Belle of the Brawl (13 page)

“Exactly! Personal shoppers who do a body and style scan and cross-reference it with every store, robot valet services, salons that allow you to virtually shop while you get highlights… sorry, I could go on and on.” Allie looked shyly into Mel’s eyes, but they weren’t bored at all. They were glued on her tighter than the hair extensions she’d gotten for Homecoming last year.

Mel smiled. “It’s great to meet someone as passionate about consumerism as I am.”

Allie nod-smiled. She wished the two of them could take a PAP to the Santa Ana Shopping Plaza right now and wander through it with some Cold Stone Creamery rocky road ripple (two spoons, one waffle cone), critiquing and improving the mall together.

Mel cleared his throat. “Are you going to the Muse Cruise?”

Allie blush-nodded.
Ohmuhgud.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Maybe I should go with you.” Mel stood up, extended
both of his hands, and pulled Allie up as gently as he’d done earlier. “You know, to help you walk.”

Allie nodded, limping closer to Mel as they headed toward campus. And even though Allie was limping, she felt as if she were walking on air.

CENTER FOR THE ARTS
THEATER OF DIONYSUS

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 8TH
6:28 P.M.

“Music—on!” Triple snapped her manicured fingers and the studio’s voice-activated stereo surprised Skye by queuing up “Bad Romance.”

This was it. Skye took a shallow breath and rolled her shoulders back, planting her feet on the rubberized studio floor and relishing the fact that cold water and llama poop were nowhere to be found.

A twitchy grin played on Skye’s glossed lips. She had this. She knew she did. After a week of dancing nonstop to “I Will Survive,” Skye began to dance to the sounds of “Bad Romance” and realized she had absorbed Gloria Gaynor’s message—she would survive Mimi’s challenge.

Skye stayed ahead of the beat, landing every leap, every turn, each hip-thrust to perfection. She didn’t think, she just danced. She didn’t groove to the music, the music grooved to her. Every one of her muscles did what she told it to, and
as she launched into a tricky quadruple spin during her solo, she knew she owned the routine.

Skye froze in her final position, lying on her side, her back arched, her arms raised in a catlike position. Before Triple said a word, Skye already knew they had done it. Her body told her. Her sculpted arms and abs told her. Her rock-hard glutes applauded. She was in tune with her body to a degree she never had been before. And that, she had to admit, was because of Triple’s insane dance boot camp. Skye had been dancing like a maniac all week. She felt lean, tight, and strong. She had never felt more in control of what her body could do. And as Triple’s glossed mouth curved into a Crest Whitestrips smile, Skye smiled back. Her whole body applauded, and now Triple clapped, too. Mimi would be blown away.

“Okay,” Triple murmured, smile-nodding at Skye. For once, Triple sounded proud, not annoyed.

“Okay… what?” Skye prompted, still out of breath from dancing her butt off.

Triple lifted a perfectly plucked brow and shot Skye an amused smile. “Okay, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Come on, Trip. I know it’s hard, but can you say something positive for once? After all, this is your accomplishment, too.”

Triple blush-smiled, assessing Skye with her almond-shaped golden eyes. “It’s perfect. Flawless. Like my hair
today.” She flipped her blow-out over her right shoulder and stroked it like a security blanket.

“Thank God,” Skye said, rolling out of position and onto her back, enjoying the sensation of the cool floor on her sweaty back. “No more boot camp!”

Triple gracefully slid down to the floor, too, elegantly wilting like a calla lily in a vase. “We’re done. I don’t want you pushing it any more today. We’ll just do a light stretching routine every two hours to stay limber and wait for tomorrow to come so you can knock Mimi’s tights off.”

“Enough!” Skye sat up and almost pounced on her model-perfect drill sergeant. “When have you ever had any fun at this school, Trip?” she demanded, crossing her still-sweaty arms.

“Every day is fun,” Triple muttered, folding over her outstretched legs to grab her feet and stretch her calves. “Work is fun. Was it not fun when you stepped in the animal poo? Was it not fun when you nailed the back walkover next to that cactus?”

“Yeah,” Skye said dryly, unable to keep her eyes from rolling. “That was ah-mazing.” Skye grabbed a towel from her dance bag and dabbed at her face. Work is work, she wanted to shout.
Fun
is fun! “We deserve—no, let me rephrase that—we
need
to have some fun.”

“We could paint our nails, I guess,” Triple said, holding up a hand for close inspection of her manicure.

“We
could
,” Skye said, treading carefully, “or we could go on the Muse Cruise.”
There,
she thought. The bomb had been dropped. Now it just had to explode.

Triple shook her head. “Mimi said no.”

“Mimi doesn’t ever have to
know
,” Skye countered, taking care to keep her voice in a non-hysterical register. She had to convince Triple that it was rational, even
sensible
, to go on the cruise. “And she only told us not to because she thought we’d need this time to practice. Well, we practiced until we reached perfection. And science has proven again and again that it’s toxic to do too much work with no reward—”

“
Success
is the reward!” Triple shook her head emphatically, her hair swishing along her shoulders like sea grass. As Skye expected, Triple wasn’t going to have fun without a fight. It was just how the girl was wired.

Skye narrowed her blue eyes and assessed Triple for the millionth time this week, still unable to figure her out. What was it like to never socialize? To eat and sleep and dance like a robot? Skye had a taste of Triple’s militaristic discipline this week, and today, she had a taste of the payoff that came with it. But everyone needed relaxation, didn’t they? Skye scanned her frenemy’s face, marveling at its perfect symmetry and bone structure, highlighted by Trip’s flawless makeup application. Suddenly, she knew how to win her over. She needed to appeal to Triple’s vanity. The girl spent
more time on hair and makeup than Lady Gaga herself—didn’t she want a boy to appreciate it for once?

“You look so pretty today,” sighed Skye. “You would
own
that cruise. With the BB’s on the market, it’s a shame you won’t be there to snag one for yourself.” She let her eyes drift to the window and focused on a pair of finches flirting in the fronds of an acai palm. Even the birds were flirting! Wasn’t it time for Triple to join them?

“I
do
look good today,” Triple conceded quietly. “But I don’t socialize here. I mean, I never have. I wouldn’t know where to start.” Her voice quavered and her eyes stuck to the floor like old chewing gum.

Skye struggled to remain calm, knowing she had begun to reel the elusive diva-fish on her party line. “You showed me how you live this week. Now let me teach you a thing or two.”

Skye grabbed Trip’s hands and pulled her housemate to her feet. Triple had helped Skye perfect her dance moves. Now Skye would repay the favor. She would teach Trip to loosen up, have fun, and put her high cheekbones and perfect hair to their proper use—shameless flirting!

“Come on,” said Skye, smiling with her eyes and aiming every ounce of her considerable charm at Triple.

Triple sighed and looked sideways at Skye. “I can’t believe I’m going along with this. Fine, let’s go. But we can
not
get caught.”

Triple had bitten! Skye’s heart did a quadruple pirouette, and her body followed suit. Finishing her twirl, Skye landed in second position. “I’m good at a few things. One of them is making a splash at parties. Another one is never getting caught.”

Skye grabbed her bag in one hand and Triple’s sculpted bicep in the other, hurrying her out of the studio before she changed her mind.

“You’ll thank me, I promise,” she chirped. For the first time all week, Skye was leading the way. And after Mimi saw her moves, she might even lead the way on the dance floor, too.

JACKIE O
POOL

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 8TH
7:17 P.M.

Like a wild salmon trapped in a goldfish bowl, Allie swam fast and furious laps through the chlorinated water of the Jackie O lap pool. Jutting out from the bottom floor of their dome-shaped domicile, the lap pool was surrounded by curved glass walls that revealed a blazing pink sunset offset by swaying black palm fronds. But not even the postcard-pretty sky could make Allie happy tonight.

In an hour, every Alpha and all the BB’s would set sail in Shira’s faux-cean, enjoying the most inspirational and socially significant event of the semester. Everyone except Allie. She executed a swim-team captain flip when she reached the end of her lap, pushing off the wall of the pool as hard as she could, her arms frustration-flexing out in front of her in an annoyed, aggressive butterfly stroke. She could hardly believe she had resorted to faking sick at a time like this. And all because of her two least favorite letters in the alphabet:
A
and
J
.

Allie checked the wall clock—Mel should be here in fifteen minutes with chicken noodle soup and Scattergories, which meant it was time to get out of the pool, go upstairs, and practice her best sick-person sniffle. Ordinarily, the idea of being nursed back from the brink by a gorgeous boy while playing board games would be right up Allie’s alley, but not tonight. Tonight, she longed to dance under the moon, to sway on the water and show off her newfound connection with Mel. But she couldn’t.

Not after what happened this afternoon.

Allie grabbed the pool’s ladder with two hands and quickly hoisted herself out of the pool, automatically activating the motion-activated warming ray that beamed down from the ceiling. Standing under the red glow as the ray’s toasty air dried her skin and bathing suit, Allie squeezed her navy blue eyes shut. But the image of AJ rehearsing for the Muse Cruise stayed as vivid as if it were still happening.

Just a couple of hours ago, Allie had walked out of the theater arts mask after rehearsing a monologue with Careen. Still in character and whispering her lines as she walked, she nearly crashed into AJ, who was using the atrium of the mask as a rehearsal space. She was there with Tameeka Sands, her greenest groupie and number-one fan. Rushing past AJ and pretending to leave, Allie had darted behind a fern to listen in. AJ was finishing up singing another new
song, and just like the others, it was all about Allie. The last two lines dug into Allie like the claws of a cat, ripping her good mood to shreds.

Here’s a role you may want to play, try acting like yourself one day

Kissing you sets boys’ lips on fire, nothing burns more than kissing a liar!

Tameeka clapped and whistled. “Nice! I love it,” she gushed.

“I’ve turned my identity theft experience into a song cycle,” AJ bragged breathlessly to Tameeka. “I almost have enough for my next album.”

So
that
was why AJ was so obsessed with Allie!
Identity Theft
was going to give her another platinum record! Allie fumed, her hands shaking with anger and frustration as she cowered behind the fern.

Tameeka flipped her braids from one shoulder to the other. “We’re all victims, if you think about it. We’re all trying to steal our identities back from corporate media and stuff.”

AJ adjusted her tam, nodding at Tameeka without really hearing her. “Uh-huh. I think this new track will sound great on the cruise.”

Say what?!

Allie’s heart throbbed, going from dismayed irritation into full-blown panic. If Mel heard AJ’s song cycle, he would change his mind about Allie for sure. Somehow, even the silliest sentiments were convincing when set to a strumming guitar. Mel would hum along. He’d wake up the next day singing AJ’s lame lyrics. Then he would set Allie aside like she was algebra homework on a sunny day.

So Allie had done the only thing she could to make sure Mel would never hear AJ’s slanderous singing. She’d faked a sore throat and texted Mel with the bad news, asking him if he could come take care of her. Luckily, he’d agreed.

Her hair ninety percent dry, Allie headed up the spiral staircase and into the Jackie O bedroom. After throwing on a shiny set of gold pj’s, she crawled into her bed and assumed the illin’ position. Under three blankets and propped up on five pillows, Allie turned to stare moodily at AJ’s bed, just two beds away from her own. It was unmade, with bunched-up blankets swirled in a pile in the center, its edges messily strewn with clothes and bottles of high-end organic moisturizer. Allie unwrapped her comforter and stood up, suddenly filled with righteous annoyance.
If you want to clean the planet, maybe you should start with your bed!

Allie couldn’t stand looking at AJ’s disorganized mess another second. If she was stuck home all night, at least she could be stuck in a clean room. Shaking her head at the injustice of tidying up her enemy’s gross stuff, Allie headed
toward AJ’s bed and started picking up after the singing slob.

“Eeek!” Allie shrieked in terror.

AJ’s comforter had moved! Did AJ have mice? Had she adopted a wild ferret and left it to fester in her bed while she went on the Muse Cruise? Allie didn’t want to find out, but she couldn’t just let vermin hang out two beds away from her. She gingerly pinched the edge of the covers between two fingers and quickly peeled it back from AJ’s mascara and foundation–smeared sheets.

“Oh! Sorry!” Allie put her hand to her mouth and dropped the covers—underneath them was no ferret. It was AJ herself, curled up in a tight ball, and looking even paler than usual. “I thought you were vermin.”

“Ugghh,” AJ groaned, pulling the comforter down around her neck. Her face was damp with sweat and whiter than Casper the Friendly Ghost. “I have brutal cramps. I can’t move.” AJ’s forest-green eyes focused on Allie’s and filled with tears, sending an unwelcome twinge of sympathy through her stomach.

Allie flashed AJ a pity-frown and furrowed her forehead as if she was deeply concerned for the songstress’ welfare. “That sucks, AJ. What about the cruise?” She gave herself an internal round of applause for playing the role of concerned roomie to perfection.