Belle of the Brawl Page 10

  “Ooof!” She gasped feebly for air. The fall had knocked the wind out of her. She tried to roll over, but found that she didn’t have the strength. Allie felt like a giant beetle between two windowpanes—helpless and highly unattractive. She put her arms under her head and moaned into them, wondering where her aPod was and if her injuries were serious enough to warrant a medi-copter to take her off the island. If there was any chance of a chin scar, Allie would demand plastic surgery. Her chin—neither too pointy nor too square—was one of her best features!

  With her eyes still closed, Allie realized the ringing in her ears had been replaced by the sound of footsteps. Darwin! Not moving a muscle, Allie began to moan louder, suppressing a relieved smile. It wasn’t too late to put her rescued-puppy plan back into action.

  The footsteps got closer, and moments later two fingers gently pressed against her neck, taking her pulse. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and turned her around onto her back. Giddy with the romance of the moment, Allie opened her eyes, ready to blurt out a shaken thanks to Darwin for rescuing her. But the boy crouched above her was enshrouded in shadows, his outline backlit by the klieg lights.

  Allie blinked hard, suddenly not even sure it was Darwin at all. He was more muscular than usual, and he smelled musky, manly—closer to Dior Homme than cinnamon.

  “Thanks,” she managed to squeak.

  “Are you okay?”

  Mel!

  “I… I think so.”

  “Let’s see if you can sit up.”

  Allie should have been devastated. Darwin not saving her meant her fall was pointless. Strangely, though, Darwin had all but vanished from her mind.

  Mel put his warm hands back on her shoulders and gently helped her up to a seated position. Allie stared into his violet eyes, where she could see her own reflection, suddenly mesmerized by how adorable the boy in front of her was. How competent and mature, and just plain hawt. How could she have dissed him after writing class today? What had she been thinking?

  “I’m, um, sorry I ran off earlier today,” Allie blurted. “I had a lot on my mind.”

  “It’s cool,” Mel murmured. “You’re focused on your acting now. That’s awesome.”

  Now Allie might not need to act the part. Looking at Mel, it suddenly seemed as if they were already linked somehow.

  Mel cringed as he noticed her knee. “That’s pretty deep,” he said.

  Allie looked down at the bloody wound and shrugged. She couldn’t feel any pain whatsoever, just a warm tingle of attraction for her mega-hot savior.

  “I wish I had some Purell to clean it out.” Mel sighed, patting his pockets. “I left mine at home.”

  “I have some,” said Allie, her heart melting further over their mutual germaphobia. “I never leave home without it.”

  She dug her Purell bottle out of the tiny pocket in the hip of the running suit, and Mel smiled. Not just with his mouth, but with his eyes.

  “Great minds think alike,” he said, squirting some on his hands and then into Allie’s cut. “This might sting a little.”

  “I’m tough,” she whispered. And for once, she actually believed it. Mel’s square jaw clenched adorably as he concentrated on cleaning her cut knee.

  Suddenly remembering her own chin, Allie reached up and patted it with her hand. She brought her fingers in front of her eyes and saw that there was blood there. “Uh-oh,” she whispered, her stomach clenching at the thought of facial disfigurement. Why hadn’t Mel mentioned the cut on her face? It must be so awful that he didn’t want to bring it up.

  “You have a tiny scrape on your chin,” Mel said as if reading her mind. “It’s nothing. Probably be gone by morning. You can still model, don’t worry.” He smiled at Allie, exposing a row of teeth so white that in the moonlight they almost looked blue.

  “Thanks,” breathed Allie. “I mean, I don’t want to model anymore. But I do hope to act.”

  “I’m not modeling anymore either,” Mel said. “Too boring.” Though his abs were swathed in the thick cotton of his workout hoodie, Allie could tell by his posture Mel still sported a six-pack. Maybe even an eight-pack. “My ultimate goal is to open a mall that’s better and bigger than the Mall of America.” Mel flipped his blond hair out of his eyes and grinned at Allie.

  “I’ve been wishing for a more futuristic mall for years!” Allie squealed, leaning in closer to Mel and getting another whiff of his musky, yummy cologne. “Bigger than the Glendale Galleria, and with more attractions. The time has come.”

  “Roller coasters, moving sidewalks, a laser light show and planetarium that’s woven seamlessly into the shopping experience… ,” Mel listed, nodding at Allie.

  “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.

  19

  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 cannot 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.

  20

  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.”

  A
J 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.