her arm and reaches into her bag to pull out a hat—a fedora—which she pops over her gelled hair. “I had to kill that hill, and Chase said he’d kill me if I was late. Is he furious?”

  “No,” I say, laughing and drinking in the glory of whole, healthy, vibrant Missy. “He’s charming the bus driver, who won’t leave without me.”

  She gives me an unsure look. “Do I know you?”

  You did. You will again, I feel certain. “I’m Annie Nutter.”

  “Malina.” She pulls her pack around front, and I instantly see the violin case. More joy pops in my chest.

  “You play violin?”

  “Badly, but yeah. Think they’ll let me in the school orchestra even though it’s November?”

  “Oh, my God, yes. I’ll sponsor you myself.”

  “Move it, ladies!” Geraldine’s growl comes rolling out the door.

  Missy makes a face. “Ruh-roh. He sounds mad.”

  “She. Maybe. Not mad.” I can barely make sentences, I’m so happy. How did this happen? How can the universe be so good to me?

  I don’t even care that they don’t remember. The connection is real … in any world.

  I climb onboard, and my heart sinks when I see Charlie—I’ll have to think of him as Chase—all the way in the back, already surrounded by the posse who will always seize someone who looks like that as one of their own.

  So, this universe is different. He isn’t a nerd, and he isn’t the former homeless kid. And he’s hot, so Courtney will be all over him.

  It doesn’t matter. Missy is healthy, and they are right here in my world, so I count this news as a huge win. How can it not be?

  I venture another look at him, and instantly know the answer.

  It will hurt to see Charlie turn into one of the populars, but in the space of five minutes, I can see it happening. Already he’s laughing with Courtney, high-fiving Shane, and no doubt planning to take a seat at their royal lunch table.

  I see Courtney lean into him, letting her silky hair brush his football jersey. “Go ahead. It’ll be funny,” she says.

  And then he looks right at me, right … through me.

  Am I an invisible to the very boy who taught me not to hate being invisible?

  No, Annie, I remind myself. He isn’t the same boy in this universe, just like I’m not the same girl. He wasn’t looking at Ayla when he saw a plain, boring nice girl who wanted to help him get onto the bus.

  He was looking at a nobody.

  Courtney says something again, and suddenly the whole world sort of moves into sickening slow motion.

  He stands, and I freeze.

  Oh, no, Charlie. No. Don’t do this to me.

  “Oh, good, here comes my brother.” Missy, parked right behind Geraldine in the row next to us, half turns to watch him come forward. “I thought he was going all douchetastic on me, sitting back there.” She leans forward to talk to Lizzie. “We’re twins and just moved here from Miami. What’s your name?”

  Their conversation fades as the blood thrums in my head and I stare at him. I can see Charlie’s face, but he’s definitely better-looking in this universe. Confident. Cool. And headed right toward me, his gaze unwavering.

  I know I should sit down, but I don’t. I need to brace myself and take this blow. Because it’s going to hurt if he—

  “Hey.”

  He sounds just like him. Like the boy who kissed me on the grass and took me home to tell me secrets and made me feel flawless.

  “Thanks for helping us out,” he says to me.

  I manage a nod. “No biggie.”

  “C’mere. Sit with me.” He indicates the seat behind us, and I feel Lizzie’s fingers clutch my leg, not so surreptitiously. I glance down at her, and she gives me a harsh look.

  Don’t fall for it again, Annie.

  I can read the warning in her eyes.

  “I want to ask you a question.” He gestures toward the seat, and I … trust him. I leave my backpack next to Lizzie and step into the aisle, then slide into the seat.

  As I do, I catch Courtney’s look. That mean look. That I’m-gonna-make-your-life-hell look.

  And I stare right back at her, because, sorry, she doesn’t have that power anymore. No one does. Not even Charlie, even if he has gone over to the dark side. Not in this universe, not in any.

  The knowledge gives me enough confidence to ask, “So, you guys just moved he
re?”

  “Yeah, up from Miami.”

  “Wow. It’s different down there.”

  “Like another universe.”

  The glimmer in his eyes steals my breath. “You’re going to get cold here,” I warn, searching his face. Does he know? Does he remember? Or is that just my imagination?

  “I’ll find things to keep me warm,” he says, smiling a smile that is probably illegal in this universe and any other.

  “I’m sure you will.” I fold my hands on my lap, anything to keep from touching him and telling him, You were my boyfriend in another life.

  God, that would give those beasts in the back something to howl about.

  “You praying?” he asks, nodding toward my hands.

  “For a miracle,” I shoot back.

  “Well, I’m praying for one, too.”

  The tenderness in his voice pulls at me, and the look in his eyes folds me in half. “You are?”

  “I just heard that Saturday night is homecoming at this school.”

  In front of me, Lizzie’s shoulders tense, and her face is angled so she can hear every word. Her gaze shifts to the side, like her eyeball might get stuck trying to see me.

  Don’t worry, Lizzie. He can’t hurt me. Even if he tries.

  “That’s a fact,” I tell him. “Saturday night is indeed homecoming, as I’m sure your new friends in the back told you.”

  “Them? Um, not my type. I got drummed out the minute I mentioned I play the oboe.”

  I look up at him. “You do?”

  He grins. “Nerd alert, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I barely sigh the word, but then he puts his hand over mine and turns that sigh into a soft gasp.

  “So I mentioned homecoming.” The heat of his palm sears me. “ ’Cause maybe you’d want to go with me.”

  My heart pounds so hard in my chest that surely he sees it or hears it. I try to swallow, but not a drop of saliva moves in my desert-dry mouth. The bus is silent, and every eye—Geraldine’s included—is on me.

  ’Cause maybe you’d want to go with me.

  Charlie knows how much that boy hurt me with those words. Charlie does. But this isn’t Charlie. This is Chase, a whole new version, and maybe he’s just as mean and horrible as Shane Matthews, only a whole lot worse because this invitation feels real.

  No, Annie. Don’t entertain that stupid thought.

  He squeezes my hand. There is no tease in those brown eyes, no spite, no cruelty.

  “I told you I was asking for a miracle,” he says. “I’m sure you’ve got a date already.”

  Lizzie whips all the way around. “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Lizzie!”

  He laughs a little. “Really? Then you can go.”

  Is he serious?

  The whole bus shakes, and for a second I think it’s shaking with laughter, but it’s only Geraldine rolling over the speed bump on the way into the school lot, knocking my backpack off the seat where I precariously set it.

  “I’ll get it.” Charlie is up instantly, then on his knees picking up pens and some books and notebooks that fell. “You think about it, okay?”

  “Oh, she will,” Lizzie answers. Then she mouths “I think he means it” to me.

  “We gotta go, Malina. They want us to check in at the office.” Charlie/Chase stands and hands me the backpack, the zipper open. “So think about it, and I’ll see you around. Maybe lunch? Here’s my number.” He hands me a slip of paper.

  I just stare at him as he leaves the bus.

  Malina scoops up her skateboard and leans close to me when she gets into the aisle. “You should say yes, because he’s a great guy,” she whispers.

  And then they disappear off the bus, into the crowds of South Hills High.

  “Oh. My. God.” Lizzie can hardly contain herself. “He gave you his number, Annie!”

  “I don’t know. It might have been a joke or something.” With shaking hands, I open the folded paper to see … the numbers 143 with a heart around them.

  “Is he for real?” Lizzie asks.

  I smile. “Yeah. He’s for real.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Every book is a group effort, and I am deeply grateful to the crew who helped make this dream a reality for me. In particular, heartfelt thanks go to:

  The entire team at Delacorte Press, especially editor Françoise Bui for “adopting” this book and loving it like it was her own.

  The brilliant literary agents at Writers House, in particular Robin Rue, a woman who truly doesn’t take no for an answer and gets up as early as I do.

  Writer-producer-storyteller-lifelong-friend Jeff Franklin, because he fanned the flames for this story right through to the end.

  Dr. Michio Kaku, theoretical physicist, bestselling author, and a man with a gift for popularizing science and simplifying concepts bigger and more complex than the universe itself.

  My many writer friends, but in particular I send the love to Louisa Edwards and Kristen Painter, my sisters in pounds-and-pages, with me on this journey every day. Also mad props to Kresley Cole for starting and ending every conversation with the same words: How’s the YA coming? You can stop asking now.

  Always and forever, my home team: Rich, who nourishes my muse and makes me laugh every day (and gets all the credit for Picture Perfect—he’s brilliant!); Dante, the son who taught me what a teenage hero can and should be; and my dear and darling Mia, who deserves cowriting credit for every line of this book and a shopping spree for all the beta reads. (Not really. Okay, maybe.) I could not do this or, frankly, anything at all without my family.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  New York Times bestselling author ROXANNE ST. CLAIRE gave up the glamour of working in advertising and public relations to follow her lifelong dream of becoming a published author. Her adult novels have received numerous awards, including the RITA Award, the National Readers’ Choice Award, and the Booksellers’ Best Award.

  DON’T YOU WISH, her debut young adult novel, has been optioned as a feature film and was inspired by real-life events. (Seriously. Some of this actually happened.) Roxanne lives in a small beach town in Florida with her husband, two teenagers, and a frisky Australian terrier that looks like Toto but won’t ride in a bike basket. Visit Roxanne at roxannestclaire.com.