Don't You Wish Read Online Free PDF

can’t I live her life, in her world, with that face and that house—
    Another strobe flash of lightning steals my breath, soclose that I feel the voltage ping through me, lifting every hair on my body, like the bolt has hit my window.
    The impact knocks me forward, right into the computer. My chest hits the screen, slamming the computer backward as sparks of electricity ricochet through my body.
    I try to cry, to move, or think, but … I’m paralyzed, suspended, hot and cold and sweaty and dry, all at the same time. All I can do is shift my eyes to the phone in my hand.
    I can still see her. I can still … see … 
her
.
    Something buzzes under my pillow. I try to lift my head, but every muscle in my neck feels heavy, and there’s a fog deep in my brain. But the pillow vibrates again, a soft hum from underneath.
    What is that? The computer? Did I bring it back to life?
    I slip my hand under and touch something smooth and slick. Dad’s cheapo phone? Light pinches my eyelids, still stuck together.
    So I’ve slept, long enough for it to be daylight.
    And those damn vibrations start again, this time with a soft beep.
    I manage to pry my eyes open and feel under the pillow until I grab the rounded edge of a … 
What?
I pull out an iPhone.
    A real one. No off-brand here.
    This one is so new and shiny, it looks like it has never been touched. Was it my birthday and I forgot?
    I blink again, vaguely aware that behind the iPhone is something bright and blinding green. The pillow.
    My
pillowcase is pale blue. But I can’t quite comprehendthe change of sheets because my brain is processing the screen of the iPhone.
    Alarm 7:01 a.m
.
    I turn it over, frowning at the engraving on the back. I run my finger over the words.
    Ayla Monroe
.
    Who is Ayla Monroe, and why do I have her phone?

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    The phone vibrates again and freaks the crap out of me. I swipe my hand over the screen, and it stops. I stare at it, then at the pillow with the chartreuse case.
    I mean,
pillows
, plural. There is more than one, which is weird and wrong. I have one pillow on a twin bed. But now there are four, five, six pillows on a … huge bed.
    Chills tiptoe up my spine, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck. Very, very slowly I shift my gaze from the ginormous bed to the rest of the room and am assaulted by vibrant colors and a whole wall of arched windows draped in yards and layers of fabric.
    What the
eff
?
    This place is humongous! Even with big pieces offurniture and clothes strewn over every square inch, I feel small and lost.
    I hear my throat gulp, a mix of fear and disbelief, or maybe I’m doing a sound check to be sure I’m awake. Because this can
not
be real.
    Where am I?
    I turn. The walls are neon lime-green and turquoise, with splashes of bright pink and the occasional dark brown accent. Even a sofa by the windows is satiny chartreuse with one curved armrest, like an old-school Hollywood starlet loungey thing.
    Oh, my God. Look at that flat-screen TV! Like a freaking movie theater. I’m vaguely aware that I’m climbing out of the bed, my gaze flicking from one unbelievable sight to another. One whole wall is a bookcase with a huge desk, a hot mess of papers, and pictures and junk. In the middle is a laptop—as new and insanely expensive as the iPhone I’m still holding—with a stylized
A
floating around as a screen saver.
    Next to it, a rose in a crystal vase, with a card leaning against it.
    Is this some kind of joke? A reality TV show? Am I being punked?
    It has to be a dream. Either that or I’m dead and this is … Oh, if that’s true, then the big guy totally overlooked all those times I punched Theo and sent me straight up to the Good Place.
    As I take a step, something silky brushes my legs and I glance down, expecting to see my old striped sleep pantsand SpongeBob tee. Instead, silver silk flows over my legs, a long … nightgown? I hate nightgowns. Still, this one is so soft and sheer, it’s