Dylan Read Online Free PDF

looking back, she scooped up her LG, put one silver Nike in front of the other, and ran as if her teeth depended on it.
    KAPALUA SPA AND TENNIS CLUB
MEDITATION ROOM
    Tuesday, June 30
    2 P.M.
    “Ah-
lo
-ha!” Dylan burped that afternoon, the heavy bamboo door of the meditation room slamming shut behind her.
    Reee-owwww!
Boris meowed from somewhere inside in the dimly lit chamber. Svetlana’s jaw clenched.
    She was sitting alone, legs crossed, in the center of a caramel sand–covered floor with her eyes closed. Rake marks and tiny paw prints swirled around her. The pink travertine walls oozed water, which trickled into a gardenia-filled pond that flowed along the edges of the room. Birds chirped, waves lapped, and a deep man’s voice chanted, “Ommmmm,”
over and over again, thanks to the sound effects that were piped into the candlelit chamber.
    “Can we talk?” Dylan stomped over to Svetlana, leaving a Nike footprint trail in the sand.
    “Nyet.”
Svetlana’s eyelids fluttered. She looked almost angelic in a white satin robe with her blond hair-snake wrapped around her head like a halo.
    “Wrong answer.” Dylan stomped. A cloud of sand puffed around her yellow pom-pom tennis socks.
    Svetlana’s eyes snapped open. “Back for seconds?” She reached out and pinched Dylan’s calf.
    “Owie!” Dylan yelped. Her skin prickled with fear and adrenaline. No way was she going to endure another head butt. She backed up a few sand-print steps in case she needed to make another run for it. “You’re totally insane—I can’t believe you almost fooled everyone with your whole
transformation
act.”
    “What you mean
almost
?” Svetlana smirked. “Everybody adores Svetlana again thanks to your mom-host.”
    Dylan pursed her Nars Peachy Keen–smeared lips. “Puh-lease! You practically twisted my arm into the Nike swoosh.”
    “So what?” Svetlana unraveled her braid-snake from its halo. “No one saw it, and no one will believe what a little red pimple like you has to say.”
    Dylan pinched her hips with renewed hope. “Wait, you think I’m
little
?”
    “Just the brain.” Svetlana stood, brushing sand off her slippery-smooth robe.
    “Oh yeah? Then how do you explain
this
?” Dylan waved her LG.
    “It’s called phone, Pimple.” Svetlana knocked it to the sand. “Now go. I must get back to meditation.”
    “Not until I watch your little outburst under the candlelight.” Dylan held up the phone and thumbed through the buttons. Her hands shook, knowing they could get smacked or snapped at any given moment. “I want to hear the part where you called me a sloppy loserfan again. The acoustics in here are great and I—”
    What?”
Svetlana released her honey-colored braid and clenched her fists.
    “I wonder what the International Tennis Association will say when it sees you’ve fallen off the temper-tantrum wagon?” Dylan positioned her LG under Svetlana’s narrow blue-green eyes. A shot of the post-interview arm-twist was frozen on screen. “This little thing is amazing. It’s limited edition—Merri-Lee got it in her Oscar swag bag. It stores hours of video.”
    “How did you—”
    “Just before you knocked the phone out of my hand I pressed record.” Dylan winked. “Not bad for a
little
brain, huh?” Her heart thumped as Svetlana’s smug expression darkened like the Hawaiian sky moments before a tropical storm.
    “Thanks to your backhand, it was lying in the grass, so I have a few nice shots of your frilly underwear and—”
    “Give to me.” Svetlana swiped her claws Boris style as Dylan dropped the phone down the V of her lemon-yellow Fila minidress and folded her arms across her chest.
    “After Nike sees this, the only thing you’ll be endorsing is kitty litter,” Dylan announced.
    “How do I know you’re not bluffing?” Svetlana’s eyes flashed as she tightened the satin tie on her robe.
    A new CD track blasted a series of loud, deep “ommm’s” through the room.
    Dylan