Alphas (6 page)

Skye clapped her hands together. Where else would Oprah, Hillary Clinton, Beyoncé, Mother Theresa, and Virginia Woolf be neighbors?

“Welcome to your new home.” Shira’s image began to fade. “It may look yabbo on the outside, but trust me—it’s quite different
once you get in.”

The doors opened with
boop
, releasing Skye and a carload of chilled air in front of a house marked
JACKIE O
. Waves of heat threatened to melt her like Pinkberry, but the glass door of her new home sensed her presence and slid open.

Inside, the house was divided into three floors, connected by a sweeping glass staircase that ran along the side of the circular
walls. Skye raced through, squealing for joy with each new discovery. The collection of the original Jackie O’s glasses encased
in glass, the smart kitchen with a giant touch screen full of snack options, the home theater complete with stage and lighting
board, the Vichy shower bathroom, the study lounge with massage chairs, the walk-in uniform closet filled with an array of
metallic-colored separates, the lap pool!

“Hello?” Skye called, hoping to share the excitement with a real person.

Next, she headed up a seemingly floating glass staircase anchored by transparent glass to the bedroom upstairs. The space
was wide open and loftlike, with a giant dome skylight that filled the room with light. Five canopied beds were arranged in
a horseshoe, each dressed up in a fluffy white comforter.

“Phew,” she muttered, relieved. Five beds meant five girls. She wouldn’t be alone forever.

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing,” said an uplifting female voice.

“Hullo?” Heart thumping, Skye scanned the room. “Who said that?”

“Helen Keller,” said the voice. “I was quoting her.” An extremely tall woman in a pale yellow tunic appeared before her. Her
face was surprisingly delicate, with small features framed by long, wavy blond locks. She looked like she was carved from
butter.

“Um, hi?” Skye stuck her hand out in greeting, not because she was formal like that, but because she needed to know if it
would go right through the woman.

It didn’t.

Butter shook so firmly, Skye’s fingers felt like they were being stuffed into a pointy-toe boot.

“I’m Thalia, the house muse. I will provide inspiration guidance to you and”—Thalia homed in on something behind Skye—“Allie
J, our alpha poet laureate! Welcome.”

Allie J, the reclusive yet beyond-successful songwriter!? Skye whiplashed around.
It was!

She’d always assumed Allie J’s reclusiveness was due to some kind of unseemly skin condition, like hairy-mole disease. But
it wasn’t. Her mole had total Crawford appeal, and her hair was black, shiny, and on her head. Even her bare feet seemed somewhat
maintained and remarkably clean. How could someone pay so much attention to her in-person image and absolutely none to her
Web presence? After all, beauty fades, but
JPEG
s are forever.

Skye reached for her ankle and pulled it toward her butt. A fiery sensation coursed through her quad, relaxing her instantly.

“So you’re one of
those
.” Allie J focused her emerald eyes on Skye. Skye released her ankle curiously. How did Allie J know Skye was a nervous stretcher?

“One of
what
?”

“A
dancer
. You can just tell. Dancers have the best posture.” Allie J bent over and rubbed Purell between her toes.

“Oh.” Skye giggled. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Her mother is Natasha Flailenkoff,” offered the muse, while sprinkling eucalyptus on the floor by their beds.

“And you’re a writer?” Skye feigned ignorance. She had, of course, heard of Allie J’s little book of poetry,
Greenhouse with Envy,
her chart-climbing songwriting, and her incessant eco-blogging. But she wasn’t about to gush over someone who was one J away
from being a single-namer.

Allie J lifted her head. Her cheeks were bright red. “Did you actually read it?” she asked, as though she had no clue
everyone
had read it.

“We kind of had to in English class. We were studying American poets and—”

“Cool, yeah, well, don’t worry if you didn’t finish it,” Allie J interrupted. “I’m so over talking about it anyway. Just wait
for the movie musical. It’s pretty much the same thing, only with music.”

“Don’t give up,” Thalia cooed, sprinkling one last handful of eucalyptus on the floor. The bedroom smelled like a Junior Mint.
“To climb steep hills requires a slow pace at first. William Shakespeare.”

Skye and Allie J exchanged a side-glance and giggled.

“How about some refreshments while we wait for the others?” the muse offered, heading to the stairs before they could answer.

“What’s the story with the fortune cookie?” Skye whispered, claiming the bed in the center of the semicircle.

Allie J giggle-sat beside her. “Basketball player. Injured. Turned psychology major. She couldn’t live her own dream, so now
she’s dedicated to helping other people find theirs. She’s like a Lifetime movie.”

“How do you know that?”

“I scanned her.” Allie J wiggled her aPod. She pressed a button labeled
ALPHA ID
and a series of stats scrolled over the LCD display. “Point and click at anyone on campus and it gives you their profile.”

“Really?” Skye fished around the inside of her bag for her new digital best friend.

“Really.” Thalia called from downstairs. “You can try it out on Andrea. I hear her coming up the walk right now.”

“Oh, and she has exceptional hearing,” Allie J added. “It’s been documented in science journals.”

Before Skye could figure out how to activate her new DBF, the girl appeared at the top of the stairs, bearing a certain resemblance
to an ex-supermodel–turned–talk show host, only her eyes were light brown and her monster lashes were real. “Girls, meet Andr—”

“Call me Triple Threat,” the Tyra look-alike corrected.

Skye blinked, waiting for a punch line that didn’t come.

“
What
?” The girl twist-wrapped her long dark hair into a ball and stabbed a gold stick through the center. Her bone structure was
so sharp she could probably shave legs with her jaw. “That’s what they called me at my old school and it stuck.”

“What are your threats?” A petite girl with anime-big violet eyes and beehived pink hair appeared behind her, diving into
the conversation with a flawless no-splash entry. She looked like Wanda from
The Fairly OddParents
.

“I’m a mo-dan-tress.”

“What’s that?” Allie J asked, apparently unfamiliar with the pretend-to-know-what-someone-is-talking-about-and-Google-it-later
approach.

“Model-dancer-actress,” explained Triple Threat, tossing her plaid straw fedora on the empty bed on the end.

Skye was about to warn her that a hat on the bed was bad luck, but
ohmuhgud
, did she really need to be
living
with another dancer? Maybe if the hat stayed, Triple would snap a limb and end up a double threat instead.

The new arrival flopped down on the bed next to Skye and covered her eyes with the back of her hand. One second later she
shot up and sighed. “I’ve been through so much lately—leukemia, rehab, bulimia, a fire where I saved three babies and five
kittens but ended up in the ER on a breathing machine…” She sighed again at the memories. “But I wouldn’t take back a second
of it. Because it got me here. With all of you.” She turned to the window slowly and started off into the distance.

Instantly, Skye felt jealous. How cool would it be to have a dark and twisted past? The press loved that sort of thing. After
all, her mother had done most of her interviews
after
the accident. Without it, she’d have been just another super-talented dancer whom no one had ever heard of. Meanwhile, the
worst thing that had ever happened to Skye was diving into a pool of Jell-O—a story that would make front page of the yearbook
if she was lucky.

Allie J thumb-pressed the Alpha ID button and pointed it at the girl. Skye quickly did the same, reading the screen in front
of her.

STAGE NAME: RENEE FORADAY. REAL NAME: RACHAEL MARTIN-MELON. GREW UP PLAYING RAYNE STORM ON THE LONG-RUNNING ABC SOAP PERFECT
STORM SINCE SHE WAS BORN. AFTER BEING RECRUITED TO ATTEND ALPHA ACADEMY, SHE QUIT THE SHOW AND DYED HER HAIR PINK AS A DISPLAY
OF INDEPENDENCE. HER CHARACTER IS BEING KILLED ON A DEADLY ROLLER-COASTER RIDE DURING SWEEPS WEEK; THE SCENES WILL BE SHOT
WITH A BODY DOUBLE. SHE HAS LOGGED MORE ACTING DAYS THAN ANY OTHER PERSON IN THE BUSINESS AND HAS TWELVE DAYTIME EMMYS THAT
SHE KEEPS IN HER PARENTS’ FREEZER IN CASE OF FIRE.

“Wait!” Allie J effused. “You’re Rayne Storm? I couldn’t tell ’cause of the eyes and the hair, you know, since you’re usually
super-bronzed and brunette on the show. But I love that soap! I’ve never missed a single ep—”

“Really?” Skye’s eyebrows shot up. “You like soaps? I thought you were all anti-TV.”

“I am.” The songwriter stiffened and flushed. “But, um, the producer wanted me to rewrite the opening song, so he sent me
a few seasons on DVD so I could get a feel for the show.”

“So you know Bethany Condon?” Renee slapped her heavily ringed hand against her heart. “She’s been like a stepmother to me.”

“Yeah.” Allie J blushed again. “Did I say
he
sent me tapes?”

“Yip.” Triple raised an over-plucked eyebrow.

“I meant
she
,” Allie J insisted. “I sometimes drop my
S
’s—you know, to conserve energy.”

Skye glanced at the empty bed. Who next? The girl responsible for the Internet? A fourteen-year-old Navy SEAL? Hermione? These
girls were
better
than September
Vogue
, and Skye felt like an April Fool for having thought she’d out-fabulous them just by showing up. Skye mentally wrote her
next Hope And Dream.

HAD No. 2: Survive.

“Is that Nutella and bacon?” Charlie feigned disgust with video Darwin in what would soon be known as their final Skype session.
She knew that a virtual breakup was loathsome, and that their relationship deserved something way more respectful. But if
she could touch his almond-shaped hazel eyes, naturally highlighted hair, the tiny black freckle above his lip, or smell the
cinnamon-scented toothpicks he loved to dangle from his mouth, she’d never go through with it.

“This feast was supposed to be a surprise, but consider it incentive.” Darwin flashed his camera over the entire spread that
Charlie knew he’d spent all morning making. Despite having a staff at his disposal, Darwin always DIYed his own gifts.

Darwin’s black-and-white–striped rugby returned to full view on screen. He pushed a button on his phone, the folksy strum
of an acoustic guitar flooded Charlie’s eardrums and sank her heart. Funny how she suddenly loved the music she had spent
a lifetime hating.

“Allie J?” Charlie asked with an eye roll.

“You know you love it,” Darwin teased, trying to smile but not quite pulling it off. They had been mourning the day Charlie
would return to New Jersey for months. Now he was trying to be strong for her. Soon he would need to be strong for himself,
stronger than he had ever anticipated. Charlie might as well have been holding a gun behind her back, preparing to shoot him
in cold blood.

She forced an equally strained happy face. “No,
you
love it. I’ve always preferred Lady Gaga to Mother Earth and you know it.”

“Whatever.” Darwin ran a hand through his sideswept bangs, something he did when he was tired of small talk. “So how soon
can you get here?” He was at their favorite spot on the island. The last stretch of beach on the northeast side. Pink sand,
clear water, not a hint of Shira’s architecture. His blue Converse held the corners of the blanket in place should an unexpected
gust suddenly blow through.

Charlie swallowed hard. “I have some awesome news and some unawesome news.” She clutched her bracelets, feeling the absence
of his photo through the cold silver.

“Un-awesome first,” he demanded. Like her, he preferred to rip the bandage off and follow it with an ice cream chaser. She
shook her head, selfishly ignoring his request in order to savor her last seconds as Darwin Brazille’s girlfriend.

“The awesome news is that your mom is letting me stay.”

“No way!” Black and white stripes filled the screen as he pulled his computer into a loving embrace. “I knew the twenty-seven
handwritten letters, threats to join the army, and the silent treatment would eventually get through to her.”

Charlie felt like she’d swallowed a mouthful of pink sand. Her eyes welled up and her heart pumped daggers instead of blood.
“Well, don’t get too excited.”

His smile lingered as his eyes deadened. “Whaddaya mean?”

Rip the Band-Aid.
“Darwin, I… we…” Rip it! Her chest tightened like she was wearing a corset laced with guilt. “We have to end this.”

“
Skype
?” Darwin tried, beginning to notice the moving men in the background, filling up boxes and removing every trace of Bee. “What’s
going on over there?”

Charlie took a deep breath. “My mom is leaving. Going back to Manchester. I’m staying to go to school here. I need to be on
my own for a while. To focus on this incredible opportunity. Without distractions. It’s not you, it’s me.” She delivered her
lines stiffly, hoping he’d read between them and understand why she was doing this.

“You’re joking, right?” Darwin punched a plate of heart-shaped muffins. “You have to be. You wouldn’t just do this!”

“I would,” Charlie told her shaking hands. “I have to. You know, for my education.”

Darwin’s features hardened. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.

Charlie knew all his expressions, but she’d never seen this one. This was not the dropped-pizza-cheese-side-down frown, or
the pout when they parted for the night, or the slight bottom lip poke-out that occurred when he was losing a tennis match.
This one was new. It reminded her of that painting
The Scream
they’d seen at the Munch Museum in Oslo, Norway. It horrified and pained her, and she was the artist who’d made it that way.