Belle of the Brawl (2 page)

Over the past couple of months, Allie’s self-esteem had congealed faster than food court Chinese food. The image of her boyfriend Fletcher and best friend Trina making out had been burned into the pleasure center of her brain. But now the burn was starting to scab over and Allie could put her energy toward scar-free healing. No more crying over the pieces of her broken heart. No more posing as Allie J. Abbott, the mega-famous folksinger whose acceptance letter she had accidentally received in the mail. No more black hair and bare feet. She had Charlie now. She had Darwin. She had hope.

“Move it,
beta
,” breathed Olivia Dufrenidis in Allie’s ear as she barreled past her toward the doors of the Pavilion. Olivia was a tall, D-cup, Greek olive-oil heiress who at age fourteen founded the Dufrenidis Report, a blog that broke more political news stories than Perez Hilton broke celebrity gossip. Ever since Allie’s lie had been revealed, Olivia went out of her way to bully her. Allie’s breath hitched in her throat for a second as she absorbed the insult.
Beta
was the worst thing you could call someone at Alpha Academy.

“Sorry,” Allie muttered, clenching her teeth as Olivia’s departing platform wedges kicked gravel onto her legs. But like the pebbles hitting her ankles, Allie reminded herself, names only hurt for a split-second.
Keep it together, Al.

There were a lot of reasons Allie should have been a basket case. In August, she’d caught her boyfriend Fletcher cheating on her with her best friend, Trina. But that was only the beginning. Next, she’d committed identity fraud by faking her way into Shira’s school for overachievers. A few weeks later, Allie’s true identity was discovered and the real Allie J enrolled in the Academy. Now most girls at Alpha Academy thought she was a liar, a joke, or worse. But Allie had
survived
. That was what mattered. Shira had let her stay at Alpha Academy to try to prove herself, to find her passion and roll with it. And her housemates Charlie and Skye had recently forgiven her lies and impersonation. Thank God, because Allie needed to know she could count on Charlie and Skye to be there for her—especially now that the rest of the school wasn’t.

She squinted up through the blazing orange sunset at the Pavilion, its brise-soleil shades retracting on either side of the tall oblong structure like enormous white steel wings. Then she pulled out the small bottle of Purell she always carried and squirted it onto her hands, feeling instantly calmer when the germ-killing smell hit her nostrils.

Where were Charlie and Skye? Allie craned her neck, looking around for her friends like a puppy searching for its littermates. They’d both been in overdrive all weekend, trying to impress Shira by working extra-hard in their classes and even adding more courses to their schedules. Allie should be following their lead, but finding your
passion wasn’t like shopping for a party dress or a new bag—endless browsing wouldn’t necessarily get her any closer to unlocking her potential or uncovering a talent. And here at Alpha Academy, there weren’t any salespeople at the ready to help her with her search. Girls like Skye and Charlie had talent. All Allie had was a class schedule packed tighter than Ugly Betty in a pair of Spanx, and still she was no closer to self-discovery. She knew she had something more to offer than personal style and stellar taste… didn’t she?

Allie’s sun-kissed shoulders were jostled by the other Alphas crowding through the rounded glass doors and into the shiny white room. The space buzzed with excitement as Alphas began to look up. Above their heads were 3–D holograms of fish, whales, and giant cruise ships. A shimmering banner cascaded from one white wall to another, zooming up to the ceiling, then passing through the crowd of Alphas in a glittery rush.

YOU ARE INVITED TO SET SAIL ON THE ALPHA MUSE CRUISE SWIM IN THE SEA OF INSPIRATION WITH THE ALPHA MUSES OCTOBER EIGHTH, 7 P.M., THE ALPHA CRUISE SHIP

A shiver of excitement rippled along Allie’s spine. It would be amazing to get off Shira’s tiny woman-made island, even if it was only for a two-hour boat ride. The place was
a paradise in many ways, but Allie often felt as if she were trapped in a crowded elevator stuck between floors. Allie scanned the bleachers for Skye or Charlie, but before she found them, the unmistakable sound of a guitar stopped her in her tracks.

“I’m going to play a little song for y’all,” said a scratchy voice, belonging to Allie’s housemate Allie J—or AJ, as she liked to be called.

AJ stood on one of the ergonomic white egg chairs, dominating the crowd in spite of her tiny 5’2” stature. Her scraggly black hair was tucked into a crocheted green tam that sat sagging on her head like a giant mushroom. With her vampire-pale skin and emaciated frame, she reminded Allie of the annoying hippie chick who worked at Bulgur ’N Beetz, a health-food sandwich shop back in Santa Ana. Why did health food freaks always look so sickly? Wasn’t it kind of an oxymoron?

AJ stood holding her guitar like a machine gun aimed straight at Allie. She narrowed her moss-green eyes, flashing a micro-smile that sent Allie’s stomach to her gladiators.

“Sing it, sister!” shouted Tameeka Sands, a slam poet with her own line of designer skateboards.

“Go, AJ! Break it down!” echoed Gweneviere Stulz, an urban farmer and the founder of a group of radical agriculture reformers called the Ronald McDon’ts.

“My newest song is called ‘Identity Theft,’ ” AJ drawled.
“It’s inspired by a situation close to my heart. Too close!” The crowd giggled, and a few girls looked at Allie before turning back to AJ.

Serious-leh?
Can’t we move on?
Allie wanted to scream. When would AJ finally let this drop? AJ’s war on Allie had already dragged on longer than the battle sequence in
Avatar
.

Allie spun on one heel and tried to get as far away as possible, but she couldn’t move fast enough to block out AJ’s lame lyrics.

Identity theft. Identity theft.

I offer you a piece of me

Every time I write a song,

Allie abused my generosity

And girlfriend, that’s just wrong!

When you sing the things that come from my soul,

I do not feel bereft,

But take my name, my eyes, my mole—

Well, that’s identity theft!

A salty knot of emotion welled up in Allie’s throat. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head slightly in a desperate attempt to quell the hot tears that threatened to escape her eye sockets and fall down her cheeks,
wishing she could close her ears just as tightly. Being hated was one thing, but having everyone
sing
about it was unbearable.

Identity theft. Identity theft.

An imposter and a faker.

Nothing real, nothing true

Like a plagiarized English paper!

Identity theft. Identity theft.

Stop, thief! Empty your sack!

Keep my wallet, keep my purse.

It’s the personality I want back!

Allie’s moist eyes landed on Thalia, her house muse, seated in an empty cluster of ergonomic egg-shaped chairs to her left. AJ and her chorus line took seats across the round room, but Allie plopped down next to Thalia instead.

The muse’s golden irises shone with amusement, and her honey-blond hair caught the last rays of the orange sun as it sank behind the shades. “A change of scenery should be nice, don’t you think?”

“That’s an understatement,” Allie muttered, making accidental eye contact with AJ, who glowered at her across the room.

“Allie, a wise woman once said: Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.” Thalia put her huge former basketball player’s paw over Allie’s and squeezed.

Before Allie could protest, a round glass door slid open from the back of the room. Darwin walked through it, his sandy hair falling over his left eye. Even though he’d dumped her after her impersonation went public, somehow, the less she saw of him, the more irresistible he got. Today, he was wearing a white sweatshirt, navy board shorts, and flip-flops, and his light brown hair was damp. Had he come from the beach?

She pasted on a smile that she hoped looked non-desperate, non-needy, cute yet mysterious, and waited for his eyes to find her. Darwin whispered something in Taz’s ear and the three boys took seats in the last row. Allie shook out her waves and counted down in her head, willing him to spot her.

Five, four, three, two, one!

Darwin’s eyes—hazel with flecks of gold and green—made contact with her navy blue ones and sent an electric spark traveling from Allie’s scalp to her toes. Allie returned his gaze and smiled. She wiggled her fingers at him in a quick, almost imperceptible wave. Darwin smiled back and chin-thrusted a quick hello, before his eyes boomeranged away from her and back to his brother.

Allie sat back in her egg chair and felt a secret smile playing on her lips. AJ might have been a big fish in a small pond, but Allie was about to snag the biggest catch of all.

THE PAVILION
HALF MOON THEATER

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 26TH
5:59 P.M.

Late as usual and breathing hard, Skye Hamilton burst headlong through the assembly doors. She spun her slender body around in a graceful pirouette and quickly assessed the crowded room, scanning the semicircle of shiny white bleachers in search of the Jackie O’s. Her gaze automatically rose higher until she caught herself and lowered her head, remembering to avoid looking at the top row where the Brazille brothers always sat.

Alphas clustered with their housemates, each group nervously buzzing about tonight’s mysterious assembly and the billboards for the Muse Cruise—whatever that was. The Oprahs sat in a huddle toward the back, the Mother Teresas favored front row center. She waved a quick hello to her fellow dancers, Tweety and Ophelia, ensconced in the J. K. Rowling section. Then Skye’s searching gaze landed squarely on AJ (what was that hideous thing on her head?)
sitting cross-legged on her egg chair to the left of the stage, flanked by the Beyoncés on one side and the Hillary Clintons on the other. She flashed her housemate a tight smile and moved closer.

“Where are the rest of the Jackie O’s?” Skye asked, still trying to catch her breath.

AJ pointed an unmanicured finger toward the other side of the round stage. Charlie and Allie both wave-pointed at a seat they’d saved for her. Skye smiled, wiping a cool trickle of dance-sweat from her temple.

“Thanks,” Skye muttered to AJ. She sashayed across the round stage to join her friends, flipping her white-blond wavelets over her shoulder. “See ya.”

“There’s no law that we have to sit with our houses,” AJ called after her, but Skye rolled her eyes and kept walking, pretending not to hear. Instead, she waved to Allie, who looked a little teary sitting next to Charlie and Thalia. Poor Allie. Why couldn’t AJ just let the drama die already? Skye flashed Allie a reassuring smile, then plopped into the seat next to Charlie, folding her leg warmer–clad calves to one side of her seat and leaning in to whisper to her housemates.

“Sooo… What’d I miss? Why are we here?” She sent a stealth sideways glance at the back row for a brief Brazille-brothers assessment before returning to her fellow O’s. But she wasn’t sneaky enough, because Sydney—
Shira’s most sensitive son—flashed her a desperate smile. Skye turned away and picked a tuft of imaginary lint from her champagne-colored dance skirt.

“Good question.” Charlie shrugged, her mocha-brown eyes twinkling under her bangs. “Shira hasn’t yelled at us in seventy-two hours?”

For the last seventy-two hours, Skye had been in dance overdrive, logging twelve-hour solo dance days with only the holographic playback machine to keep her company. Ever since Shira had called her into her office last week for a little pep talk wrapped around a death threat, Skye had been a dancing machine. Partly, she wanted to improve her moves and impress the bossy Aussie, but mainly, Skye had made a deal with the she-devil: If Skye broke Syd’s heart, Shira would break Skye’s enrollment at Alpha Academy.

But Syd’s heart was made of fine china that cracked and fissured with every beat. He was walking PMS, and to make matters worse, Skye’s heart insisted on beating loudly for a different Brazille brother—Taz. Skye had tried to force her heart to follow orders, but loving Syd was something she just couldn’t do.

And those who can’t do, hide.

As Skye curled up in her chair and tried to ignore Syd’s eyes drilling hearts into her back, a silence fell over the room. The circular stage slid open silently to reveal Shira Brazille. The mogul’s head slowly rose up from the stage,
starting with her kinky auburn curls piled high atop her crown and followed by her ubiquitous round sunglasses that hid her ice-blue eyes from view. Next came her yoga-toned shoulders—one bare, one covered with brightly patterned fabric, then finally the rest of her, clad in a flowing Pucci patio dress. Balancing atop a
BRAZILLE INDUSTRIES
–emblazoned white hoverdisc, Shira floated in midair a few inches above the closing hatch of the stage.

“Hello, m’dears,” Shira boomed, her red lips widening into a TV-ready smile.

“For once, none of us is in danger,” Charlie whispered, leaning in so Allie and Skye could hear.

Depends what you mean by danger.
Skye did a few calming neck-rolls and waited for Shira to go on.

“First off, I’d like Singh Rootlieb and Saylene Davenport to take the stage.” The room erupted in whispers as two girls stood up. Both of them wore sunglasses. Alphas in each row took out their aPods and aimed them at the petite Indian from the Virginia Woolf house and the broad-shouldered Texan from the Tyra house. Dozens of muffled bleeps meant girls were downloading personal data using the aPod Alpha Bios app.

“They’re both IM’s!” Charlie whispered as Singh and Saylene took the stage.

“What’s with the shades?” Allie whispered. Charlie shrugged.

Skye turned to look at Thalia. The muse avoided eye contact and stared straight ahead.
She knows something.