“Thanks for everything,” Charlie said, her eyes a little teary. “We had the time of our lives with you.”
Skye felt a lump forming in her throat. The WGs were awesome; she didn’t want to say goodbye. She grabbed Ember, who’d guided her through the river and taught her how to repel down a cliff, and placed her hands on either side of her freckled, made-over face. “Bye, Ember. You’re totally ah-mazing. Thank you for everything!” she cried, her voice thick with emotion.
“We’ll look you up as soon as this is over,” Charlie assured the three WGs as they practically shoved her toward the Pavilion. “See you in the real world—”
“Enough,” Mountain yell-smiled. “Go! Win this thing.” She winked and waved them forward.
So the Jackie O’s began to run. And all Skye could hear was the pounding of three sets of WG-imprinted pink combat boots on the gravel. The flowery smell of the island’s wild plumeria engulfed her and giant ferns thwacked at her shoulders and her furiously pumping arms as she sprinted toward to the Pavilion. Up ahead, the bris-soleil shades began to open up on the tall metallic building like the wings of a phoenix, as if welcoming them home.
Which meant someone was inside.
The pounding of Skye’s footfalls was so rhythmic, so loud, that it seemed to almost be a chant, as if her feet were ordering her to keep going. Win this thing. Win this thing. Win. This. Thing.
Sprinting alongside Charlie and Allie, Skye knew one thing for sure: She wanted this more than anything else in the world. And maybe wanting something badly enough was worth something.
Skye’s mind raced as her lungs burned from exertion. AJ couldn’t possibly want this as much as Skye did. The girl had already gone platinum as a singer. Twice. And besides, AJ had sabotaged them. She refused to believe that dirty tricks could lead to a win. Not when the stakes were this high. Skye’s internal chant grew more focused as her breathing became more labored. Beat AJ! Beat AJ! Beat AJ!
Suddenly, the round doors of the Pavilion—bordered on both sides with fluorescent orange and pink flowers in ALPHAS-shaped beds—were twenty, then ten, then five feet away. A foot ahead of them now, Charlie turned around and flashed Skye and Allie a wild-eyed grin.
They were close enough to taste victory.
“I want all three of us to win this,” Charlie panted. “We need to arrive as a singular unit.”
Charlie’s hands shot outward. Skye took one and Allie took the other. Skye’s heart began a Janelle Monáe tap-inspired dance sequence in her chest. She took a gasping breath, exhaling as the three O’s barreled through the doors together, their smiles wide enough to show the world every one of their Whitestrip-enhanced teeth.
Together, they were the embodiment of teamwork, of triumph, of Alpha.
Bursting through the doors of the theater, Skye’s high-wattage smile fizzled to a power-outage pout. The perfectly circular room was empty and dark. Except for one person sitting calmly in the center of the round stage under the glare of a single spotlight.
It wasn’t AJ waiting for them.
It was Shira.
The bossy Aussie’s blood-red lips formed a tight smile, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised above her trademark black sunglasses in silent greeting. Her Pilates-toned butt perched atop a hoverdisc, and she sat with her legs primly crossed, her patent-leather Prada pumps dangling just a few inches above the floor.
Skye’s heart sank as she skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs. Shira had returned to Alpha Island to end this crazy competition once and for all. But the dark, lonely theater told Skye everything she needed to know—they were too late, and they had lost the race. AJ had beaten them back after all, and now it was execution time.
Skye blinked back angry tears as her eyes searched the empty bleachers in vain for a muse rolling her monogrammed suitcase.
Charlie’s hand squeezed hers, but it wasn’t enough to quell Skye’s disappointment. Nothing would be. Not for a long time. In fact, not ever.
“G’day, lollies,” Shira purred, breaking the horrible silence of the theater. She hopped off her hoverdisc and planted her stilettos on the shiny white stage, placing her pale hands on either side of her slender waist. She wore a long black dress that shone in the spotlight like wet asphalt.
“Hello,” Charlie squeaked.
“Hello,” Allie whispered.
“Hi,” Skye managed. Her mouth was dryer than the desert she’d just flown out of.
“Did you have a nice flight?” Shira asked, as though making small talk over tea.
Three sets of khaki-shirted shoulders shrugged nervously in response.
Let’s get this over with. Skye straightened her posture, sticking out her B-cups in preparation for her execution.
“Never mind. Let’s get to it, shall we? Over the past few weeks, each of you had tried your very best to distinguish yourself as a leader. But the truth is, there can only be one true Alpha.”
Spit it out!
“And it isn’t AJ.”
Skye’s mouth fell open into a shocked oval.
Not AJ? Then who?
She choked back a sigh that teetered on a sob, wishing Shira would just get to the point.
Out of the corner of her eye, Skye thought she saw something flickering in the darkened rows of empty audience seats behind Shira. She blinked hard and looked again, but the flicker was gone.
Maybe she had sun poisoning from her desert adventure after all. Not that it mattered now, at the end of the game. She’d have plenty of time to recuperate back in Westchester.
“You. The one and only Alpha is you,” Charlie whispered, her brown eyes drilling angry holes in Shira’s head. Skye’s breath caught in her throat. Of course. A single tear fell down Charlie’s pink cheek, as if punctuating the end of her sentence. “And this was all for nothing.”
“Chah-lie, you were always so smart,” Shira smile-hissed. “But you’re only half right. The only Alpha left on this island is me.”
“But this wasn’t all for nothing,” Allie mused, trying to figure out the puzzle, since the Aussie wasn’t talking. “Because we learned to follow our passions and believe in ourselves?” Allie’s voice dripped with tired clichés and sarcasm as she anticipated the lame speech that was sure to come next.
Skye stared at Shira, waiting for an answer she didn’t want to hear, wishing she’d never set foot on Alpha Island. Because if this whole competition, with all its broken hearts, was truly just one more of Shira’s manipulative games, then Charlie was right. It had all been for nothing.
Skye thought of the ballet slipper her mother had given her, the one that was supposed to make all her hopes and dreams come true. She shook her head bitterly and stared at the shiny white floor beneath her feet. The HAD slipper hadn’t worked. It was just a pointe shoe without a point.
“All correct, Allie. You did learn to follow your passions and believe in yourselves. And you learned how to get around the rules of my island,” Shira added. “Which is why you’ll be leaving it soon. Forever.”
So much for hopes and dreams; this was the stuff of nightmares.
20
THE PAVILION
HALF MOON THEATER
NOVEMBER 4TH
6:42 P.M.
Allie felt her hands clench into angry fists, her fingernails digging half-moon indentations into her palms as she stood at the top of the dimly lit steps.
She was trying to absorb Shira’s words, but something refused to click.
What she understood: They had lost. They were being sent home. The Jackie O’s were not invincible, and there was no winner in Shira’s insane competition. She understood the what, but not the why. She blinked her navy blue eyes and ran a hand absently through her desert-dusted hair, struggling to fit the puzzle pieces together.
Why would a billionaire like Shira Brazille build an entire island, an entire biosphere, devoted to a school for exceptional girls, then send them all home with nothing? It made no sense. It was like if Victoria’s Secret sudden
ly had a buy-one-get-one-free bra sale without even bothering to promote their new fragrance line. Shira’s actions were bad business. And if there was one thing Shira Brazille fiercely guarded, it was Brazille Industries. Her business sense was famously flawless. That was why she’d started Alpha Academy in the first place—to pass on her secrets of success. Or that’s what she had made them all believe. Allie looked down at her WG-issued hot-pink combat boots and wondered what—if anything—Shira had told them that was actually true.
Just as she was about to stammer out this final question to Scary Shira, Allie looked up to see a twinkling, shimmering holographic curtain rising behind the stage.
Allie gasped, her face burning with the shock of what she saw. The hundreds of seats had only appeared empty. In fact, the auditorium was packed! Yet another lie to add to the list, Allie noted. But she was too distracted by the scene before her. People, seated in row upon row of the audience. Each one of them was applauding. The roar of a thousand clapping hands nearly knocked her over.
Ohmuhgud.
Allie screamed when she spotted her mom and dad in the second row. Her skinny, Jazzercise-addicted mom waved wildly at Allie and blotted her tear-stained cheeks with a wad of tissues. Next to her mom, her red-faced dad put his arms over his balding head and yelled, “That’s our girl!” Allie did a double take, her vision swimming with shock. The last—and only—time Allie had seen her dad’s eyes misting over like this was when the Red Sox won the World Series.
Seeing her parents crying tears of pride, everything fell into place. Allie waved at them, a delirious and slightly teary smile replacing her original look of shock.
Because now Allie had solved the puzzle. She knew the why.
Shira was a genius, and the Jackie O’s were famous.
“What. The. Hell. Is. Happening,” Charlie whisper-screamed over the roar of the crowd, her hand finding Allie’s and squeezing as if she was juicing a lemon.
Skye looked puzzled, too, scanning the crowd nervously, her mouth twitching with a confused half-smile.
Allie nodded, not surprised she’d been the first Jackie O to figure it out. Because she may not know how to dance a flawless rendition of Swan Lake, or how to hack computers, but Allie knew a reality-TV finale when she saw it.
And this moment, this was clearly their last episode.
“The whole thing was a hoax,” she whisper-shouted to Charlie and Skye over the thunderous applause, careful to smile big for the hidden cameras she was now sure were trained on their faces. “It’s a TV show!”
“Huh?” Charlie and Skye said in unison, their heads whipping around to look at Allie.
Allie leaned over and grabbed Skye’s hand so they were standing in a circle. She didn’t have much time. “Listen, you’ll understand in a second, when they do the big reveal. But now, just smile as big as you can and be your beautiful selves. As God is my witness, we are going to come out of this looking ah-mazing. Or my name isn’t Allie A. Abbott! Just remember, smile and walk, smile and walk. Our fans are waiting.”
And with a steely resolve, like a Miss America contestant making a tiaraed victory lap, Allie licked her lips so they shone and produced her most dazzling smile ever.
And all three Jackie O’s began to walk toward the stage.
Fear pounded in Allie’s chest as she climbed the final two steps onto the circular stage, her long-held phobia of a close encounter with Shira bubbling up inside her like a toxic brew. Shira smiled her thin smile at them in return, clapping along with the audience, and slowly the three Jackie O’s and the bossy Aussie drew closer together, pulled by the magnetic force of national television. Behind the stage, reflected in flat-panel TV screens hanging in every corner of the room, holograms of the Alpha Academy logo flashed and shimmied, then dissolved into images of Charlie, Skye, and Allie dressed in cute metallic Alphas uniforms, each girl in full makeup with perfect hair. A far cry from the Mojave refugees in poo-brown polyester standing here with Shira.
As she stood under the hot stage lights and clapped robotically along with the studio audience, so much began to make sense to Allie. This explained why Shira was always so worried about the cameras. It wasn’t because of her surveillance, or because she cared if the Alphas broke her rules. She didn’t care about rules at all. She cared about the networks. Without cameras, there was no show. And without a show, there were no advertisers.
Her smile bigger than ever on the outside, inside Allie began to frantically run through everything she’d done at Alpha Academy. Had all of it been on television? Her legs turned to jelly as she realized everyone at her school had seen her fake her way onto the island by posing as Allie J. They’d seen her horrible public meltdown. Her ridiculous crush on Darwin. The time she purposely sprained her ankle on the track to try to get him to fall for her. And then her next relationship with Mel. Everyone on Earth had seen Mel abandon her in the desert! Ugh, Allie thought with a sinking heart. I’ll always be remembered as a wannabe. A wannabe folk singer, a wannabe girlfriend, and a wannabe Alpha.
Still smiling robotically, Allie blinked back tears. Her acting classes with Careen had taught her this much—what went on in your head didn’t have to be what people saw.
“You’ve figured it out, then?” Shira hissed over the roar of the cameras, finally standing just inches away from Allie.
“Not entirely,” Allie smile-clapped, inching closer to the maniacal mogul. “I get that we’ve been filmed for reality TV. But were we always going to be the last remaining Alphas?”
“Crikey, lolly. Absolutely not. I would have preferred anyone else. But for some reason, you three tested the highest with audiences. The networks loved you. Lucky for you, I had no say in the matter.”
“And what happened to AJ?” Allie asked through clenched teeth.
“AJ?” Shira shot Allie a blank look. “Oh, you mean the mousy folk singer? I’ve no clue.”
As if on cue, a set of doors in the back of the room opened and AJ vaulted through them, somersaulting straight onto her tiny metallic-skirted rump. The teeny greenie looked as if she had battled a ceiling fan on her way here: Her black hair was matted into a perma-snarl, and her face was streaked with desert dust. She stood up, quickly recovering from her fall, and widened her algae-green eyes, gaping in awe at the enormous crowd. Then she did what any teen celeb would do when faced with a TV audience the size of the population of Delaware. She made a hasty beeline for the stage, her face contorting with forced glee as she barreled toward Shira and the three Jackie O’s for her piece of the celebrity pie.
“Shira,” Allie whisper-shouted as the crowd roared, “Either she goes or we walk. I mean it. We’d hate to disappoint your sponsors, but…”
“Fine,” Shira smile-hissed, placing a French-manicured finger on an eraser-sized implant in her ear. “Muses, please escort the PAP saboteur out of the building.”
Allie held her breath, waiting to see if Shira’s orders would be carried out.
AJ galloped nimbly toward the stage, her eyes glimmering with hope, hungry for attention. But just as she reached the first row, two metallic-clad muses blocked her path, smiling and talking in low voices. Seconds later, they were steering her out of the room, her arms flailing weakly in their iron grip. The odorous yodeler wrenched her head around for one final look at the stage, and her moss-green eyes locked with Allie’s navy blue ones. Allie could see her tiny mouth forming words, but the applause was still too loud to hear from so far away. AJ might have been saying You’re dead or Love always—Allie didn’t care. She mouthed back Toodles and wiggled her long fingers in farewell.
Don’t go away angry, AJ. Just go away.
When AJ vanished at last through the Pavilion doors, a half-forgotten feeling settled over Allie like a buttery-soft leather jacket with a flawless fit. Suddenly, Allie felt ah-mazing. Instead of fearful, she felt powerful. Instead of anxious, she felt hopeful. Instead of a nobody, Allie had become a somebody. She might not be an AFL, but she was definitely a VIP.
>
“Happy?” Shira whispered, her ice-blue eyes searching Allie’s face.
“Very,” Allie grinned, realizing that things might actually be all right. She reached over and squeezed first Charlie’s hand, then Skye’s.
“Girls,” Shira said, addressing all three of them and gesturing to the audience to quiet their wild applause. “Welcome to the season finale of the most popular new show in America—Alpha Academy.”
The wave of applause crested again, almost knocking Allie over, and Shira saw her chance to whisper a message to all three girls. She turned off the micro-mic attached to her dress and leaned in. “Thank God it’s finally over. A pity you won’t be Alphas for life, but I think you’ll find this to be a suitable consolation prize. And just think—we’re rid of one another, for now.”
Allie stomach churned with excitement and nervousness. “For now?” she asked. “Not for ever?”
“Oh, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in future,” Shira’s ice-blue eyes glittered with a secret behind her sunglasses, and her finger switched her mic back on before traveling to her lips in the universal sign for shhhh.
Allie exhaled in exasperation, knowing Shira was wasn’t likely to explain herself. She smiled and waved at her parents again, blowing her mom a kiss and vamping for the cameras as a bouncy dance number blared over the applause. Did the tears in her parents’ eyes mean she had made them proud, or were they just glad to see her?
Her eyes scanned the huge audience—there were easily three hundred people in the stands, including all the Alphas who’d been kicked out along the way. Everyone was smiling and clapping along to the music. People were starting to stand up and dance. Muses stood every few rows, directing the audience to keep up their cheering.
But then Allie’s eyes landed on the most shock-inducing sight yet. More shocking than Shira on the stage alone, more astonishing than the big reveal that they’d been on national television all these weeks.
Standing in one of the rearmost rows of the audience, wearing a TEAM ALLIE A. T-shirt, was a sandy-haired, hazel-eyed boy with Clearasil-perfect skin. He waved wildly at Allie, his arms making huge arcs in the air as he tried to get her attention, his mouth forming the syllables of her name again and again. In the micro-second it took Allie’s brain to catch up with her eyes, a wave of adrenaline coursed up her spine with such high-voltage electricity that she inadvertently let out a tiny yelp of surprise.
Top of the Feud Chain Page 12
