Belle of the Brawl Read online

  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.

  4

  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 hoverd
isc, 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.

  “These two Alphas, both invention majors”—Shira swept her bling-encrusted hand toward both girls before continuing—“took a very big risk. They teamed up to create SeeVD’s—sunglasses that play movies. The lenses act as mini-LCD screens, and if used correctly might bring humans one step closer to perfect fusion with technology. I love risk-takers. That’s why you’re all here—to take risks! Risks move society forward. They advance our species.”

  Get to the point, Shira.

  Singh and Saylene’s smiles were wide enough to park a yacht as they stood onstage, awkwardly receiving Shira’s gushing praise.

  “But.” Shira’s expression hardened. Her smile flattened into a thin line. “They made a careless error. The lenses were not properly coated, and they singed the girls’ eyelashes off.”

  Ah-ha! Skye snuck a look at Allie and they both struggled to suppress nervous giggles at the horrible explanation for the girls’ shades.

  Shira cleared her throat. “And then, what did they do? Did these two promising Alphas start afresh, with a renewed enthusiasm?”

  Skye stared at her cuticles.

  “NO.” Shira hate-stared at Singh and Saylene like they were cockroaches and she was about to unleash a bug bomb. The smiles disappeared from their faces. “They cried. Just like they are doing now.” Shira waved her arms wildly, reminding Skye of the monkey bats in The Wizard of Oz. The two girls onstage started shaking and began to wipe away silent tears streaming down their cheeks.

  “So… that’s all?” Skye leaned over and whispered to Charlie, raising her white eyebrows.

  Charlie gave Skye a knowing look. “Shira hates crying. She thinks it’s weak.”

  The mogul went on. “Crying is a waste of good mascara. Failure should make you try, not cry. And therefore, Singh and Saylene, I am afraid I must ask you to pack your bags and board your Personal Alpha Planes. You are both going home.”

  “But Shira!” The Texan took off her sunglasses and revealed red, puffy eyelids the size of kneecaps. Ew! The room inhaled in a collective gasp.

  “No buts. You no longer qualify as Alphas. Therefore, you no longer belong here.”

  As the crowed erupted in shocked whispers and girls began adding two more names to the growing list in their aPods of girls who’d been kicked out of the Academy, the two half-blind IM’s shame-shuffled out of the room.

  Shira continued once the commotion died down: “The only person I’ve ever heard cry for a good reason is my special, sensitive, poetic son Sydney. And thanks to a very special Alpha in the making, that’s become a thing of the past, too.”

  Ohmuhgud. Skye’s heart began to beat faster than a Cascada song. She pulled her metallic silver hoodie up over her hair, wishing she could disappear. But a cotton-Lycra hood was no match for a Shira-induced spotlight.

  “And because my son is happy for the first time in his life, I have decided to let him continue associating with this very special girl.”

  Oh please no. Skye squeezed her turquoise eyes shut, her ears tingling with mortification-anticipation. When the entire assembly discovered she was Syd’s girlfriend, her reputation would be ground into dust. She would be known as Puffs the Magic Tissue for the rest of the year!

  But shutting her eyes couldn’t stop the impending shout-out any more than Dorothy could stop the tornado from ripping her out of Kansas. “Skye Hamilton, please stand.”

  A hot shame-blush crept up her neck. Skye clung pathetically to her egg chair as if it could keep her from drowning in the floodwaters of embarrassment. Slowly, she pulled her hood down and rose out of her seat, pasting a fake smile on her bright red face.

  Skye normally loved an opportunity to have all eyes on her, but not this time. She turned toward the back of the room, where Syd stood, applauding, his skinny jeans and frayed gray T-shirt, messy brown-black hair, and brooding good looks not obscuring the fact that he was beaming at her like a new bride.

  Skye waved feebly at him, cringing inwardly as he pursed his lips into an air-kiss. She looked at Taz, whose bright blue eyes were as vacant as a haunted motel. He looked up and caught Skye’s gaze for a second, raising one eyebrow as his mouth twisted into a mocking smirk. But before Skye could communicate anything in return, he looked back down at his phone.

  It’s not what you think! Skye wanted to shout. She wished she could explain, but she was trapped between a jock and a soft place.

  “Skye Hamilton is a great example of how to have a relationship with a boy without sacrificing your ambitions. Instead of rubbing noses with my son all weekend, she was hard at work in the dance studio, keeping her toes—and her priorities—in line.”

  Can I sit now?

  “And because of Skye, I am lifting the ban.”

  Huh?

  Every row in the auditorium rippled like sea grass as the eighty-odd remaining Alphas tried to figure out what Shira’s announcement meant. The ban on parental phone calls? The ban on pop culture from the world beyond Alpha Island? The ban on non-reflective clothing? Skye seized the confusion as an opportunity to sit, curling into her egg chair and waiting for Shira to clarify.

  “From this moment forward, consider the ban on the Brazille Boys lifted. You may”—Shira wrung her hands, searching for the right word. “You may socialize with my sons outside of class.”

  Ohmuhgud!

  The cylindrical room erupted with scream-claps. Everywhere Skye looked, she saw smiling Alphas shrieking, giggling, and bouncing out of their seats with excitement. Skye looked at Charlie and Allie, but both of them sat silently.

  “But!” Shira boomed, quieting the hysterical crowd in the bleachers. “Anyone who puts the pursuit of a boy before her studies will be sent home. A true Alpha knows that boys are toys—only to be played with after the important things are done. G’night, lollies. And remember, I’ll be watching you. If you stick to your studies, you’ll all enjoy the privilege of attending an inspirational evening organized by your muses on the Brazille Industries cruise ship. October eighth—mark your calendars!”

  At that, the panel on the stage slid open again and Shira descended into the island’s rabbit warren–like network of interconnected underground tunnels.

  Skye shot her aquamarine eyes over the hysterical heads of her fellow Alphas and searched the back row. Syd was already headed her way. Dingo ran toward the door, looking terrified as a gaggle of giggling girls chanted his name and ran after him.

  “What’s up, ladies?” Taz opened his gym-perfect arms wide and showed more teeth than a great white shark. In seconds, a swarm of girls surrounded him.

  Ugh!

  It was times like this when Skye wished she could ask her mother, famous Russian ballerina Natasha Flailenkoff, for advice. But Shira forbade all phone calls to the outside. The one piece of her mother Skye carried with her to the Academy was her HAD (hopes and dreams) slipper, a purple satin toe shoe that Natasha said would bring her luck. So far, Skye had written down ten HADs on ti
ny scraps of paper and kept them stashed inside the toe shoe’s secret compartment.

  Skye sighed as Syd made his way toward her through the excited crowd of girls. Unlike his brother, he was a one-woman kind of guy. And soon, she sighed inwardly, he would be hanging by her side like a limp sleeve.

  HAD No. 11: Find a way to be sleeveless by next weekend.

  5

  JACKIE O

  BATHROOM

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 26TH

  8:02 P.M.

  Standing next to Charlie, whose Sultan Sea Mud Mask had dried to make her face look like ancient pottery, Allie stared glumly at her pores in the bathroom mirror. Now that she’d ditched her skunky black hair and skanky green contacts, the beauty she’d always taken for granted stared back at her. But if she looked so good, why was Darwin avoiding her?

  Chewing her lower lip, Allie stuck her head into the face-shaped indentation on the vanity mirror and waited for it to take a bio-scan of her pores. Seconds later, a British voice said, “Now dispensing vitamin C scrub with algae crystals. Apply in circular strokes over T-zone.”

  Allie put her hands beneath a small A-shaped plastic spout and caught a big poof of cleanser. It looked like blue Cool Whip. As she massaged it in little circles over her face, Skye and Triple Threat (her threats being dancer, model, and actress, her real name being Andrea, and her presence being reliably annoying) walked in.

  Triple was going on about Skye’s party-girl ways finally paying off, but Skye didn’t seem to agree.

  “Tell her, Claymation,” Triple lunged into a deep hamstring stretch and thrust her strong jaw toward Charlie, winking one golden, almond-shaped eye.

  “Tellerwhat?” Charlie asked, the mask causing her to slur each word together.

  “How she’s like the Neil Armstrong of this school! One giant step for womankind.” Triple smirk-smiled at Skye. “Not that I’m walking on the moon, mind you. Boys are a bad idea for those of us who are truly destined for greatness.”