Movers and Fakers

by Lisi Harrison

  And as of two weeks ago, Shira knew all about it.

  In a fit of paranoia, Allie reached up and patted the kohl-mole above her upper lip, a crucial part of her disguise that she had to stealthily redraw with eyeliner every morning. Patting her mole was one of the many nut-job tics she’d adopted since she started masquerading as Allie J, whose acceptance letter had been mistakenly sent to Allie’s house in suburban Santa Ana, California. Allie J was Allie A’s only ticket into the Academy. No way would Shira Brazille ever invite a bubbly blonde whose greatest skill was an encyclopedic knowledge of celebrity culture.

  Allie sighed and looked past Charlie to the next bed, home to the sleep-obsessed Andrea. Andrea, aka Triple Threat, came with enough diva-tude for three, but at the moment her energies were devoted to highlighting passages of From Outback to Riches: The Shira Brazille Story. What a kiss-up, Allie thought, rolling her contact-lens-enhanced eyes.

  Finally, Allie’s eyes landed on the last bed in the room, where the soap actress Renee had slept before getting kicked out of the Academy for flirting with the Brazille brothers. Renee’s empty bed was a daily reminder for Allie that her neck could be next on the chopping block.

  Thalia, the Jackie O house muse, stood in the back of the bedroom and pushed a button on the touch-screen projector embedded in the wall. The windows that moments ago revealed a clear, dark ocean; the tops of açaí palm trees; and all twelve constellations of stars were suddenly filled with Thalia’s carefully curated photographs of inspirational women. Allie leaned against a stack of pillows and watched Princess Diana working with land-mine victims, Oprah hugging African children, Queen Noor of Jordan giving a speech at the UN, Diane von Furstenberg sketching a design on a huge piece of butcher paper. Each picture came with a tagline trademarked by Brazille Industries for use in Shira’s wildly popular Female Empowerment Workshops (FEWs).

  Allie watched the slideshow absently, hoping nobody else could hear the frantic sounds her jaw made as she chomped on piece after piece of cinnamon gum.

  Absolute focus! (Chomp chomp chomp)

  Leaders of tomorrow! (Smack)

  Positivity leads to excellence! (Crinkle—new piece)

  Hit your mark! (Slobber, drool)

  Aspire to greatness! (Pop—oops!)

  The slideshow was nice in theory, but the only words running through Allie’s brain were fraud, fake, liar, and busted.

  Allie looked up at the glass-domed ceiling and felt like a creature on display in a human-size terrarium. Not for the first time, she pictured everyone she knew back home—namely her ex-boyfriend, Fletcher, and her ex-bestie Trina, but her parents, too, even her old teachers—watching her squirm in a hidden-camera mocumentary called The Joke’s on Allie.

  Now that Shira knew the truth about who Allie was (and who she wasn’t), her paranoia level was permanently at code orange. Because the only thing more tiring than lying to everyone was trying to figure out why Shira had kept her secret for so long. It had been a week since Allie had come face-to-face with the real Allie J in Shira’s office, so what was she still doing here? And even if she were staying, what kind of greatness could she possibly aspire to? Being the best liar in school? Root maintenance that rivaled Madonna’s? Faking her way through life?

  As the New Age elevator music careened toward a crescendo, Allie’s exhausted mind groped for reasons she wouldn’t be kicked out. Maybe Allie J snubbed Shira by not wanting to attend the Academy, and Shira needed Allie to stay in order to save face? That was the only logical explanation for why Shira didn’t kick her out last week, for why the barefoot songstress had not made a follow-up appearance, and why life on the island was Alphas as usual. Or maybe the encounter with Allie J hadn’t really happened? Could it have been a dream, just a vivid hallucination during her fainting spell in Shira’s office? Allie’s nerves were so frayed that anything was possible.

  “Hey, Chew-baca!” Skye whisper-yelled. “Puh-leeze quit chewing. I bit it hard today, and sleep is all I have to look forward to.”

  “Sorry,” Allie mumbled, spitting out her latest piece of gum and wrapping it up. The slideshow had ended without her even noticing.

  “You can always look forward to the challenge of keeping up with me tomorrow,” Triple sneer-snorted at Skye from underneath her blackout eye mask. The words rock star were embroidered on the outside in screaming pink letters, apparently affirming her unshakable ego even while she slept. Triple pointed an OPI Russian Debutante Red foot, and Allie grimaced at Triple’s calloused feet hanging off the edge of her bed. Didn’t the girl know that pathogens could affix themselves to so much dead skin?

  “Thanks, Triple,” snapped Skye. “But I’d rather focus on trying to drum up some excitement around here.”

  “My excitement is with my craft.” Triple raised a corner of her eye mask to glare in Skye’s direction, flipped her flawless blow-out so it fanned out over her pillow, and settled back into bed as if to say, The Diva Has Spoken.

  As Skye and Charlie shared a simultaneous eye roll, Allie wished for the millionth time that she could just tell them her secret and move on, knowing they were friends with her for her. She had almost confessed a thousand times this week, but every time she came close to telling the truth, there was always a better reason not to. She even had a running tally in her head:

  ALMOST FESSED UP GAVE UP

  Immediately after meeting Allie J in Shira’s office. Everyone would find out soon, anyway—she may as well be the first to break the news. Everyone was in deep REM sleep by the time she returned to the Jackie O House. Why wake them?

  The next morning during breakfast, when she was sure the ax was about to fall. It would be impolite to ruin everyone’s day before they’d digested their breakfasts.

  While getting ready for bed with Charlie in the Jackie O bathroom. They were in the middle of a serious cuticle convo about the hottest nail-polish colors this season—Kelly green and lemon yellow. It would have been rude to change the subject!

  While doing ankle-strengthening moves with Skye. (Allie didn’t need them, but she wanted to give Skye some moral support.) They had been talking about friendship, and Skye remarked that the worst thing a friend could do was lie to another friend. It kind of killed the mood.

  The next night, during one of the Jackie O’s whispered drool-fests over the Brazille brothers. When she thought of Darwin, panic and lust in combination made her nauseated. She took out her Purell and tried to focus on killing germs instead of her reputation.

  Every day thereafter. If Shira wasn’t telling, why should Allie?

  Allie hadn’t seen Darwin alone since her encounter with the real Allie J. Not only did the potential revelation of her real identity make it impossible for her to lock lips with a clear conscience, but Shira had installed cameras everywhere to watch the girls’ every move. Allie needed to stay out of any situation that smelled like trouble. And Darwin reeked of it.

  Shira’s number-one rule for Alpha girls was No Fraternizing with the Brazille Boys. They were to share classes and ideas—not spit. But avoiding Darwin wasn’t easy, and as his texts grew increasingly persistent, Allie’s dodges had become increasingly lame.

  DARWIN TRIES ALLIE LIES

  Wanna meet in the tunnel tonight? Can’t. Writing a song about composting.

  Where R U? Circulating a petition about our towels. Plush cotton weave is so 2009—hemp towels save trees!

  R U avoiding me? No way! Why would you think that???

  Now all Allie had of Darwin was her gum, a pathetic facsimile of his cinnamon-scented toothpicks. No gum was sweet enough to match the flavor of his kiss, the feel of his arms around her waist, the thrill of knowing she would see him soon, and the chance that their relationship would bloom like the tropical flowers on Alpha Island—wild, exotic, yet engineered for perfection.

  Ping!

  Hoping it was Darwin—and then praying it wasn’t—Allie leapt for her aPod. She checked the glowing screen, half hop
ing, half dreading a sweet good-night kiss via text—or worse, another request to sneak out that she would have to refuse.

  But it wasn’t Allie’s aPod beeping. Sweeping aside a heap of gum wrappers, she laid her aPod on her bedside table and looked around the dark room to see whose face was glowing.

  “Taz!” Allie could see the white of Skye’s smile lit by her aPod’s mini-screen. “I’m emoticon-ing him back this time. Now that dance is dead to me, I have nothing to lose.”

  “Not that you’ll be able to actual-leh see him,” Allie reminded her.

  “These cameras are such a drag.” Skye groaned. “The past two weeks have been deader than MJ.” She moonwalked her fingers across her comforter and looked up at the stars. “RIP, Michael,” she added with a sigh.

  Allie envied Skye’s single-mindedness. Whether it was dancing or Taz, Skye had her eyes on the prize. She wondered if she would ever manage to be that way about anything. Split-end maintenance didn’t count as a passion, did it?

  “Allie-oop,” Skye whispered to Allie, “no text from Darwin?”

  “He texted earlier,” she said. “I’d love to see him, but I’m too freaked out.” For so many reasons.

  She looked over at Charlie, who was still tapping away on her laptop. Even though Charlie was her best friend at the Academy, Allie wasn’t always totally convinced she was over Darwin. After all, they’d been together for years. If she were in Charlie’s position, Allie wasn’t sure she would be so accommodating.

  “You can all thank me later,” Charlie announced, her face blue in the glow of her computer screen. “I’ve just finished writing my six-point plan of attack.”

  “What are you attacking?” Skye cracked her neck first to the right, then to the left, and shot Allie a Charlie’s lost it look.

  Charlie flashed Allie a mischievous grin. This was going to be good, Allie could feel it. Charlie could do things regular Alphas just couldn’t. Flying a PAP wasn’t even the half of it.

  Charlie straightened up behind her laptop. “I’m going to find a way to help Allie see Darwin. And Skye, you’ll be able to see Taz. In fact, any Alpha girl can see any Brazille boy—if my plan works.”

  Everyone glanced over at Triple, but she was out cold under her ROCK STAR eye mask.

  “Serious-leh? You mean you’re going to find a way to get rid of the cameras?” Allie felt her face flush, both at the possibility of seeing Darwin again and at the awesomeness that was Charlie Deery. How could she have doubted Charlie’s sincerity about Darwin? Charlie was everything that Trina wasn’t—loyal to a fault.

  “Uh-huh.” Charlie beamed a thousand-watt smile straight at Allie. “Tomorrow.”

  Skye jumped out of bed and did a spontaneous pirouette. “Ah-mazing! Charlie, you’re a lifesaver.” She sat back down in her bed, frantically tapping on her aPod. “I’m texting Taz right now.”

  “What are you writing?” Allie asked. She wished she could be as in-the-moment as Skye, but she suddenly felt as if she’d just swallowed a bag of Pop Rocks with a Diet Coke chaser—full of fizzy, slightly scary expectation.

  “I’m asking if he’s free tomorrow night. I’m not the kind of girl who takes her time.” Skye pointedly raised her eyebrows at Allie.

  “You should text Darwin,” agreed Charlie in a gentle voice. “I mean, if you want.”

  Allie nodded, shivering at the possibility. Charlie was the best! If she could just feel the warmth of Darwin’s hand in hers and maybe even make contact with his soft lips, she knew she’d be able to survive the anxiety of living a lie.

  “I will. But first, lemme see the plan!” Allie rolled out of her bed and bounced onto Charlie’s, almost knocking the laptop to the floor as she squeezed Charlie in a happy hug, the kind she used to give her favorite stuffed animal, Mr. Moose McCuddles, back when she was seven and the phrase identity theft didn’t even exist.

  “Okay, so you know how Shira’s always asking me to spy for her? That’s step one…,” Charlie began.

  Staring at Charlie’s carefully calibrated spreadsheet, Allie brushed her secret back under the rug of her unconscious, where it couldn’t torture her so much. After all, if Shira really wanted Allie out, she would already be gone. Wouldn’t she?

  4

  BRAZILLE RESIDENCE

  FRONT PORCH

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21ST

  5:37 P.M.

  T-Minus 29:00

  Like the mogul herself, Shira’s front door was larger-than-life. The enormous slab of Brazillian Rosewood gleamed in the late-afternoon light. Charlie laid her hand on the nine-foot door, trying to remember how much Bee had told her it was worth. Forty thousand? Eighty? The sums were so large that Charlie couldn’t keep them all straight. A pair of white butterflies danced in front of the jasmine that crept along Shira’s fence, and Charlie took a deep breath of the fragrant air. Calm down, Charlie, you can do this.

  Nobody knew Shira better than Charlie did, except Bee, but the stakes were high. If she got caught, she’d be shipped off to boarding school in Hoboken, New Jersey, faster than a PAP could reach 40,000 feet.

  The plan, focus on the plan! Charlie checked her watch for the twentieth time.

  So far, things had gone off without a hitch. At exactly 5:29, Charlie had sent a text.

  Charlie: I’ve been a good spy. I have a name for you. Need to see you today.

  Being Shira’s ex-assistant’s daughter had its perks. Charlie had Shira’s schedule memorized—it helped that her habits had remained relatively unchanged for more than ten years. 5:29 was when Shira’s driver dropped her off at home, and at 5:58, she had a nightly conference call with her accountant. What Shira did for the twenty-nine minutes in between was a mystery to Charlie, but whatever it was, it happened at home. Thankfully, Shira’s mysterious time slot coincided with Darwin’s nightly jog on the beach, so chances were good that Charlie wouldn’t have to explain to him what she was doing here.

  Charlie pressed Shira’s doorbell again and realized she had never entered the house from the front before. For almost her whole life, she’d been a member of Shira’s professional family: first, because she came along with Bee, who had keys to the back entrances of all of Shira’s properties. Later on, when she was with Darwin, she entered the Brazille house as if she lived there. Now she was on her own, without the backstage pass that came with being part of Shira’s entourage. And neither her mother nor Darwin was there to protect her anymore.

  T-Minus 26:00

  Just when Charlie was starting to hyperventilate from nervousness, the door whooshed open to reveal Fiona,Shira’s first assistant (formerly her second assistant, until Bee left).

  “Come in, Charlie. Shira will see you now.” A thin smile passed quickly over Fiona’s lipsticked mouth, as crisply professional as her tailored crepe suit and pumps. They had known each other for years, but it was clear that to Fiona, Charlie was on the outside now.

  Charlie stepped inside, feeling faintly ridiculous in her Alpha uniform: a platinum vest, 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. All Alpha-issued clothing was light-reflective—Shira wanted her girls to never forget to shine.

  Shira’s great room was easily large enough to house a jet. One side looked like the swooping wing of an enormous glass seagull, curving and narrowing into a dramatic archway. Charlie hovered near the back wall, which was lined with framed photographs of Shira and the boys. Charlie knew most of the photos by heart—the twins, Taz and Dingo, at six, each missing front teeth, grinning on an Indonesian beach. The one of Melbourne and Darwin fencing in Bath, England, Charlie’s mother, Bee, standing off to the side. The one of Sydney, age nine or ten, studying an atlas in the living room of Shira’s Park Avenue penthouse.

  Charlie peered among the pictures, looking for the one of her with Darwin. Her eyes skimmed past Shira shaking hands with Bill Clinton, Shira w
ith foreign dignitaries at an international conference in Davos, Switzerland, Shira with Oprah and Bono at her End Global Hunger Annual Gala, Shira with Bill and Melinda Gates…. Where was the picture from Lake Titicaca? Aha!

  The second Charlie’s eyes landed on the picture of her and Darwin in Bolivia, age six and seven respectively, chewing on stalks of sugarcane with the sparkling lake behind them, she felt the same stab in her stomach she’d felt in the PAP. Stop torturing yourself, Charlie! The last thing she needed before lying to Shira was to wonder why she made her deal with the she-devil and traded her boyfriend for a chance to shine.

  “Charlie?” Fiona tapped her watch. “Shira’s time is valuable.”

  “Of course,” Charlie started, ripping her eyes from the wall. “I’m right behind you.”

  Mentally replacing the picture of Darwin with one of Allie, Charlie took a deep breath and kept walking,forcing her gladiator sandals along Shira’s Oriental rug until Darwin’s face slid away from her like a bug on her windshield.

  T-Minus 18:00

  Fiona led her through a sliding glass door and out to the backyard. The smell of honeysuckle, manure, and the ocean filled Charlie’s nostrils. On one side of the yard was Shira’s garden, with all manner of exotic flora. There were giant purple roses of Sharon, wild bougainvillea in every color of the rainbow, huge sunflowers whose heads bobbed and dipped in the breeze like they were singing backup at an Amy Winehouse concert. On the other side, flanking the gently rolling grass hills that led down to Shira’s docked sailboats at the water’s edge, were the stables and a small barn. Which apparently was where they were headed.

  Inside the barn, dust motes danced in the refracted golden light of early evening. It smelled loamy and musty and very distinctly of horse pee. Charlie hadn’t been to the barn in ages. Was it really possible that this dank, noisy place was Shira’s hangout?

  “My wittle Cookie mookie! I wuv my wamma, yes I do!” Shockingly, the voice sounded like… Shira’s. Charlie suppressed a smirk as the mogul came into view in the dim light of the straw-strewn animal pens, filling up the food trough for Cookie, the nasty alpaca who spat at everyone but her.