And that was it.
It was perfect.
Allie raced to the mall for the first time in days.
Hours later, she had black hair, green contact lenses, and a kohl-mole on her left cheek. She told her parents the new look was part one of her heartbreak recovery plan. Part two was applying to Alpha Academy. They couldn’t quite understand the mole, or how “catalogue modeling and a vast knowledge of mall culture” were talents Shira Brazille valued, but they went with it anyway. Sure the Academy was intended for artists, writers, and inventors, but Allie had her own gifts. She could remember the lines from any romantic comedy she’d ever seen with the accuracy of a sci-fi geek memorizing Battlestar Galactica. She could apply makeup like a painter. She was a veritable celebrity historian: She knew the height, weight, dating history, and clothing preference of every major star. And at least she was eating pot stickers again.
Days later, Allie waved her acceptance letter around (after gold-outing the J) and said goodbye to her supportive parents.
And here she was, a green-eyed butterfly flying toward a new beginning on a top secret mission to Get Over Him.
“Sixty seconds until we enter the communication-free zone. No texting, no phoning, no Internet,” announced the British voice.
“For how long?” Allie asked the speaker above her head.
“Until you return.”
“Serious-leh?”
“Fifty seconds.”
What? Allie felt her stomach twirl like the food court’s Jamba Juice machine. If she couldn’t let Fletcher and Trina know how awesome her life was without them, what was the point? She whipped out her Samsung and began typing.
I’m on a private plane heading for Alpha Academy. This is the last time you will hear from me. Turns out I have talent after all.
Allie read it over. Did the message imply I am fine without you? I have moved on? I have more talent than Trina?
“Twenty seconds.” A countdown appeared where Leo’s face had been. It smelled like loneliness.
Allie’s thumb hovered over the send button. The text was missing something, something that stung like a thousand tiny slaps. Something that—
“Nine seconds.”
“Got it!” Allie half smiled, mindful of smudging her mole, and then added a few final lines.
In this world there are artists and subjects. You know, the people worth drawing? Well, I am a subject. I always will be. Capture me if you can.
—Allie
She hit SEND and dropped the obsolete phone on the lap of her secondhand white dress—apparently Emily Dickinson had worn something white every day, and so did Allie J. But even after dry-cleaning the dress nine times and liberally spraying it with Clinique Happy, Allie still smelled dead people.
“We are now in a communication-free zone,” announced the voice, “and are beginning our descent to Alpha Island, where temperature on the ground is a perfect seventy-two degrees.” She snickered softly. “For now.”
Allie craned her neck to see the view out of the plane’s mini windows to the Mojave Desert below. Joshua trees and cacti filled in the blanks between expanses of red sand. Rock formations of red clay monsters climbed on top of each other and reached for the sky, as if they, too, wanted to hitch a ride to Alpha Island. Allie triple-blinked as the desert gave way to an oasis of blue. It was as if someone had taken a giant @-shaped cookie cutter and carved out an island. Allie glimpsed white buildings beneath a canopy of palm trees, no doubt planted to provide shade from the Mojave heat and prying paparazzi.
Without warning, the plane swooped down along with Allie’s stomach, as she considered what she’d gotten herself into. Sticking an earbud in each ear, she let the words from Allie J’s latest hit, “Global Heartwarming,” coax her into character.
Reduce, reuse, and recycle my heart
Give it back to me
’Cause I want a fresh start
Now that I’m fine,
You’re on your knees
Begging me please
To be your main squeeze
You’re starting to panic
Calling me satanic
But I prefer organic
And hold the cheese!
Reduce, reuse, and recycle my heart
It’s ready for a brand-new start
She’d never really liked Allie J’s music—she was too folksy and message-y for Allie’s aerobic taste. But the lyrics to this one were spot-on. She tapped her newly short nails and continued memorizing the words, which could have been written for her—or better yet, by her. Then she touched up her mole and cranked the volume.
The jet was starting to dip. It was showtime.
3
ALPHA ACADEMY
JETWAY
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 5TH
11:43 A.M.
“The temperature just went from seventy-two degrees to three thousand!” Charlie Deery loosened her metallic tie and began fanning her flushing cheeks.
“Hyperbole, Chah-lie,” Bee Deery corrected her Jersey-born daughter in a proper British accent, as if exaggeration was strictly an American trait. Bee quickly reached for the sagging silver material around her daughter’s neck and retied it. Not even the familiar smell of her rose-scented body cream—the only constant in Charlie’s life—could soothe her today.
“Hyperbo-leave-me-alone!” Charlie swatted her mother’s fussing hands and then instantly regretted it. Hurting Bee was like beating Bambi, only worse. “Sorry.” She avoided her mother’s kind brown eyes. “But I can’t breathe.”
Bee quickly scanned the area and then refastened the tie with a once-and-for-all cinch. “This is no time for a uniform violation. Not on the first day. Shira has enough stress as it is.”
“What about me?” Charlie stomped her foot like a toddler, forever frustrated by her mother’s efforts to please her boss at any cost, even familial asphyxiation. “I don’t even go here. Who cares if I wear the stupid tie?”
“It’s about respect,” Bee insisted, patting her tightly wound updo. Was it held by hair spray or the power of positive thinking?
With a surrendering sigh, Bee aimed her aPod at Charlie’s uniform; a platinum vest, matching tie, pleated mini in shimmering pewter, champagne-colored blouse with oversize puffed sleeves, and clear knee-high gladiator sandals with massaging soles and no–tan line technology. “Here.” She pushed a button. The microscopic crystals in Charlie’s shirt turned icy cool. “Better?”
“Much.” Charlie smile-thanked her.
Just then, one hundred platforms unfolded from the Twizzler-shaped building behind them, with the hum of a passing golf cart. One for each Personal Alpha Plane—or PAP, as Charlie secretly joked—to park after landing.
Charlie lifted her brown eyes and searched the sun-soaked sky. Flecks of light flashed in the distance like copper-colored winks. They were getting closer.
Out on the tarmac, Shira’s ground team raced onto the tarmac wearing thick regulation jumpsuits in white patent leather. Assistants Nos. 2 through 5 were stationed up and down the runway, holding electronic clipboards that updated them on the progress of the alpha arrivals. As Shira’s No. 1 assistant, Charlie’s mom wore a skirt and jacket combo in the same fabric as the jumpsuits.
Suddenly Bee turned away, curling her ear toward her shoulder. “Affirmative,” she reported into her Bluetooth device, which had been remodeled to look like a diamond stud earring. Charlie knew for a sad fact that she never turned it off, even when going two in the loo. She wished the loyalty stemmed from pride—Charlie had invented the fashion-forward device—but knew better. Being Shira’s head assistant wasn’t a job, it was lifestyle. Minus the life. And being out of reach was not an option.
“We’re in position.” Bee nodded, still cupping her ear. “Yes. We’re on the welcome platform, above the tarmac, facing due south.”
Bee’s warm brown eyes zeroed in on the hem of Charlie’s skirt—a prototype that would be donated to the Smithsonian as soon as the real alphas arrived an
d Charlie left for boarding school in Hoboken. Which was in exactly ninety minutes. The devastating reality made Charlie’s stomach lurch. Or was that her heart?
“Ugh!” She wiggled, as if trying to slip out of her own skin.
“Stand still,” her mom demanded, snapping an errant thread off the pleated pewter mini.
But Charlie couldn’t stand still. Time was running out. In eighty-eight minutes she wouldn’t just be leaving her mother, or the island she’d secretly helped design—she would be leaving him.
The oppressive heat suddenly blew by like a bad smell in the wind. A gray cloud mass gathered overhead, and warm droplets, the temperature of tears, began to fall. Well past caring, she didn’t bother to cover the precious uniform. Instead, she slipped the aPod prototype out of her pocket and checked her messages. There were three gold heart bubbles, all from Darwin, all asking when he could see her.
For the last ten months, while Bee oversaw the construction of Alpha Island, Charlie had played Blue Lagoon with her fourteen-year-old boyfriend, Darwin Brazille, Shira’s son. She hung out with all five Brazille brothers but had loved Darwin ever since they first napped together, twelve years ago, in the nursery on Shira’s private plane. Darwin, on the other hand, claimed he’d loved her even before they met. And Charlie believed him. He’d never given her any reason not to.
Shira had met Bee at one of her first Female Empowerment Workshops, when Charlie and Darwin were both babies. Since then, they had traveled the world together, getting homeschooled by life experience and a tutor who was legally bound to make sure their education was up to conventional standards. Once Charlie turned twelve, the tutor resigned. She and Darwin successfully passed all traditional high school exams and were given the green light to sit back and enjoy the ride. A ride that, thanks to their hardworking mothers, took them to the most exotic places on the planet and left them alone to explore. A ride that filled their digital cameras with more romantic shots than a season of The Bachelor. A ride that, thanks to Shira, was about to end in a devastating crash.
To the rest of the world, Shira Brazille was admired and beloved. Her empire was a study in creativity, altruism, glamour, and control. She’d begun her career as a script girl on Aussie dramas and worked her way up to producer. There, she discovered that she liked creating and controlling worlds, and didn’t want to just do it on screen—she wanted to do it in real life. She made the business of saving the world her ultimate production-slash-reality show. Shira was an international pop star, prom queen, and mother hen, all rolled into one. Why else would America trust her to care for and educate its most talented daughters, far away from their homes and families?
But Charlie knew better.
“She’s doing it on purpose.” She dabbed the corner of her eye with her champagne-colored sleeve, a flulike ache pulsing thorough her entire body.
“I sincerely doubt she built all this to break you and Darwin up.” Bee gestured to the state-of-the-art architecture, to the palm and Joshua trees, and to the woman-made beach in front of them. Charlie narrowed her eyes at the trees as if they too were co-conspirators in the plot to ruin her life.
“Then why am I getting sent back east to some boarding school while Darwin stays here, with a pack of alpha females?”
Bee sighed, like she was tired of saying what she was about to say but would say it one last time. “Every girl at the academy has been hand-selected by Shira because of her outstanding abilities. And after giving it a lot of thought, she figured it wouldn’t be fair to admit you based on family connections. Not fair to them and not fair to you.”
Charlie clenched her fists, wanting to punch the fawn right out of Bambi.
“Besides, do you really think a few months apart is going to undo twelve years?” Bee raised her light arched brows and shook her head in disbelief. “Since when are you insecure about Darwin?”
“I’m not insecure about Darwin,” Charlie insisted. “I’m insecure about me.”
Charlie, despite her advanced brain and waist-length locks, always saw herself as a medium. Medium brown hair. Medium texture between a wave and a curve. Medium-size brown eyes. Medium hotness—more Aniston than Angie.
“We Deery women have a quiet beauty that sneaks up on people. At least that’s what your father used to say.” Bee smiled fondly at his memory.
Charlie twisted the three silver bracelets on her wrist. “Mom, guys don’t want beauty that creeps. They want beauty that comes up and slaps them across the face. And that’s what’s about to land here. One hundred times over.”
The rain stopped suddenly. Bee squinted up at the sky. The copper-colored kisses were getting bigger. “You are more talented than any of those girls, and Darwin knows that.”
“Yeah, but Shira doesn’t,” Charlie hissed. “She has no idea that I took apart her robo-dog when I was ten and reprogrammed it to act like a cat. Or that I used to take the engines out of Darwin’s electric cars and put them in my Bratz dolls so they could braid each other’s hair. She doesn’t know you gave my blueprints to the Alpha Academy lab and that some of this place was designed by me. Maybe if she did, she’d let me stay here with you and Darwin.”
“Lower your voice,” Bee whisper-snapped.
But Charlie couldn’t. Her voice had been lowered for too long.
“It’s not fair, Mom. This school is for inventors, too.” Charlie pulled an electronic butterfly out of her wrist-pack and slowly opened her hand.
Bee couldn’t help smiling at Charlie’s latest creation, a cute little iridescent creature that batted its heart-shaped wings in Charlie’s palm. “What does it do?”
Charlie lowered her head, thinking of her first kiss with Darwin at the Butterfly Botanical Garden in Costa Rica. She brought her lips to its wings. All of a sudden it took flight.
“Oh, it’s wonderful.” Bee clapped her hands until it landed, then smiled sadly. “Your time will come, Charlie. Eventually. For now, try to remember that Shira has given us everything.”
“No, she’s given us everything she doesn’t want.”
Charlie’s fingers immediately went to the three silver bracelets on her wrist. Both she and Darwin had DDs (Dead Dads) who had died in car accidents when they were babies. His had left him a roomful of vinyl records, explaining his love for music. And hers had left the bracelets, heirlooms he had inherited from his mother. Each bracelet had a cameo that opened; one held a picture of her mom, one of her dad, and one of Darwin. They were the only non-Shira-tainted thing she owned. Everything else had once been Shira’s, or bought by Shira, or bought for Shira and never returned.
Suddenly, the sky darkened overhead and more storm clouds rolled in. Thunder crackled in the distance. The temperature dropped twenty degrees in an instant. Alpha Island was built within its own biosphere, which allowed Shira to control every part of her environment—including the weather. Sensors in her clothing automatically altered the weather to maintain Shira’s ideal body temperature. When she felt calm, skies were clear. When her body temp rose in anger, clouds and rain followed.
A clear platform, identical to the one they were standing on, rose up from the ground. Shira, hands resting on the railing like she was standing at the bow of a ship, gazed at the horizon until the platform locked into place. She turned to face Bee and Charlie; her wavy auburn hair blew as if blasted by a wind machine while her black off-the-shoulder Grecian dress remained perfectly still. As usual, round dark sunglasses concealed her eyes.
“Unbelievable!” Shira’s down-under accent was outback fresh, even though she’d been off the continent for nearly two decades.
A crack of thunder startled everyone but Shira.
“What is it?” Bee cooed with dutiful concern.
“We’ve had a last-minute cancellation. Bee, can you believe our actress dropped out? She wouldn’t have gotten that part if they hadn’t heard I’d taken her on.” Shira pushed her glasses up her nose. “A part in the new Clooney in Romania. No one says no to Clooney. Well, except m
e. And no one says no to me.”
A series of perfect one-liners ran through Charlie’s brain, but she remained quiet. Shira was like the human equivalent of laryngitis. Charlie wanted to bite back, but her mom’s job depended on her silence.
“Bee, please let Clooney know I’m extremely disappointed.” Shira sniffed. “And that he’ll have to make it up to me,” she added.
Bee turned away and began dialing.
Charlie’s fingers started tingling. They always did when she thought up a new invention. It was her body urging her to start building. Only this time, her tongue tingled too, forcing her to speak.
“So does this mean you have an open spot?” she asked quickly, before her mother could get off the phone.
Shira slowly nodded yes.
“What are you doing?” Bee snapped her phone shut and glared at her daughter.
“She’s trying to convince me to admit her. Again.” Shira checked her reflection in her silver mirrored nail polish. “But we all know that’s impossible.”
“Why?” Charlie blurted. “Because you want me away from Darwin? Because you don’t think I’m good enough—”
“Charlie!” Bee hissed.
“Well, I do question your motives for wanting to attend the academy.” Shira brushed a speck of glitter off her pale forearm. “I didn’t build it for girls to get their C-R-U-S-H degrees.”
Charlie narrowed her brown eyes. She was about to get exiled from Alpha Island—what did she have to lose? “I don’t want to go to the academy for Darwin.” Only, she added silently. “I want to go for me.” And him. For us!
Shira turned to face her. “It’s a moot point, lolly,” she stated with feigned disappointment. “The admissions committee has strict rules about nepotism stating that anyone related to an employee cannot attend.”
“But you are the committee!”
“That’s enough, Charlotte!” Bee insisted. She turned to Shira, her scowl dissolving like Crystal Light in water. “Clooney sends his apologies. Will there be anything else, or can I release the circle-hold on the planes and prepare the ground crew for arrival? ”
Alphas #1 Page 3
