Movers and Fakers Page 6

  Allie shivered in the dark shadow she’d cast over the Jackie O’s. Her lie had seemed so insignificant in her bedroom in Santa Ana—what was one little initial?—but with time it had grown bigger than Godzilla. Yet now she felt smaller than a grain of sand. She shrank into herself even more as she watched Charlie and Skye stand up and walk out of the room together arm in arm, brushing silently past Alphas trying to milk them for information about how Allie could have gotten away with this.

  The Oprahs to Allie’s right and the Michelle Obamas to her left were whispering and laughing, and every few seconds she heard the beep of an aPod as the Alphas processed the scandal via text. Out of the remaining eighty-seven girls, only Allie J looked at her with a neutral expression.

  “I’m, like, so flattered by how much you wanted to be me,” she said over the throng of Alphas that surrounded her.

  Her aPod beeped, and Allie’s insides clenched in anticipation.

  The sender was anonymous.

  Q: How many Allie J’s does it take to change a lightbulb?

  A: Three: One to change it, one to write a song about it, and one imposter to take all the credit.

  Allie turned off her phone and took a long, shaky breath, wondering what would become of her now. She couldn’t go home, not after Shira had given her a second chance. But how could she possibly stay here?

  As her tear-filled eyes traveled from one disdainful face to another, Allie felt like nuclear waste. Unwanted, untouchable, and ugly.

  If this was what Shira meant by facing the music, Allie never wanted to hear this song again.

  7

  THE PAVILION

  GREAT LAWN

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21ST

  10:36 P.M.

  “I can’t believe this!” Skye fumed. “I thought we could trust her.”

  She and Charlie had joined the stampede of Alphas spilling out onto the lawn in front of the Pavilion, and Skye had begun to twirl back and forth between two planters filled with wildflowers, processing Allie’s shocking revelation with her limbs as much as with her brain.

  Charlie sighed, feeling a little dizzy from watching Skye. “I thought I was really getting to know her. What a joke.”

  “I mean, it’s one thing to lie about little things, like someone’s outfit not making them look fat or someone’s boyfriend not being a potential contestant on Beauty and the Geek. But this! This is beyond. This is sick.” Skye stopped spinning and stared straight into Charlie’s red-rimmed eyes. Both of them had shed a few bitter tears in the auditorium during Allie’s unmasking.

  Charlie looked past the milling throng of Alphas and spotted Darwin standing in the shadows of a palm grove just on the outskirts of the patio. He was staring up at something, apparently studying a bunch of coconuts. Just then, Allie burst through the Pavilion doors and ran past Skye and Charlie, flinching as if she thought they might hit her. Her path was arrow straight, her target Darwin.

  “That’s gonna get ugly,” muttered Charlie. If there was one thing she knew, it was that nothing made Darwin angrier than being lied to. She thought back to the week they spent in Alexandria, Egypt, two years ago. Shira was doing a special on Cleopatra as the first feminist, and everywhere Shira went, they followed. Charlie and Syd had punked Darwin, wrapping Mel in bandages and having him pop up from behind a tomb in one of the pyramids. When he’d found out Charlie was involved, he’d looked into her eyes and asked her never to lie to him again. “Some guys are cool with less than one hundred percent honesty,” he’d said. “I’m not one of them.”

  Charlie’s stomach gurgled with guilt. She had promised she would never lie to him again, and look at her now. Darwin had no idea that she’d traded their relationship for the chance to share the same high school. And as if that weren’t bad enough, she’d encouraged him to be with a girl who made The Hills look like PBS NewsHour.

  Allie was in front of him now, trying to embrace him in the shadows of the palm trees, but Darwin shook her off. His face twisted in a mask of anger and hurt; Darwin waved his hand in the direction of Shira’s compound. The other hand pointed emphatically in the direction of the dorms. A few seconds later, Allie backed away from him and ran toward the beach, looking like Shakespeare’s Juliet moments before desperately drinking poison.

  I know that feeling. Charlie shuddered, remembering the soul-ripping sensation of ending things with Darwin.

  As Allie disappeared down the pebble path toward the dorms and Skye began to launch into another rant about liars, schemers, and poseurs throughout history, Charlie’s aPod beeped.

  SHIRA: I NEED TO SEE YOU ASAP. TAKE THE TRAIN TO THE RESIDENCE.

  What now? Charlie stood staring down at her phone, the now-familiar sensation of Shira-phobia constricting her lungs. Was she getting busted after all?

  Ping!

  SHIRA: NOW!

  Alpha Island’s translucent train hissed to a vibrating halt in front of her. Everyone called it the bubble train, since it looked like a giant string of Marge Simpson–style pearls, a line of bubble compartments connected by thin white tubes. The door to a car whooshed open and a recording of Bee’s soothing British voice said, “Welcome aboard, Charlie.”

  Thanks, Mom, Charlie thought-answered back. Wish you were here.

  “You. Of course. Perfect.”

  Charlie jumped, slamming her head against the top of the door frame in surprise. Darwin was slouched in the corner of the car, looking at Charlie like she was a plate of food left out overnight—definitely gross, possibly salmonella spreading. A cinnamon-scented toothpick dangled from his pursed lips.

  “Ouch!” Charlie rubbed her head. “You scared me!”

  “Whoops,” muttered Darwin, staring out the window at the line of Joshua trees on the other side of the train.

  “I’m not following you,” Charlie said, doing her best to ignore his tone. She clambered aboard before the train left without her. “Your mom wants to see me.”

  The only place to sit was next to Darwin, and Charlie pressed herself against the wall of the car to make sure there was an inch of empty space between them. Before their breakup, the seat would have seemed too big for them. Now, the heat vibrating off his body felt like a warning.

  As the train snaked through the campus, the short ride began to feel like an eternity. A pang of longing shot through Charlie, but she took a deep breath and mentally slapped it down. Would there ever be a time when seeing Darwin wouldn’t make her wonder how she could have given him up?

  “I don’t trust one single girl on this island. You’re all trustbusters. Faking your identities, spying for my mom…” He trailed off, looking out the window at the tangled forest, as impenetrable as the barrier between them.

  “I’m not actually spying for your mom,” she snapped, taking his poisonous bait. “I can’t believe you would actually think that.”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he said, pulling out his phone and examining the time.

  Charlie clamped her mouth shut and sat on her hands, worried that if she lost track of them she would try to touch his shoulder or run her fingers over the floppy light brown waves of his hair. She couldn’t nurse him through Allie’s betrayal, not when she’d worked so hard to help the two of them get together. And even though she wanted to tell him the truth about everything, about the breakup, about Shira forcing it on her in exchange for allowing her the chance to become an Alpha, she knew she couldn’t. She made a silent pledge to herself: From now on, the only Brazille she was going to kiss was Shira’s butt. Otherwise, what was the point of any of this?

  Just then, the bubble train doors whooshed open and Bee’s voice announced their destination. Wish me luck, Mom. Charlie followed Darwin up the walkway to the back entrance, a sliding glass door that led into the kitchen. She stared dejectedly at the backs of his blue Converse, worn thin at the heels. He slid the door open so roughly she thought for a second it might slide off its hinges and shatter into a million
pieces, but it stayed on its track.

  Just like I’m going to do.

  Charlie walked into the kitchen and waited there uncertainly. She wasn’t about to follow Darwin, who ran upstairs without even saying good-bye.

  8

  JACKIE O

  SKYE’S BED

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21ST

  11:01 P.M.

  Sacrificing her beauty sleep for boys, Skye lifted up the comforter she was hiding under in order to get some air and to make sure the sound of her thumbs furiously tapping the keyboard of her aPod hadn’t woken anyone. Charlie was gone, and Allie’s bed was still empty. After the assembly and her humiliating public breakup with Darwin, Allie hadn’t bothered to come back to Jackie O. Skye wondered if she ever would. People could survive on tropical islands by catching fish and sleeping in caves. After what Allie had already pulled off, anything seemed possible. Then again, maybe Allie was somewhere begging Shira to be sent home. Skye didn’t know which was worse: going home defeated or staying here and being hated.

  To Skye’s left, Triple Threat drooled on her pillow, enjoying the infuriatingly deep sleep of the guiltless and the shallow. Skye could detect a half smile twitching intermittently on Triple’s lips. And next to Triple lay the newest member of the Jackie O house.

  The real Allie J.

  To avoid any more confusion between herself and Allie the Imposter, she had asked that everyone call her AJ. She sung-snored in her sleep, her small, pale frame splayed out diagonally on her canopied bed. Skye narrowed her aquamarine eyes and studied AJ’s face. She couldn’t decide if the sing-snoring was cute or annoying.

  Not my problem, she reminded herself, swiveling her head back and forth until her vertebrae popped. She needed to keep her friends close, her enemies closer, and the boys right where she wanted them—in the palm of her hand.

  Grinning, she dove back under her comforter to continue her text-a-thon with Taz and Syd. If Vegas knew how well she juggled boys, she’d be asked to star in Cirque du Soleil. Neither brother knew about the other, and Skye planned to keep it that way.

  Skye: I have some questions. R U ready?

  Taz: Bring it awn!

  Syd: I’m an open book.

  Skye wished she had some friends around to figure out which Brazille was “the one.” But in the absence of besties, she had come up with a questionnaire to help her decide. It was like a text-only version of that old show The Dating Game, only without the seventies’ feathered haircuts and campy theme music.

  Q: Which flavor of ice cream describes you best?

  Taz: Nutty Coconut

  Syd: Passion Fruit

  Skye: Berry Berry Extraordinary

  Q: What popular TV show title best describes your life?

  Taz: The Young and the Restless

  Syd: Family Guy

  Skye: Lost

  Q: Name three things you would take with you to a deserted island.

  Taz: Fifty friends, an amazing stereo system, and a fully stocked yacht!

  Syd: A notebook, a pen, and you.

  Skye: Music and someone to dance with. And lip gloss.

  Q: What’s the craziest thing you ever did?

  Taz: Skateboarded for twenty minutes on the Great Wall of China before I got arrested by the Chinese police.

  Syd: I rewrote the end of one of Salman Rushdie’s novels and sent it to him. He wrote back and said he liked it….

  Skye: Coming to Alpha Academy!

  Q: What’s your favorite quality in a girl?

  Taz: Spontaneity

  Syd: Passion

  Skye: Loyalty

  Q: What’s your favorite quality in a guy?

  Taz: Adventurousness

  Syd: Humility

  Skye: Hotness? Kidding!

  Q: If you had $100 to spend on our date, how would you spend it?

  Taz: Trapeze lessons.

  Syd: I’d hand it to you and watch you spend it.

  Skye: An underground dance troupe performance followed by an after party somewhere exclusive!

  Q: What celeb do people say you look like?

  Taz: Robert Pattinson!

  Syd: I’m an original.

  Skye: Taylor Swift. It’s the hair.

  Q: Least favorite quality in a girl?

  Taz: Shyness

  Syd: Apathy

  Skye: Fakeness

  Q: Biggest fear?

  Taz: Death

  Syd: Public speaking

  Skye: Not making it as a dancer. And your mom!

  Q: Where do you see yourself in ten years?

  Taz: Breaking the world record for motorcycling across the continent of Africa, running a multibillion-dollar corporation, and throwing great parties with the girl of my dreams.

  Syd: Winning the Pulitzer Prize for my novel and running a nonprofit dedicated to promoting world peace.

  Skye: I don’t even know where I see myself in ten minutes.

  As the texts accumulated, Skye’s aPod went from pleasantly warm to hazardously hot and her heart followed suit. First she was confused, but now she was positively flummoxed. Which Brazille brother was right for her? Choosing between them was like flipping channels between The Hills and Gossip Girl, like being asked to dance by Fred Astaire and Mikhail Baryshnikov simultaneously. She wanted them both, just not at the same time! The two brothers appealed to the two sides of her personality: Taz was the ultimate party guy, the guy all the girls wanted, the one that would make Skye feel glamorous, popular, and like her life was one long adventure, full of risk and packed with fun. Syd was passionate, devoted, and romantic. He had watched all of Skye’s dance videos on YouTube and told Skye he was mesmerized by the way she made the routines her own. He made her feel like a misunderstood genius, like she shouldn’t give up on her dream because quitting dance would deprive the world of something it needed.

  Skye couldn’t decide who was right or which Skye was the real her. Her inner devil and her inner angel were at war, and right now she wasn’t sure who was winning. How to choose the better boyfriend? Skye suddenly longed to sit across from her mother in their Westchester kitchen, hashing it out over steaming cups of tea and a plate of butter cookies. Once the prima ballerina for the Bolshoi Ballet, Natasha Flailenkoff had had more boys after her than Megan Fox. But Skye’s mother was nearly three thousand miles away.

  Skye sighed, turning on her side to do a few pilates leg lifts for inspiration. The Dating Game comparison quiz wasn’t conclusive enough for such a huge decision. And even two real dates wouldn’t help, since Skye forgot all about one boy when she was with the other. If only there was a way to get everyone in the same room at the same time…. Aha! Skye paused mid–leg lift, her right toe pointed toward the Little Dipper. That was it!

  She cracked her thumb knuckles and typed.

  Skye: Party @ the dance studio Wednesday nite after lights-out. You in?

  Taz: In there like swimwear!

  Syd: Can’t wait to see you dance in person.

  Yay! Skye loved her idea, and she loved that they loved it. Friday night, she would take advantage of the broken cameras and create fun from thin air, starring as the hostess with the most-ess and taking her pick between two hotties. Let the best Brazille win. She smiled, signing off with a good-night air kiss for both.

  She stuck her aPod in its charging dock and curled up in bed, flexing and bending her tired fingers. The stars twinkled at her through the curved glass ceiling above her bed, and the even breathing of her bunk-mates now seemed peaceful instead of irritating. The last thing she saw before closing her eyes was Natasha’s HAD slipper, gleaming in the moonlight like a secret promise.

  Skye reached toward her nightstand and fingered the frayed satin edge of the lavender toe shoe. Maybe it couldn’t bring her success in dance, but at least it might help her snag a boyfriend.

  Let Triple be the ballerina bun-head, Skye thought as she let herself drift off. The only buns she was interested in ri
ght now belonged to Taz and Syd.

  9

  THE BRAZILLE RESIDENCE

  KITCHEN

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21ST

  11:07 P.M.

  “Charlie!” Shira whispered in an uncharacteristically frantic tone. “Is that you?”

  Charlie’s stomach sank as she looked around, trying to source the location of Shira’s voice. She saw immaculate Italian marble countertops, two ovens large enough to roast a pig in, and a spotless stainless steel fridge.

  “Shira?” she called.

  “In here!” a voice called from behind the narrow door to the pantry. A veiny hand wearing Shira’s Australian opal cocktail ring reached out from the crack in the door and motioned her in.

  A sliver of light fell over Shira’s face, and it had panic written all over it. “I’m telling you this with the expectation of the utmost secrecy, Charlie. The cameras are down. They have been down for hours. I’ve been on the phone with Steve Jobs, with Bill Gates, with CompuServe, and the president of Geek Squad.” As Shira talked, Charlie studied the stacks of cans behind her: Vegemite, Marmite, Nutella, tuna belly, lychee nuts, mandarin orange segments, Vienna sausages, Spam, water chestnuts, caviar, pickled plums—Shira’s household could survive for at least a year solely on international oddities and fifties throwbacks.

  “No one can help me over the phone, and it seems they’re all currently aiding the CIA with a potential national disaster. Therefore—” Shira paused, sounding extremely put out. Charlie brought her focus from the Marmite back to Shira’s face.

  “Therefore, Chah-lie. Your eyes and ears are needed, Lolly. Now more than ever. I need to be informed of who obeys the rules of the Academy and who does not. Capice?”

  “Okay, but—”

  “God, I’m in need of a massage. I gave Jorge the week off, and my neck is so tight, Charlie, you cannot imagine the stress.”

  You’re stressed?!? Charlie wanted to scream, clenching her jaw. Try living through what you’ve forced me into! All of Charlie’s loneliness, all of her lies—everything was the fault of the woman cowering before her in the pantry. Her mother leaving for England and giving up the job that sustained her for thirteen years? Shira’s fault. Charlie having to choose between dumping Darwin or moving three thousand miles away from him? Shira’s fault. And now things had gotten so twisted that Charlie had risked everything to help her friend (who was a total fake) get together with her ex (who, if she went by today, was now a total jerk). Her head was about to explode from the stress.