Alphas

by Lisi Harrison

  Melbourne: Your children would have been nearly as beautiful as me.

  Sydney: How could you do this to us?

  Dingo: You have been dingoed for the last time!

  Charlie sniffled and selected a fresh uniform from her closet. There was a time when she would have given anything not to be Dingoed anymore. His pranks had gotten increasingly bigger-budget, more elaborate, and more dangerous. But now she missed the boys like a soldier misses his gangrenous foot.

  Charlie leaned down and strapped on her clear gladiator sandals. She had just fastened the last strap when a song Darwin had been composing popped into her head. Singing along with the memory, she wished he knew how much she missed him. Longed to tell him she had done it for them, for their future. Hoped she’d prove herself to Shira soon, so she could tell him.

  She hummed for another moment or two before realizing that the tune wasn’t in her head. It was outside the house. And that could only mean one thing: Darwin was trying to win her back!

  Charlie raced down the corkscrew staircase and bolted for the door. Technically, she wasn’t allowed to tell Darwin. But maybe she could explain everything by spelling it with twigs and leaves. Or speak in clicks like the Bushmen they’d befriended in Tanzania. If Shira was going to play dirty, so could she.

  Bursting outside, Charlie found her legs outrunning her level head. She followed the music to the side of the house, and when she couldn’t contain herself any longer she blurted, “Darwin, I’m so ha—”

  Her voice trailed off as soon as she saw that a girl was sitting behind him on the blanket. He wasn’t singing his way back to Charlie. He was replacing her—at her own picnic.

  “Darwin, shhhh,” Allie was pleading. “Someone might hear you.”

  “Who? Everyone’s at breakfast.”

  “Not everyone,” Charlie said flatly.

  Darwin gasped, his face funneling through hurt, confusion, and guilt before landing on triumph. He had already moved on.

  For a moment, the only sound in the garden was the fizzing glass of bubbles and pomegranate-extract on the blanket, Darwin’s favorite breakfast concoction. The silence hurt more than a pimple, but Charlie couldn’t bring herself to pop it.

  Allie J’s eyes flitted between the two of them, as if trying to decipher one of those optical illusion pictures that, after a stare-down, reveal a hidden image. Or in this case, a clear one.

  “What are you doing here?” Darwin hugged his guitar like it was his best and only friend.

  “I live here,” Charlie snapped. She had never taken him for the kind of guy who would try to make her jealous.

  “You know each other?” Allie J asked. Her mole seemed to be missing, but Charlie couldn’t be sure. Anxiety often blurred her vision.

  “This is the ex,” Darwin explained, a hint of shame in his voice.

  Hearing him say the words made their breakup painfully real in a no-turning-back sort of way. She wasn’t even his ex anymore. Just the ex, drained of any personal meaning.

  “Brown-nose?” Allie J sounded genuinely shocked. “Darwin, that’s who you were so up—” She stopped and changed course. “You dated her?”

  “Why is that so surprising?” Charlie snapped.

  “Who cares?” Darwin began packing the uneaten food. “It’s over now.”

  “Clearly,” Charlie’s voice trembled.

  “What was he supposed to do?” Allie J butted in. “Suffer? Just sit around and mope while you move on with your life?” Her voice began to tremble too, as if a fresh wound was talking for her.

  Yes! Charlie wanted to answer. Darwin was supposed to be in mourning, just as she was, his heart cryogenically frozen the moment it broke, waiting for Charlie’s return so it could thaw. Of course, he had no idea that she’d done it in order to ultimately keep them together. But shouldn’t their history guarantee a future, even if the present sucked? Feelings didn’t turn on and off like aPods or transfer over like frequent-flier miles—even when the first-class upgrade came in the form of Allie J.

  “She’s right.” Darwin sided with Allie J. “You dumped me. On Skype!”

  “Maybe she just wasn’t that into you?” Allie J joked.

  No one laughed.

  Two quails scuttled across the yard, like a giddy couple on their first date. Charlie willed Darwin to put the pieces together. Her mom’s speedy exit. The boy ban. Her sudden admittance. But he just stood there, looking at Allie J like she was a Brita pitcher—taking in all the negative and pouring out purity and rainbows.

  “I better head to class.” Darwin stood.

  “Same.” Charlie’s eyes clouded with a 100 percent chance of rain. She turned and ran inside Jackie O without another word.

  There was only one thing left to say. But not to Allie J or Darwin.

  To Shira.

  After the first tear fell, Charlie grabbed her aPod and typed a name. Turned out snitching was easier than she’d thought.

  11

  THEATER OF DIONYSUS

  HONE IT: FOR DANCERS

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 6TH

  10:11 A.M.

  Skye stretched her hammys while gazing up at the soaring glass box in front of her. The dance studio had windows where mirrors should have been and a glass floor instead of gleaming cherrywood. A girl with strawberry blond waves skirted around Skye and zipped into the elevator, but Skye paused outside for another moment. Straightening her lavender mesh sleeves, she tilted her face up to the sun. The air smelled of honeysuckle and promise.

  “Wait for me!” a girl with two thick black braids woven with gold ribbon called from behind Skye. Skye recalled pooh-poohing the accessory when she was virtual shopping. Big mistake. Those strings had potential!

  “I like your sleeves,” said Gold String as they stepped inside the all-glass elevator. Her bright smile carved dimples in her cheeks.

  “Thanks.” Skye beamed, forgetting all about her accessory-envy. “They’re kinda my thing.”

  “Truly inspired.” The girl ran a tanned finger along the seam as if petting a furry caterpillar. “I’m Ophelia. I live in Angelina Jolie.”

  Skye introduced herself as the elevator shot them to the top floor with a minor jerk. They giggled nervously as the campus grew smaller and smaller below them. From up here, Skye could see the outline of the @-shaped island, the tram tracks that circled it, the glass-and-steel buildings growing out of the tropical foliage below, and the Mojave Desert in the distance.

  When they reached the top, five other girls in various, albeit boring, interpretations of the uniform were scattered about the all-glass studio. Skye grinned. Plain dressers were plain people. And plain people had no passion. And dancers without passion were like writers without ideas or actors without issues.

  Triple Threat stretched at the barre. “Heard from the boys?” she whispered.

  “Yup,” Skye replied faux-modestly, pulling her ankle to her butt. Not that she needed to warm up. She’d been born hot.

  Triple nod-approved. “Mel texted me, but Renee said I should wait at least one hundred thirty-nine minutes before texting back.”

  “A hundred thirty-nine minutes?” Skye repeated.

  “That’s three episodes’ time,” Triple explained, retying her dance shoe. “Something to do with suspense and drama. Apparently three-episode arcs always leave people wanting more.”

  A ripple of annoyance crawled up Skye’s spine. Who’d died and made Renee the boy whisperer?

  Triple Threat fell gracefully over her legs. “You’re lucky Mimi isn’t here yet.” She leaned sideways and grabbed her heel. “You’re late.”

  “And you’re lame,” Skye shot back hastily, even though the comeback wasn’t her best.

  “Are you just going to stand there picking your sleeves?” Triple jutted one hip out.

  The others, backlit by the blazing sun, tittered into their various body parts.

  “Are you just going to stand there picking fights?” Skye countered.

  “Silence!” s
napped a statuesque woman. Her caramel-colored skin was so perfect it seemed airbrushed. With catlike grace she padded to the front of the studio, the shapely results of decades of dance undulating under her bronze Lycra dress. “If you want to fight in my classroom, I’m all for it. But use your bodies, not your mouths. I don’t ever want to hear what you have to say again. I only want to see it.”

  Triple lowered her leg from the barre and pliéd her respect.

  Skye stood even straighter. A moment of self-loathing gripped her like toe shoes. The single-named legend had been her mother’s idol for years.

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed this is not your average dance studio.” Everyone nodded in agreement. “You can be seen from all over campus.” She gestured to the window-walls. “If you miss a step, everyone will see. Just like onstage. Understood?” She lifted her palm in a swooping motion.

  The girls assumed first position.

  “Now show me why Shira picked you. Music: On,” Mimi ordered. “Instrumental. Minor-key tonality. Bass-centric.” The room’s hidden speakers responded to her voice command. A hip-hop beat thundered from the floor up. “Watch first. Ah-five-ah-six-ah-sev-un… eight.” Mimi unfolded like a flower as she demonstrated an intricate routine made up of soutenus, stag leaps, and pencil turns. Skye burned the steps to memory, leaving room for a few tricks of her own. Challenging? Yes. Too challenging? Never.

  “This time without me,” she panted. “Re-cue music. Ah-five-ah-six-ah-sev-un… eight.”

  Skye tuned out the others and replicated every soutenu, stag leap, and pencil turn with remarkable accuracy. Then she added some sizzle to the steak with a few snaps and switches. She didn’t need mirrors to tell her she was on. The crowd gathering below the studio was all the reassurance she needed.

  Mimi wove through the dancers and stopped alongside Skye, who extended her arms farther, ready to catch the instructor’s praise.

  “Music off!” Mimi shouted, taking her place at the front of the studio. “Playback Skye.”

  At Mimi’s command, a hologram of Skye appeared, her digital smile confident. All the girls awwwed in amazement at the projection. Skye shifted her feet to first position. It was a little early to be casting her as the one to watch, but not the least bit surprising. Jealousy-glares warmed her like a spotlight.

  “Music. Dance.” The faux Skye launched into the routine, and the real Skye’s eyes widened in amazement. So that was why there were no mirrors. Why settle for 2-D when you could watch your hologram execute a perfect piqué in every possible dimension?

  Skye squeaked with joy. Her routine was more stunning than she’d thought. Ending her drop-and-recover with a head snap was brilliant. Funny how the dramatic could become exquisite with a few simple tweaks.

  When virtual Skye vanished, Mimi crossed her lithe arms over her ribby bird chest. “Thoughts? Ophelia, please begin.”

  “Good turnout?” She tugged nervously on one of her braids.

  “Yes. In general, her form is decent.”

  Decent? Decent was how her father described the mileage on his new Audi.

  “What about her style?” Mimi gazed at her pupils. “Andrea?”

  Triple bristled at the sound of her real name. “Cheap.”

  A few of the girls giggled.

  “I was referring to her dance style.”

  More giggles.

  “Which was wonderful…”

  Skye beamed.

  “… if she were dancing for a crowd of tourists in Times Square subway station, or perhaps the overly appreciative residents of a senior center. But highly inappropriate for a professional hired to execute a routine with perfection.”

  Humiliation tingles stung Skye’s skin, and no one dared laugh this time. “I was just trying to—”

  “To what?” Mimi barked, a faint trace of her Eastern European accent escaping. “To distract us with your flashy wrist warmers?”

  “Distract?” Skye’s ears began to ring. She felt like she was shrinking more than her fading hologram. If only…

  “You’re here to dance, not play dress-up, so lose the sleeves.” Mimi’s voice took on a hard edge. “Besides they’re in violation of the uniform code.”

  Lose the sleeves! The words ricocheted through Skye’s body and stabbed her in the heart. Fighting tears, she peeled them off slowly. Her arms felt naked and exposed. Her identity stripped.

  Mimi held out her hand like a gum-hating teacher. Skye released the sleeves sadly.

  “Let’s go again. Follow the routine, not your impulses. Music on. Ah-five-ah-six-ah-sev-uhn, eight.”

  Skye began, but could feel herself a split second behind everyone else. A Rorschach pattern of sweat spread under her arms.

  With an exasperated sigh, Mimi stopped the music again. “I guess it wasn’t the sleeves causing the drag.”

  Skye’s lips began to twitch. Why was Mimi picking on her?

  “No sulking. Don’t think. Feeeeel. Keep dancing… Andrea, promising lines. Soften your face… Prue, more hips, less lips… Ophelia, neutral spine… Less butt, Lacey! In fact, all of you can use less butt. I can’t see your muscles with all of that flesh.” Mimi curtsied, swung a gold tote over her shoulder, and exited without another word. “Practice on your own, girls. If you need to work through lunch, so be it.”

  For the first few seconds, no one spoke. A volatile dance teacher, no lunch, and the possibility that they were fat were a lot to process.

  Finally, Ophelia broke the silence. She pinched a leg warmer, showed it to Skye, and whispered, “It could have been me.”

  Skye smiled appreciatively and then noticed her sleeves hanging over the barre. Lifeless and empty, they looked like anorexic sock puppets.

  “Lunch will commence in five minutes,” announced the Brit through the speakers overhead.

  “We better go, Triple,” Skye said to the campus below as it filled with alphas on their way to the Pavilion.

  “Go where?” Triple released her bun. Her hair fell like a velvet curtain.

  “The spa,” Skye said with lots of duh. “The Jackie O’s are scheduled for welcome treatments at noon today, helloooooo?” She leaned forward and whispered: “Our lunch will be served there, remember?” Skye winked at their good fortune, but Triple still looked confused. “Thalia told us about the change during breakfast.”

  “Oh yeah.” Triple’s light brown eyes flickered like a faulty lightbulb. Then she shrugged. “Oh well.”

  “Whaddaya mean?”

  “We obviously can’t go.” She air-swept her arm like she was about to plié. “Look around. Everyone is practicing.” Triple brought the hand back to her hip. “And it seems like you need all the practice you can get.”

  “Opposite. I over-delivered.” Skye narrowed her turquoise eyes.

  “Can you lead us in a routine, Triple Threat?” Prue called from across the room. The girls were forming a line. All they needed was a leader. The others nodded. Those nods looked familiar. They used to belong to Skye.

  It was more painful than tendonitis.

  “I’m outta here.” Skye turned on her heel.

  “Where are you going?” Ophelia called from her place in line.

  “The spa.”

  “What about practice?” Lacey asked, her giant head and small body reminding Skye of Tweety Bird.

  “I’m gonna loosen up at the spa instead. We’re all probably a little stiff from our flights yesterday.”

  Ophelia, Lacey, and Sadie exchanged glances.

  Skye squinted, noticing their potential interest. “Wanna come with me?”

  “They can’t!” Triple shouted.

  “Why?” Skye kept her cool. “No one will know they’re gone.”

  The girls nodded enthusiastically.

  “Mimi will!” Prue insisted.

  “Are you gonna tell her?” Ophelia butted in.

  “No. I wouldn’t do that. But she’ll find out.”

  “Hey.” Tweety leapt through the air. “Aren’t we supposed to be fi
ghting with our bodies?”

  Skye and Ophelia cracked up.

  “I’m in,” Ophelia announced.

  “Me too,” chirped Tweety, landing.

  “You’re taking a big chance,” Triple warned.

  “You dance it and we’ll chance it.” Skye smirked.

  Ophelia and Tweety grabbed their bags and followed Skye out of the studio. They weren’t copying her moves yet—but at least they were following.

  12

  NORTH SHORE

  NARCISSUS DAY SPA

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 6TH

  11:47 A.M.

  “All aPods must be powered down during your spa visit. Namaste,” a recording of Bee’s voice said when her daughter arrived in waiting room. As always, Charlie did what her mother asked and powered off.

  “Thank you,” the recording said.

  Waiting for the others, Charlie sat surrounded by a representation of Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, feeling more sunken than the layers of coral beneath her gladiators. Nudibranches, sea anemones, clown fish, sea turtles, and hundreds of other psychedelic-colored creatures lived under the glass floor and behind the walls. The sounds of lapping waves surrounded Charlie, making her seasick. The coconut-scented air did nothing to settle her roiling stomach. Old memories of Darwin on the beach mixed with new ones of him and Allie J couldn’t be exhaled away. Amnesia was the only cure.

  Suddenly her aPod beeped. Strange. She could have sworn she turned it off.

  SHIRA: TICK… TICK… TICK… IT’S ALMOST NOON!

  Charlie thought about how she’d typed Allie J’s name into her aPod earlier that morning but hadn’t pressed send. She wondered why, but knew it had nothing to do with morality. So she’d snitch a little. Big deal. If it meant helping Shira break up Darwin and Allie J, it would be totally worth it. But what if she didn’t? What if Shira was happy about their coupling? What if she approved? That would sting more than the jellyfish on the other side of the glass. And Charlie was already in enough pain.

  Gripping her bracelets, she lowered her head between her legs and sighed. How could he have replaced her so quickly? A sand-colored crab fixed its beady black eyes on her as if to say he understood. Shira had probably separated him from someone special too.