Read Wishful Thinking for Free Online

with names like “Oinkers Delight.” The sweet, cloying smell of home-baked waffle cones and fresh-churned cream filled the air.
    A rowdy group of camp kids in matching orange T-shirts tossed balled-up napkins across a long, messy table. They looked to be about eight or nine … which meant that in the future, they’d be that much older than Hazel herself. The idea made Hazel’s stomach drop. She wondered if anybody noticed her. Could they tell that she was different? Could they even see her at all?
    A woman hurried past, her blond hair pulled back in a sleek, high ponytail. She pushed a pair of strawberry-blond twin girls in a stroller, their wispy curls damp in the heat. As they made their way to the door, one of the girls stretched out a sticky hand, grabbing on to Hazel’s dress and giving it a playful tug.
    “Violet!” the woman scolded, brushing the girl’s hand away and turning to Hazel with an embarrassed shrug. “I’m so sorry. She has this thing for dresses.”
    Hazel managed a smile and watched as the woman squeezed the carriage through the door. She looked down atthe tiny vanilla fingerprints left on her dress. They were real, and so was she.
    “What are you having?” a short girl barked at her from the other side of the counter. Hazel stared dumbly at the girl, whose chocolate brown hair had been pulled back in a messy bun and stabbed through the side with a bright yellow pencil. “Hello?” the girl tried again, louder. “Can I help you?”
    “Um, sure.” Hazel tried to answer, but she hadn’t said anything in a while and the words got stuck in the dry tunnel of her throat. The options were overwhelming and the anxiety of ordering on the spot had weakened her appetite. “Do you have iced tea?”
    The girl with the pencil bun stared at Hazel for a long moment before rolling her dark eyes and retrieving a paper cup from a stack on the counter. She slid it over the counter and gestured with her elbow toward the door. “Soda fountain’s behind you,” she grunted. “Eighty-nine cents.”
    Hazel fumbled around the inside of her tote, ducking her head between the straps for a better look. Her wallet had to be in there somewhere. But all she felt was her camera, the crinkling plastic of the garment bag, and lots of empty space.
    Behind her, the line was growing impatient, and she shrunk from the glare of ten pairs of eyes, burning holes into the back of her head.
    “Sorry,” she stammered to the girl across the counter. “I guess I lost my wallet.”
    The girl snatched the cup back across the glass and tipped it upside down on the pile. “Bummer,” she deadpanned, before turning to the next person in line.
    Hazel clenched her teeth, her pulse pounding in her ears.She spun around but was stuck between the glass and the broad shoulders of a boy standing behind her.
    “I got it,” a deep voice interjected. Hazel looked up to see a strong, tanned arm reaching out toward the counter. A crumpled dollar bill fell onto the glass and the pencil girl looked up with an irritated sigh.
    “Well, if it isn’t Prince Charming,” the girl huffed, slipping the bill inside the register and slamming the drawer shut with her hip. The boy held out his hand and she slapped the plastic cup against it. “Next!”
    Hazel felt herself being shoved out of line, her face flushing hot. “Prince Charming” was still hovering at her side and she could hardly bring herself to look up. He had the sturdy voice and solid posture of somebody who was good-looking and knew it.
    “Here you go,” he said, handing Hazel the plastic cup. She finally glanced up and saw that he had shaggy brown hair and warm brown eyes, with two deep dimples cut like stars between the strong lines of his cheekbones and jaw.
    Good-looking
was an understatement.
    “Thanks,” Hazel muttered, following him through the crowd to a soda fountain at the back of the room. “You didn’t have to do that. I have my wallet, somewhere.”
    “No