Dylan Read Online Free PDF Page A

demonstrating the “om” position.
    Trying to cross her legs Svetlana-Zen style, Dylan noticed a green splotch on her box-pleated skirt. How had that gotten there? Noting Svetlana’s spotless LWTD (Little White Tennis Dress), Dylan wondered,
How does she keep her whites so white?
    Merri-Lee took a deep breath. “Well, Svetlana, I have to say it’s been an absolute pleasure to speak with you. You are a remarkable young lady, and I think we can all learn something from you. I know at least this fan”—Merri-Lee pointed to herself—“will be cheering you on out there.”
    “Thank
you
and all people out there who have given me and Slootskyia family a second chance. Before, I just do it all for me. This time,” she sniffled, “I just do it for you.” She smiled like a seasoned spokesmodel and looked directly into the camera. “Nike: Just Do It.”
    Dylan rolled her eyes. She felt like she was watching a sappy
Lifetime
movie—ads and all.
    Curling her collagen-enhanced lips into a dazzling smile, the host addressed her public. “This is Merri-Lee Marvil for
The Daily Grind,
coming to you from the Aloha Open. And remember, if you’re not watching, you’re not living.” She held her smile for the requisite seven seconds, then whipped the mike off her white Ralph Lauren Polo dress.
    “That’s a wrap, guys.” She stood. “That was Emmy-worthy, Svetlana. Nice job. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get this off to my editor aysap.”
    “Of course. Thank you for your time.” Svetlana kissed Boris and waved goodbye. “Enjoy the nosh.”
    The rest of the crew members offered Svetlana sympathetic grins as they scurried about dismantling the set. Ignoring them, she began making her way across the grassy lawn toward the bungalows.
    “What an interview!” Dylan yelled, grabbing her LG and chasing Svetlana across the grassy lawn.
    “Thank you.” Svetlana stopped and dumped an entire box of chocolate mint Altoids in her mouth, then handed Dylan the empty metal tin.
    She gripped it hard, hoping some of Svetlana’s DNA would seep into her pores.
    “Mmmmmm.” Svetlana chewed, then blew her chocolate mint breath straight up Boris’s tiny black nostrils. “Russia Boris loved this.”
    American Boris sneezed.
    “Question.” Dylan eagerly set her phone to record. “How did you get your braid so tight? I always have little pieces that poke out, but yours is so smooth and even.” She reached out to pet it. “Is it hair spray? Mousse? Extensions? Or a combo of all three?
    Just as Dylan’s hand was about to make contact, the tennis phenom grabbed her wrist and twisted it back down to her side. The pain was so severe Dylan dropped her phone and yelped.
    “Ehmagawd—ouch!”
    “Camera’s off, interview’s over!” Svetlana barked. Boris hissed.
    “Woah—the devil wears Puma!” Dylan took a step back and rubbed her wrist. “What about everything you said about Zen and meditation and being sorry?”
    Svetlana stared at Dylan’s mouth.
    “What?” Dylan felt her cheeks burn.
    “Are those teeth real?”
    Dylan took a step back, her heels sinking in the spongy grass. “Of course they are.”
    Svetlana swung an imaginary racket toward Dylan’s glossy mouth.
    “What are you
doing
?” Dylan’s ears buzzed with fear.
    “Why do you think you are worthy to touch Svetlana?” The tennis star cracked her hair-snake like a whip. “You are just loserfan, too sloppy to be an athlete and—”
    “I am
nawt
a fan!” Dylan shouted, her forehead starting to bead with sweat as the midmorning sun warmed the lush resort.
    “Correction.” Svetlana leaned forward until they were practically button nose to button nose. “You are a loserfan
stalker
!”
    Then she head-butted Dylan.
    “Ow! My skull!” Dylan grabbed her head, hearing a landline ringing inside her brain. “I think you gave me a concussion!” She whipped the empty Altoids tin at Svetlana, but accidentally hit Boris in the back left paw.
    Without