While You Were Dreaming

by Alisha Rai

Genres: YA Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

In this debut contemporary YA romance by bestselling author Alisha Rai, a girl with undocumented family members goes viral after saving her crush’s life in disguise. A must read for fans of Sandhya Menon and Nicola Yoon. 

A Phenomenal Book Club Pick!

It’s a classic story: girl meets boy, girl falls for boy, boy finally notices girl when he sees her in a homemade costume. At least, that’s what Sonia Patil is hoping for when she plans to meet her crush at the local comic-con in cosplay.

But instead of winning her crush over, Sonia rescues him after he faints into a canal and, suddenly, everything changes. Since she was in disguise, no one knows who the masked do-gooder was . . .but everyone is trying to find out. Sonia can’t let that happen—her sister is undocumented, and the girls have been flying under the radar since their mother was deported back to Mumbai.

Sonia finds herself hiding from social media detectives and trying to connect with her crush and his family. But juggling crushes and a secret identity might just take superpowers. Can Sonia hide in plain sight forever?

Release date: March 21, 2023

Publisher: HarperCollins

Print pages: 432

Sample

ChapterOne

The main character? Not me, not in real life. That’s what my daydreams were for.

At some point, the disappointment of crashing back to earth might teach me to stop engaging in said daydreams. But—

“Sonia!”

That day wasn’t today.

I jerked my mind away from my current preoccupation and glanced over my shoulder to find my boss’s daughter scowling at me, frown lines disrupting her otherwise smooth face. Paris wasn’t really good at anything except immediately noticing when one of us wasn’t on task. “Hi, sorry. Yes?”

“Is that sandwich done yet?” She enunciated the words slowly, which meant she’d probably asked the question a couple of times already.

The bagel dropped out of the bottom of the toaster right then, saving me. I grabbed it. “Yup. One minute.”

She gave an annoyed shake of her head but placed the customer’s drink on the bar. “Hurry, please.”

We had no backlog of orders at the moment, but I was quick. I assembled the BLT, wrapped it in the café’s signature paper, dotted with little Eiffel Towers—Café Paris, of course—stripped my gloves off, and brought it to the pickup counter, snagging the drink along the way. “Harry?” I called.

A woman standing there glanced up from her phone. “Um, Marie?”

It wasn’t unusual for Paris to screw up a name. “Large strawberry shortcake tea with a bagel BLT?”

“Yup.”

I handed it over and eyed the customer as she walked away. Her purple-and-yellow spandex leotard and tights fit her like a glove, the cape spilling off her shoulders in a cascade of silk.

The entire block was filled with flammable fabrics today, since the bookstore next door was holding its annual comic book day. Costumes were encouraged.

I loved cosplay, both creating it and seeing it. I may actually love cosplay more than the comics that inspired it, though that was something I’d never admit to a real comic book nerd. I’d be crushed under the weight of their ridicule for being able to list the inseams of Superman’s tights but not his parents’ names.

“Veggie sub on everything bagel, toasted,” Paris called out.

“On it,” I replied, scurrying back to my station. I didn’t mind working on food. The view from in front of the toaster couldn’t be beat.

Through the massive window on the side of our small building, I could see right into the bookstore. And the register. And the guy who was working it.

James Cooper, my oblivious soul mate. He was too far away for me to make out the details of his costume, except that it was black, and he wore no mask. It didn’t matter; I was sure it looked good on him, because everything looked amazing on him.

He was a fellow junior at my school, he ordered a large drip coffee at 4:30 p.m. on his way to work, and he smiled a lot. My crush had bloomed when we’d wound up in the same AP Calculus class at the beginning of the semester. Twelve nonconsecutive hours of his sweet smile and kind eyes was all it had taken for my heart to get hopelessly entangled with his.

When he’d turned around in class last week and told me he hoped to see me at the event, I’d spun a fantasy. I floated invisibly through high school, not a main part of any social strata, so I wasn’t in his circle of friends. But that circle had changed since he’d broken up with his popular/terrible girlfriend. Why couldn’t I swoop in while he was on the outs of his clique?

On my mom’s old sewing machine, I’d create the most magnificent costume and wear it during my shift. He’d see me through the window, abandon his job, and rush over to tell me how talented and amazing I was. Our capes would float behind us as we spun around in a tornado of passion and coffee cups and muffins—

Okay, so like most of my imaginary musings, this dream was a bit far-fetched, but I’d taken confidence in my neatly placed stitches.

If only my costume wasn’t packed away in my backpack. Though the neighboring businesses had all gotten in on the fun, Paris had declared costumes cringey when I’d shown up for work this morning and banned them for the employees. So here I was in the baggy jeans and long-sleeved shirt I’d thrown on right after I’d hopped out of bed. Garb that was unlikely to get me into any kind of tornado of passion.

Perhaps I could change and go over to the bookstore after work, though. Casually peruse the shelves. Bring the tornado of passion to his workplace.

“Hey, Sonia. Can you come over here for a second?”

I handed the sandwich to the waiting customer and walked over to Paris. “I’m about to put a fresh batch of muffins into the oven.”

“Don’t worry about that. We’re all out of mix anyway.” Paris gave me a sweet smile, and it was such a contrast to her previous testiness, I put my mental guard up.

Hana, my newest coworker, rounded the counter. I waved at her, and she responded with a nod, then turned to the register to clock in. I had no idea what her full name was. She was Hana, one word in my head, like Gaga or Beyoncé. She was new this year, had moved from somewhere in California. Though I’d seen her around school, we were usually on different shifts.

“I’m so glad Hana’s here. I need to head out soon, and I’m sure the two of you could cover the place until closing, right?”

I’d opened; I didn’t want to close as well. Plus, I wouldn’t get to go over to the bookstore at all, then! It closed an hour before we did.

Hana didn’t look up from the computer. “Saturday afternoons are busy. There’s usually three of us on.”

“And the bookstore event will make us busier,” I added.

Paris waved a hand. “Oh, now, I’m sure you’ll both be fine.”

Token protest lodged, Hana walked away, leaving me alone with our boss’s daughter. I drifted closer. “Um, I actually, um, I have plans.” The plan was simply changing my outfit, but Paris didn’t need to know that.

A customer walked up and opened his mouth. “Excuse me—”

Without looking at him, Paris held up a hand, and the man subsided, which wasn’t a huge surprise. Paris’s fragile-girl-next-door vibe tended to get most men twisted around her tiny fingers.

Her wide blue eyes turned pleading. They were usually pleading when she asked me to cover for her, which happened a lot. “Please? I have a party to go to tonight, and I need to get my hair and nails done.”

I bit my tongue to keep from asking if it was another high school party. Paris had an odd affinity for showing up at those, though she’d graduated

a few years ago.

She clasped her hands in front of her. “You have to help me, girl. It’s going to be the party of the year, I can’t not be there.”

I held my joke about double negatives. “I can’t.”

Paris spoke rapidly over me. “I’ll make sure you get paid for my full shift as well as your own.”

I stopped, and my conscience piped up. Your sister would do it, why can’t you? Funnily enough, my conscience often sounded like my mom.

I thought of Kareena at home. When I’d left for work, she’d been busy ignoring me, stretched out on the tired floral sleeper sofa in our living room in her garish pink work uniform, playing a video game on the console she’d gotten for her eighteenth birthday. Lately most of her spare time and cash seemed to go into video games, the more violent the better. One of the self-help books I’d gotten from the library said that grief often took the form of aggression. I was fine with that, so long as she took her aggression out on animated characters and not me.

Since she’d graduated last May, she’d taken every odd job she could find. In addition to the diner, she also worked at a movie theater. And at a gas station.

For you. There was only so much I could earn when I had to go to school, too. It was Kareena’s jobs that paid our rent.

Damn it. Mentally, I kissed my latest fantasy goodbye. “Okay,” I said quietly, interrupting Paris’s hard sell.

Paris whooped and undid her apron. “Perfect. Hana, Sonia’s in charge.”

Hana, the personified embodiment of a shrug, didn’t respond, as uncaring about my temporary promotion as she was about everything else.

“Oh, you’re leaving now . . . cool,” I said to Paris’s back as she sashayed away.

“Can someone help me?”

I mentally sighed and stepped up to the register. “About time,” the waiting customer groused.

“Sorry.” I picked up a paper cup and the pen. “What can I get for you?”

“A large iced chai latte with oat milk. And don’t put dairy in it by accident. I swear last time, one of you tried to kill me.”

“Yes, sir.” I kept my strained smile on my face as I rang him up, and he retreated.

“If I wanted to kill him, he’d be dead.”

I jumped at the low, flat murmur right behind me, then checked to make sure the customer had shuffled out of earshot. I handed Hana his empty

 cup. “Here you go,” I said cheerfully, choosing to ignore her vaguely sinister words.

Hana placed the cup on the counter. Her sleeveless red top was in defiance of the season, but I couldn’t blame her. If I had that cool brightly colored floral tattoo on one arm, I’d ban sleeves forever too.

If you had tattoos at sixteen, you’d be dead by the hands of your ancestors.

Hana cocked her head. Her hair was almost blue-black and ruthlessly straight, the blunt cut just brushing her shoulders. “How long have you worked here?”

I straightened, oddly proud of my tenure at this, my first real job. “Almost six months.”

“I’ve worked here for less than a month, and I can tell you that Paris will forget to make sure you get paid for taking her shift.”

That was an accurate assessment of Paris’s priorities. “I’ll remind her.”

“Hmm. Seems like it would be better to not be a mouse and let her walk all over you.” Hana’s tone did not modulate at all. “If you have plans next time, might want to keep them. I like money too, but the minimum wage they pay us isn’t worth bowing down to the princess.”

I tried to hide my flinch. “Thanks for the advice,” I said, instead of what I really wanted to say, which was, You don’t know me, fuck off.

Or more specifically, my sister works three jobs so I can stay in school, and that minimum wage helps me feel less guilty. Fuck off.

But I kept my lips zipped, because some things were better muttered in my own head.

“Nice perfume, by the way.”

That was a kind thing to say, and usually I’d be happy that someone had complimented my mother’s perfume, but I could only give her a tight smile. Hana went off to fulfill the lactose-intolerant customer’s order. So I wouldn’t dwell on disappointment, I grabbed fresh pastries from the warmer and methodically moved the older ones to the back of the window display.

Without Paris here, maybe I could take the risk and go put my costume on. With the courage of my mask, I could sneak away for a minute to the bookstore on my break and say something sexy to James, like . . . like . . .

“Excuse me, miss, where is the bathroom located?”

No, I could come up with something better than that. The teenager who had asked the question peered at me from behind thick glasses. I straightened and placed the pastry tongs back in their spot. “Around the corner; the code’s 4563.”

“Thanks.”

He left, and I froze. Because behind him was my dream, standing within reach.

With a calm I didn’t feel, I approached the counter, wiping my hands on my apron. James smiled down at me. “Hey, Sonia,” he said, in the deep voice I knew well. I’d spent enough time in class hoping he’d raise his hand to answer a question so I could hear that voice.

Tall and lean, he was dressed in tight black leather and rubber. Did I mention his damn costume was tight?

So tight. Holy crap, that bodysuit was tight. That body was tight.

I tore my gaze away from his stomach. His mother was Indian, his father Black.

 His skin was a deep, rich dark brown, and it gleamed, the dying sun reflecting off his shaved head and high cheekbones. He had a strikingly perfect face, all interesting hollows and sharp angles. It wouldn’t be a problem to stare at that face for hours, to trace his nose and his firm jaw.

Or his lips.

Nope. Forget his lips.

He smelled so good, like peppermint. Not that I smelled him. It was more like the smell had found me.

Forget the peppermint too. “You’re Batman,” I managed, then I mentally kicked myself.

“That’s right,” he said, and tapped his naked temple. “The mask smelled weird, though. Couldn’t keep it on. Don’t know how Bruce Wayne does it.”

“The real Batman’s costume is probably made of something better than cheap plastic.” Why was I talking about Batman. Why hadn’t I just said hi.

A dimple popped into his cheek. “The real Batman, huh?”

“Obviously not the real one. Batman’s not real.” A child dressed like a bat at the table closest to the register turned toward us, eyes wide. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and wished I wasn’t wearing it in a limp ponytail. “Hey. James. You look great.”

“Thanks.” He looked me up and down, and I felt every inch of my baggy comfort clothes and lack of makeup. “Guess you’re too cool to dress up?”

I nearly laughed at the idea that I was too cool for anything but caught myself. “Not at all. I love cosplay.”

He brightened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I used to go to comic cons all the time when I lived in Cleveland.” All the time was probably an exaggeration, but my mom had occasionally gotten tickets from one of her favorite customers. I’d gone mostly to gawk at the cosplayers and learn what I could about crafting. Unfortunately, the opportunities had been more limited since we moved to this much smaller western New York town a few years ago.

“So where’s your mask?”

I tried to look casual and lean on the counter, but I accidentally jostled the stack of cups next to the register. I righted them as unobtrusively as possible. “My boss is anti-costumes.”

“That sucks. It’s been fun seeing people from school. It’s like Halloween came early.”

My shoulders lowered. Had he invited everyone at school? “I bet. Um, what can I get you today? A drip coffee?”

“Hey, you remembered my order.”

Another kick. Why couldn’t I be unbothered like him? Oh, right, because I was an awkward mess who loved him, and he was a track star usually surrounded by equally graceful people. “I’m, yeah, I’m really good at remembering orders, and yours is so easy.” One of those things was true. My crush on him wasn’t entirely due to the fact that he ordered a simple drink, and not a complicated viral hack someone put on the internet, but it wasn’t hind

ered by it either. “Do you wanna try something else?”

“Nah, that’ll do.”

“Cool.” I turned around and quickly poured the coffee.

“To be honest, I’m glad to see you today. I hoped I would.”

I nearly dropped the hot coffee, but caught it in time. I carefully put the carafe down and picked up the cup and brought it over to him. Thank God Hana was busy on her phone, so her too-observant eyes couldn’t see my internal meltdown over James thinking of me at all.

He pulled out his credit card. “You tutor, right?”

I met his eyes, though it was hard. Like looking at the sun, if the sun was two warm brown pools of chocolate. “I do.” I’d only ever had one paying student, so tutor was probably a stretch. I had decent grades and a fairly good affinity for math, so I periodically posted messages in our class group in the hopes of some nibbles. I hadn’t expected James to nibble, though. Not on anything of mine.

“I’m not doing so hot in calc, and my dad gets on my case if I get anything lower than a B.” There was a slight strain around his eyes, like he had a headache, and I wondered if his dad was tough on him. “I’m sure you’re busy, but do you have room for any students right now?”

The card reader beeped and I pressed the button for a receipt, on autopilot. Meanwhile, my mind short-circuited. “Um. Sure.”

“Cool. It would be convenient, since we work so close to each other.” He tucked his change into the tip jar, because he was a perfect man who tipped service workers. “Want to meet up on Monday around four?”

That was two whole days away. Today. Tomorrow. Monday. Yes, that was how days worked, last time I’d checked. “S-s-sure,” I managed. “Where do you want to meet up? Here?”

“I was thinking my family’s restaurant. It’s a couple blocks over. Gulab?”

I knew of the Indian restaurant, but I’d never been to it. In Cleveland, we’d known a lot of South Asian families, but the community was smaller in Rockville. Since we’d moved here, my mom had been too busy working to socialize anyway. “Yeah, I know it.”

“My mom’s short-staffed, so I have to help with a catering gig later in the evening. We can work in the back office until I’m needed, though?”

“Sounds good.”

“Give me your phone, I’ll put my number in.”

My fingers tingled when they brushed his. Probably because his hands were unexpectedly cold, but I’d chalk it up to pure chemistry.

James handed the phone back to me. “Gotta get back to work. Thanks. See you soon, Sonia.” He gave me a sunny smile.

“Hmmn,” I gurgled. I stared at his back as he walked away.

Hm

mn.

Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for knowing my name. Your brain is in good hands with me. Are you in the market for a girlfriend? To be honest, I have basically zero parental supervision now, so we can make out if you like.

I rubbed my temples. Any of those words would have worked. But no. All I’d had was Hmmn.

My face was all hot, my limbs tingling. And here I’d hoped the best thing that could realistically happen today was him noticing me. Oh no, the tornado of passion had come true, in the form of consensually sharing a table with him soon!

“Ma’am, the toilet’s clogged.”

Crash.

I refocused on the teen who’d asked for the bathroom code. “Um, thanks for letting me know.” I looked around for Hana, and found her half-heartedly cleaning the espresso machine. Either she hadn’t seen James come in or hadn’t cared or didn’t know him, all of which were fine with me. I had no desire to engage her in any conversation after she’d been so snotty about me taking over for Paris, but here we were. “Hana . . . ?” I motioned her over. “The toilet’s—”

“Nuh-uh.” Hana shook her head. “Not in my job description.”

I set my teeth in frustration. “Watch the register,” I called out to her, and grimly made my way to the bathroom. Going from a tornado of passion to the vortex of a toilet. Yup. That sounded like my life.

ChapterTwo

As much as I’d resented both opening and closing the place on this particular day, there was something nice about having the café to myself after the last customer left. The dying sun slanted across the empty bakery displays and the almost eerie quiet played its own song, different from the clash of voices that filled the space during the day.

The traffic had slowed once the bookstore closed, so I was already ahead of the game when it came to cleaning up. I went through the ritual of closing out the register and turning off the lights, made sure all the food was stored in the kitchen, then hauled the trash to the back room. I hated the garbage part of closing more than anything, and today the bag felt extra heavy, filled with all the fun other people had enjoyed while I was being a dutiful contributing member of my household.

You had fun, too. You talked to James! Literally you said more to him than you ever have before. Don’t be greedy because it didn’t play out like your grand nerd fantasy. Life rarely does.

I dropped the trash on the floor and pulled my bag out of the locker. I unzipped it and pulled the top of my cute costume out.

Work is over. You can wear it now.

Ha ha, for who?

It’s for you. Make yourself happy. You spent so long on it. There’s no one here, no one who will barge in on you and tell you to take it off.

I could wear it home. Plenty of people had left the bookstore and gone home dressed in their costumes. It was, as James had said, kind of like Halloween. Nobody would recognize me.

I laid the outfit on the tired table taking up most of our break room, then stripped off my jeans and shirt and tossed them aside.

The costumes I’d made and worn to cons in the past had all been copying off existing comic book characters. They’d been nicer than store-bought, but nothing that had gotten me stopped for photo ops in the hallways. Since my budget and time had been limited this week, I’d scoured my closet for inspiration and decided to be an original character.

The black faux-leather leggings were a thrift store find I hadn’t had to alter. The top was another story, a bodice I’d cut out of a hideous old Regency dress I’d found in the Halloween clearance section at Target last year. I’d dyed it black and replaced the ugly sleeves with tight lace down to my wrists, ending in points over the backs of my hand. In a moment of whimsy, over my left breast, I’d embroidered a small S in block print.

I’d found clunky old black leather boots at Goodwill, too, and I pulled those on. They were too big, but it wasn’t like I was running a marathon in them.

I stopped and stared at myself for a moment in the mirror mounted on the wall. This was the first time I’d seen the complete look.

Forget tutoring. If James had caught me in this, he would have gotten down on his knees, grasped my fingers, and begged me to go out with him.

I twisted. I’d attached the narrow, short cape to the shoulders of the shirt. I’d struggled with getting the fabric to lay flat, but I liked the way it had turned out.

I smoothed my hand over my round stomach. I’d gained weight in the past year, and between flashes of insecurity over my new appearance, I was mostly puzzled as to how to display it. I tended to treat it like I treated anything I wanted to procrastinate confronting: I hid it.

That might have been an error, though. Maybe instead I should only be dressing in clothes tailor made to fit me by my own hands. The top nipped in at my waist, hugging my breasts, accentuating my curves.

I swiped at my eyes, surprised to find some leakage there. Partially because this w

as the first time in a while I’d looked in the mirror and felt right in my own skin, but mostly because this was the first clothing I’d made on my own since my mom was deported.

Trying to distract myself, I dug out my makeup pouch. I wasn’t a cosmetics expert, but my hands were steady enough. I studied my eyes and the cheap liner and gold eye shadow I’d applied. The thick wings weren’t perfectly matched, but I resisted the urge to redo them and make them equal. “They can be sisters, not twins,” I whispered. That piece of advice had come from one of my favorite beauty influencers, and I thought about it whenever I picked up eyeliner. To be honest, my eyes looked more like second cousins twice removed, but surely the final costume touch would distract from that.

I let my hair loose and finger-combed it, grimacing. I’d been so happy this morning when I’d woken up to smooth curls courtesy of a bathrobe tie and a heatless curls tutorial, but hours up at work had knocked the cute ringlets right out, leaving frizzy waves. Into a messy bun it went.

I’d opted for a mask covering the bottom half of my face instead of the top half, solely because I could do eye makeup better than lips. I put on the gaiter and pulled it up, leaving only my eyes and forehead visible.

Ahhhh. I blinked, the eyeliner heavy. I looked . . . different. I looked good. Winter Soldier meets Wanda Maximoff.

My phone buzzed on the table, and I checked it. Kareena.

Do the dishes before I get home

I didn’t reply. It had been so long since my sister had texted me something other than a command to do something. What I wouldn’t give, sometimes, for a where are you because I’m worried about you text.

I threw my phone and my street clothes into my bag. I’d probably be cold, but I didn’t want to cover up my outfit before it was necessary.

I grabbed the trash bag and left through the back door, making sure it locked behind me. My mask was a blessing in the cool October air. My cape caught the wind, and the fabric lifted away from my back, my spirits lifting with it.

I flew unnoticed, tucked under the radar. But some days, I got to wear a cape.

And take out the trash.

I wrestled the Hefty bag over to the dumpster and hoisted it in, then took a second to sanitize my hands.

I wasn’t sure what prompted me to look up right then—some noise that didn’t belong in the evening air. The back of the shops in this plaza faced a path, and a steep embankment to a canal. The other side of the canal was dotted with lights and the backyards of small tidy homes. Bicyclists often rode there during the day, and it was a handy way to cut through the city.

There was James, sitting on the ground, gazing down at the water, his face in profile to me. The sun was mostly gone now, and the streetlight above him touched on his proud nose and chin and lit his dark hair with fire. He wore black jeans and a sweater. They weren’t

nearly as tight as his costume had been, but just as flattering.

God, he was so perfect. True, he wasn’t good at math, but he was beautiful and uncomplicated, while I . . . well. I was wearing a cape I’d sewn myself.

Horror filled me. I was wearing a cape in close proximity to my crush.

Are you there, God? It’s me, wearing a cape in front of the man I love.

Isn’t that what you wanted? To get attention for your skills?

Yes, but he’d seen me wearing street clothes before! He’d know that I changed into this after work, after the bookstore closed, like a total nerd, while he’d done the normal thing and changed out of his costume.

I spun around and flattened myself against the dumpster, my usual fear of germs temporarily suspended. It was fine. This was fine. I’d simply . . . I don’t know.

I felt in my shoulder bag and groped for my sweatshirt, my thoughts only on covering up. While I tugged at the stubborn fabric, I dared to peek around the corner.

James straightened and rubbed his hand over his face. I stopped. Even from far away, there was something odd and sluggish about his movements. Was he okay?

He made his way to his feet with some difficulty, like he was groggy. He staggered back a step, shook his head, and then took another step, this time forward toward the water. His foot found nothing but air, and he dropped out of sight. A loud splash followed.

The seconds ticked by as I waited for him to jump right out, shaking the water off. Only he didn’t reappear. I looked around, but there was no one here. Except you.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. As icy cold as my vocal cords felt, I knew my limbs weren’t frozen, because I launched myself in his direction, scrambling down the unpaved path, my footsteps louder than my heart.

Time slowed. Every second beat for half a second longer.

Even as I sprinted, I scanned the dark water in the canal. Where was James’s head? Surely he could swim; the canal wasn’t that deep. I’d learned to swim at the Y when I was a toddler, and I wasn’t the athlete he was.

I skidded to a stop at the spot where he’d fallen in and fumbled with my phone to turn on the flashlight. I played it over the water, but the surface was still.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

I jammed my phone into the hard dirt of the bank for an extra light source, threw my bag on the ground, and dove in.

I immediately regretted two things, and one of them was the fact that I’d attached this cape. That damn thing tangled right up around my arms. ...