Read Don't You Wish for Free Online

someone spent the whole night flat-ironing it, which they’d have to, because it’s so damn thick.
    And my eyes? They’re still big, wide-set, but the blue-gray I’m used to seeing is green now, almost emerald. Contacts? I blink, but nothing changes.
    My fingers graze my skin, which is buttery smooth. My cheekbones are more prominent; my nose is a tad smaller but still mine. And look at that chin! Is that a little cleft in the middle? Omigawd, is that not the cutest thing
ever
?
    I take a step back, smiling. The braces are off!
    I’m freaking beautiful!
    The realization makes me giggle a little. I put my hands on my hips to give those incredible locks a shake over my shoulders, but the move pulls my gaze south, to the V-neck of the silky nightgown I’m wearing.
    To … my cleavage.
    I grab my chest. Now, these, thank you very much, are boobs. A handful at least. Maybe a C-cup! Su
-weet
!
    Sliding my palms down, I slip over a narrow waist and I turn, tightening the nightgown so I can see the shape of my backside.
    Well, goodbye, No-Fanny Annie. Wait till I tell Lizzie her nickname is no good in this dream.
    I laugh a little, my hand to my mouth for the auto-cover of braces, only to remember that the braces aren’t there. I realize I’m shaking, from shock or pleasure or terror. Placing both hands on the counter, which feels solid and real, I lean all the way into the mirror and look right into those gorgeous greens.
    “Annie Nutter, this is a dream.”
    I nod back in total agreement. I’ve always had Dad’s hyperdrive imagination and some wild and crazy dreams to go with it. Nothing quite like this, but still.
    “This is the best dream you’ve ever had,” I tell the reflection. “So just go with it. Before you know it, you’ll wake up on Rolling Rock Road, boobless, buttless, Chanel shoe–less.”
    I inch back a few steps, unable to wipe the smile from my face. “Now, dream,” I say to my imagination. “What should I do next?”
    Get dressed
.
    Oh, like that’ll be a supreme hardship. I start to climbover another towel but stop, picking it up out of habit and shaking it open to hang on the towel rack.
    As I smooth the velvety cloth, I notice a turquoise-colored
A
embroidered on the corner.
A
for
Annie
?
    Still smiling at the wonder that is my dreamy imagination, I head to the closet for some fantasy threads.
    The underwear drawers are a mess of silk and lace, an array of the sweetest little strips of colorful satin I’ve ever seen. Even the bra I choose—which I certainly need with these most excellent bazooms—is lemon-yellow with a flower made of teeny little pearls that take my breath away.
    I pick designer jeans labeled
7 for All Mankind
and step in, somehow not at all surprised that they fit like, well, a dream. Rolled in the top drawer, I find five—no, six Juicy Couture T-shirts, all with the tags still attached. I choose a deep purple to match my funky toes and bite off the price tag, but not before checking it.
    Hello? What idiot would pay $198 for a T-shirt? Wait’ll I tell Lizzie about this.
    I could spend an hour picking shoes but settle on some cool Michael Kors platform espadrilles and leave the closet, still marveling at that magic light when I close the door. Back in the bathroom, I try a little dream makeup, not surprised that the MAC and Bobbi Brown go on better than HiP from L’Oréal.
    When I look at the finished product, I smile again. I might never want to—
    “Miss Ayla!” A loud knock on the bedroom door jolts me out of my thoughts. But, thankfully, not the dream. If Theowakes me now, his death will be slow and painful. “Are you awake, Miss Ayla?”
    The voice is female, lightly accented, a little desperate.
    “It is a school day, Miss Ayla. You must get up right this very minute.” She jiggles the handle furiously.
“Please.”
    I walk to the door and unlock it, opening it to find myself face to face with a dark-haired woman in a crisp navy dress with an apron over