These Boots Are Made for Stalking (25 page)

“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 J
PEG
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.