As if sensing the presence of another person, the chair slows. And then stops. Darwin gently places his guitar on the glass floor, then offers his hand and helps her down.
The chair lingers like a nosy parent.
Darwin pops a cinnamon-scented toothpick between his lips.
Allie’s breath seizes in her chest.
Darwin asks her to sit. He admits it takes him months to write songs. Says he understands why she keeps buckling in class. Wishes there wasn’t so much pressure to perform, says pressure is passion’s poison.
Darwin plays the first song he ever wrote in one day, says it was inspired by her. It’s called “Pressure Is Passion’s Poison.”
The lyrics have something to do with a beautiful girl… green eyes… filled with passion…
The rest of the lyrics fall away. He had her at “beautiful.”
He strums his last strum. Fletcher’s face finds its way into Allie’s head. Allie closes her eyes to make it go away. A whiff of cinnamon. A shadow over her face. Warm lips. They’re not Fletcher’s. They’re better than Fletcher’s! They’re… who’s Fletcher?
Allie is floating…
She floats when Darwin puts her back in the chair…
Floats when he kisses her again…
Floats when he triple-taps the chair and tells it to take good care of his special girl…
Then she floats up the winding staircase…
And considers asking him to call her plain old Allie instead of—
“Allie J?”
A stern voice sounded behind her, and Allie crashed back down to the very muddy earth. Her throat tightened like she was wearing a toddler’s turtleneck, and she turned around slowly… and came face-to-face with the muse from Oprah; the same one who’d found her crying under the açaí after class.
“Lost again?” The muse tapped her foot impatiently.
“Uh-h,” Allie stammered, taking a step backward. Think, think, think. “I, uh, I’m expecting a package from my mom. It’s medicine. For my condition. I was looking for the mailroom, but it can wait until morning, so I’ll just go back to my house and use what I have left and—”
“Nonsense.” The muse’s scowl relaxed into a smile. “When it comes to health, leave nothing to chance.”
“Okay then.” Allie began walking away. “Thanks. I’ll go get it then. G’night.”
“You can’t possibly walk all the way to Shira’s office from here.”
“Shira’s office?” Allie’s cinnamon-flavored lips dried.
“Yes,” the muse said as if it should have been obvious. “All packages go through her.” She powered up her hoverdisc. “Hop on, I’ll take you.”
Before Allie could refuse, she was floating again. Only this time it did not feel good.
29
SHIRA’S OFFICE
WAITING ROOM
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8TH
11:33 P.M.
Allie shifted restlessly in the waiting-room chair, trying to get comfortable. Outside, campus was all lit up, and lightning illuminated the sky. Inside, her heart was racing. How could she possibly explain her quest for medicine at this hour? Shira had all of her records. She knew Allie J was in perfect health.
The Oprah muse paced outside Shira’s door, wringing her hands and shooting deadly glares at Allie whenever she could. Unlike Thalia, she offered no hope. In fact, her mannerisms suggested the exact opposite.
All Allie could do to keep from fainting was think of Darwin’s kiss and hope that his mother found her half as charming as he did.
But wait? What was the big deal? She’d just casually stroll into the office and tell Shira she was on a writing bender. And that sometimes when bending, she’d wander around alone in the night consumed by the spirit within her. She could say it was something that happened during her creative voyages and that she didn’t remember anything about medicine. How hard could it be? After all, she was a pretty decent liar. The fact that she was still there, masquerading as some green-blooded songstress was proof of that. Who knew? Maybe she’d end up bonding with Shira. Maybe they’d become—
Shira’s office door clicked open.
Allie stood to greet her new mentor. But it wasn’t Shira who walked out. It was a girl.
The girl wasn’t beautiful, but she wasn’t ugly, either. Her jet-black hair was shiny and parted down the middle. Her skin was pale. Her eyes were green. Her dress was white. Her feet were bare. Her left cheek was dotted with a single mole…
Suddenly, Allie’s limbs turned weightless. Her forehead began to bead with sweat. Her tongue swelled.
“Whoa.” The girl scanned her top to bottom. “The odds are slim, but you could be my twin.”
Allie remained still. The room started spinning. Her ears rang.
“Allie A. Abbott”—the Oprah muse turned to Allie with a catty grin—“meet Allie J. Abbott. Shira will see you now.”
Allie turned to run. But before she could lift her feet off the glass floor, the world went black.
30
SHIRA’S OFFICE
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8TH
11:59 P.M.
The arresting smell of spicy coffee beans and—was that cayenne pepper and maple syrup?—sucked Allie from the swirling darkness. Her eyelids were heavier than an overnight bag. Her tongue felt like a dry dirt path, her teeth tiny rocks that had been kicked aside by mindless hikers.
“Where am I?” she croaked.
“Who are you, is a better question,” the woman stood, taking the coffee smell with her.
“Huh?”
“Don’t bother answering now.” She paced. “You’ll have plenty of time for that later, Allie Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.” She drew out the A sound.
“Huh?” Trepidation washed through Allie’s insides like a colonic. What was happening? Why was she here?
“While identity theft is illegal it does prove you have do-or-die determination: a crucial Alpha quality.”
She picked up a framed photo of Darwin. The sight of him filled Allie with a liquid Theraflu-type warmth. Her lips tingled and her heart swayed like a puppy wagging its tail.
“My Shira-instincts are telling me to keep you at the Academy. But the true test of your…” Shira paused to push the dark glasses up her nose, “… alphaness will come with what you do next.”
“Whaddaya mean?” Allie asked, unable to look away from the picture.
“I mean only a true alpha could survive telling her teachers, friends, and…” she placed the photo of her son back on the shelf, “… anyone else who may have believed you were a talented singer-songwriter-environmentalist… ” Shira grinned, a fox finishing off its last bite of lamb. “So now it is time for Allie Ayyyyyy to do what Allie Jayyyyy has done her entire life.”
“What’s that?” Allie croaked.
“Face the music.” Shira winked.
An invisible knife stabbed Allie’s wagging heart. How could she step foot back in Jackie O? What would her roommates say? Would Darwin ever forgive her? Would he still like her? What if Trina and Fletcher found out?
Everything was coming back to her now.
Everything but hope.
* The status of Shira’s mortality at printing time. This may change, as BE Labs gets closer to finding a cure for death.
Alphas Page 18
