Alphas

by Lisi Harrison

  “All aPods must be powered down during your spa visit. Namaste.” Bee’s voice sounded again.

  “Well, look who’s here.…”

  Charlie didn’t have to look up from the sea floor to know the voice belonged to Allie J.

  “If you’re auditioning for the part of Mean Girl Number One, you’ve got the part,” Charlie said, meeting Allie J’s eyes. Allie J’s sun-kissed skin glowed even more than usual.

  That used to be Charlie’s Darwin-induced glow.

  “And you seemed to have snagged the role of Big Fat Liar,” Allie J shot back. “Why would you lie about knowing the Brazille boys?” she asked, a combination of anger and awe in her voice.

  But before Charlie could answer, Bee’s voice filtered through the invisible speakers. “All aPods must be powered down during your spa visit. Namaste.”

  “Ohmuhgud!” someone gasped from just outside the spa. “Are we really underwater?”

  Awe-filled giggles followed, and then Skye entered with two girls—obviously dancers. Who else would walk like a duck with back pain?

  “All aPods must be powered down during your spa visit. Namaste.” Even Bee’s recording was beginning to sound tired as it repeated for the fourth time.

  Renee appeared next, her pink hair teased to soap-opera proportions.

  After a round of introductions, and a bunch of “I love your music”s, the girls glanced around the spa oohing and ahhing. Charlie felt a bubble of satisfaction at having already previewed what the others were experiencing. But a second glance at the girls’ spa blushes caused a jealousy-twinge at not being able to share in the moment. It was yet another thing that separated her from them.

  “How incredible is this place?” Ophelia touched the wall, scaring a school of spiny lion fish into a frenzied about-face. “It’s like we’re inside a fish tank.”

  “Actually, it’s the Great Barrier Reef,” Charlie mumbled flatly.

  “Meet Charlie Brown-nose.” Skye shifted her feet from first to third position. “She memorized the Alpha Academy handbook.”

  “That’s not the only reason she knows everything.” Allie J pinched a handful of protein pellets from the spa bar and dropped them in her mouth.

  Charlie stiffened. Don’t tell them… don’t tell them… don’t tell them.…

  “Aha!” Renee pointed at Charlie like a TV detective who’d caught her perp red-handed. “I knew there was more to this story.”

  The wave sounds picked up force.

  “Please remove your uniforms and prepare to board your spa chair,” said Bee’s voice.

  Just then, white canvas tubes lowered from above and covered each girl while she undressed. The timing was perfect. The cover gave Charlie’s tears a chance to fall undetected. The front of the tubes opened suddenly, allowing each girl to board her conveyor table in privacy.

  “Lie on your belly with your face in the cradle,” Bee explained, “and prepare to be renewed from head to toe.”

  “I miss you, Mom,” Charlie whispered as she wiggled under the warmed blankets and settled onto the padded table. The tubes lifted away, revealing a snaking conveyor belt that hauled massage tables like train cars. The lights dimmed, the fish glowed, and the girls began moving through the reef.

  “So, guess who used to be Darwin’s girlfriend?” Allie J mumble-shouted from her face cradle.

  “Allie J, don’t!” Charlie lifted her head, but a soft electronic hand pressed it back down and began kneading her shoulders. What would otherwise have felt relaxing became a lavender-scented straitjacket.

  “Who?” Skye called from the back of the massage train.

  “Brown-nose!” Allie J managed in spite of the smoldering hot rocks that were now being placed along their spines.

  “Aha!” Renee bucked, knocking a stone to the ground. “That explains everything!”

  “What?” Charlie barked, feeling defensive. “What does that explain?”

  “It explains how you got into the academy,” Allie J insisted.

  Charlie’s insides lurched as her secret leaked out like the pulsating stream of hot oil beating down on their backs.

  “It explains why Darwin is so happy to be single,” Skye shouted over the vibrating head massager.

  “H-h-he sa-a-id that?” Charlie snapped, her voice trembling from the head massager. Or was it the news?

  “He didn’t have to,” Skye insisted. “It was obvious by the way he looked at Allie J.”

  All of a sudden the chairs flipped over. Blasts of steam opened the pores on the girls’ faces while a giant loofah exfoliated their bodies.

  “Ahhhhhhh!” the girls shouted, half-laughing.

  Allie J giggled as the exfoliator made its way down to their feet. “Ohhhh, this thing tickles.” She giggled some more. “Do you think it’s sanitary?”

  “You’re all wrong,” Renee announced as the exfoliator stopped to switch sides. “It explains why we almost got busted visiting the boys last night!”

  “You visited the boys?” Ophelia called from the back.

  “The Brazille boys?” Lacey echoed.

  “How do me and Darwin have anything to do with you almost getting busted?” Charlie pressed.

  The exfoliator lowered again, rubbing away at their dead skin. The giggle-screaming resumed as the loofah zzzzzzzzzzzzzed over their bodies.

  “Because you told Shira we snuck out. That’s why she sent that warning!” Renee declared loudly. “I’ve done enough espionage plots to know a traitor.”

  Like a tea bag in hot water, the accusation took a minute to steep before Charlie got its full flavor. But instead of feeling the sting of tears, she felt a surge of power.

  From the safety of her white changing tube, she reached for her aPod and sent Shira the name. Her choice was clear.

  SHIRA: THAT WASN’T SO HARD, WAS IT?

  Charlie: Not at all.

  SHIRA: NEXT TIME, DON’T BE LATE.

  Charlie nearly dropped her aPod. Next time?

  13

  NORTH SHORE

  THE JUNGLE

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 6TH

  2:15 P.M.

  Allie tiptoed across the dirt (ew!) path and stopped by the monstrous tree at the end. Here on the north side of the island, the air was thick with moisture and smelled like earth, leaves, and bark. Memories of the Rainforest Cafe—or rather, the burger, fries, and sparkling volcano dessert—made her stomach grumble. Memories of Fletcher asking the waiter for two spoons made her heart ache.

  From the base of the thick tree, Allie checked her schedule for the third time. Nothing had changed. Hone It: For Writers was located in the Fuselage. And the Alphas Positioning System, a.k.a. APS, on her aPod was flashing. Apparently she was there.

  Seeing no other option, Allie began climbing spiral stairs that had been carved into the tree’s trunk, praying with every step that fungus was not hyper-breeding in the humidity and taking root between her toes.

  When she got near the top, she began to hear voices. She stopped on what felt like the eightieth step and quickly Purelled her feet. The robo-pedi, with all its exfoliating and scraping, had removed any natural germ shield she had formed, leaving her more vulnerable than ever. And she was over feeling vulnerable.

  The stairs stopped at a tree house–type deck outfitted with a hammock, a telescope, and several pine-green couches. Attached to the deck was the Fuselage—a silver Boeing 747 that had been converted into a modern classroom. SOAR was written across the side in silver glitter script.

  Eight airplane seats had been arranged in a circle in the center of the cabin. Three were free; girls pulling tray tables from their armrests filled the others. Once unfolded, Allie realized the “tray holders” were actually futuristic writing tablets, their gray screens hungrily awaiting strokes of brilliance. Grass covered the floor, and the windows had been removed to allow a warm breeze to circulate like whispered gossip.

  “What is this place?”

  “Cool, right?” answered a girl with a scrat
chy voice. She had dark hair, dark nails, a sapphire nose-stud, and an O-shaped mouth candied with matte red lipstick.

  Something flickered out of the corner of her eye. Allie quickly claimed the empty seat beside Scratchy Voice, fearing spontaneous liftoff.

  A 3-D wintry forest scene filled the cabin.

  Everyone ooooohed in awe.

  Then the image morphed into a colorful tea party with a little scone that said eat me. Allie was tempted to do just that, since she had metabolized her vegan lunch during the tree-climb. She reached for it, but a glittering dining hall with floating candelabras replaced the virtual carb, which quickly became a closet door that opened into a sunlit field.

  “Brilliant!” Scratchy applauded. She smelled like black coffee.

  “What was that?” Allie asked, wishing she had something more meaningful to add.

  “Sherwood Forest from Robin Hood. Alice in Wonderland’s tea party. The Hogwarts dining hall. The wardrobe from Narnia…”

  “Oh, right,” Allie said faintly. “Love those movies.”

  “Movies?” The girl sat back in disdain. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Why would I be joking?” Allie tried. “They were great. Just the other night I watched—”

  “Watched?” Scratchy screeched. Her voice sounded like a zipper unzipping. “Those scenes are from naw-vels.” She exhaled sharply. “They aren’t meant to be watched. Why not have Hollywood chew your food for you too? Or pump your blood? Or cast your friends like some MTV reality—”

  “That’s enough, Hannah,” a woman with short, uneven black bangs and a choppy chin-length bob insisted. Her narrow blue eyes were free of makeup but full of fire. “You can critique her writing, but not her lifestyle. Inspiration is all around us. Don’t let the brain limit the mind.”

  “Sorry,” Hannah said to the teacher and then held out her plump hand to Allie. “I’m Hannah.”

  “Hey.” Allie shook then Purelled immediately.

  “Better. And I’m Keifer Lutz.” Keifer placed a fingernail-shaped thimble on her index finger and scribbled in the air. Her name appeared in 3-D letters on the oversize LCD blackboard at the front of the cabin. “I am here to blow dust off your talent and make it shine.” She began handing out thimbles. “And you are here to dive into your hearts and expose your true selves. Like putting on an inside-out sock, you will need to dig deep and pull through.”

  Allie’s stomach dipped. She felt like a sock, all right—dirty, full of holes, and stepped on. She immediately pulled out her aPod and scanned her teacher.

  NAME: KEIFER LUTZ. BECAME A PUBLISHING PHENOM IN HER EARLY TWENTIES WITH HER FIRST NOVEL, FIFTH AVENUE HAPPENSTANCE. WITH COMPARISONS TO J. D. SALINGER, HARPER LEE, AND TRUMAN CAPOTE, SHE PROVED THAT A YOUNG VOICE CAN BE RELEVANT, DISARMING, AND BEAUTIFUL. SPENT THE LAST NINE YEARS IN PARIS WRITING NINETEEN INTERNATIONAL BEST-SELLERS AND TRANSLATING THEM HERSELF INTO SIX LANGUAGES. PLANS ON LEARNING SANSKRIT, HEBREW, AND CANTONESE DURING HER STAY AT THE ACADEMY. IS CURRENTLY WORKING ON A BOOK ABOUT FAILED POLITICAL LEADERS AND THE WOMEN WHO LOVED THEM.

  So far, impersonating Allie J had been as easy as quoting the odd lyric, concealing her natural beauty, and surviving without shoes. But surely a real writer would be able to see impostor bubble lettered between the lines of her first essay. And when Keifer discovered Allie had no clue how to write in one language, let alone six, she’d no longer be a sock. She’d be a bra—busted!

  Charlie shuffled into the classroom and claimed the last seat. Her cheeks were still red from the spa. She took the seat across from Allie, offering a tight smile.

  “What are you doing here?” Allie whispered while Keifer helped a girl with ringlets wrestle her tablet out of the armrest.

  Charlie shrugged. “It was on my schedule. I don’t have a set major.”

  “Yes, you do,” she whispered loud enough for Hannah to hear. “Major pain in my butt.”

  Hannah rolled her no-sense-of-humor eyes. Charlie lowered her head, her long brown bangs concealing her sadness like tent flaps.

  Allie pictured her alpha crush—sun-streaked hair, hazel eyes, freckle above his lip… How had Charlie ever gotten him? The same way Trina got Fletcher? Was it… talent? Hmmmm. Maybe, just like blind people sharpened their other four senses to survive, plain Janes developed other, non-beauty-related skills to attract boys. But what was Charlie’s?

  Allie pulled a handful of hair over her shoulder to check for splits (none) and ran her fingers over her poreless skin for blemishes (also none), reminding herself that as Allie J, she was the full package—beauty and brains. Her days of getting trumped by chumps were over.

  A broad-shouldered boy eclipsed the thick band of light streaming through the doorway. His features were backlit but his silhouette was unmistakable. “Darwin?” Allie J heard herself say.

  Charlie followed Allie’s gaze to the doorway. She swallowed hard, as if forcing back that barf urge that comes when your ex-boyfriend appears unexpectedly.

  “Welcome,” Keifer said, ignoring the hisses of plane seats as the girls shifted nervously on their perches. “Please tuck in your oxford, then take the seat beside Allie J.”

  Allie beamed like a raffle winner.

  “You’re Allie J?” Hannah whispered. “Wow! Hey, I didn’t mean to harsh on you about the whole movie thing. Songwriting and novel writing are two totally different skills and—”

  “Cool. No worries,” Allie muttered as Darwin passed Charlie’s chair. He slowed just a little, as if drawn in by an invisible force field. A force Allie prayed was fueled by the kind of emotion that makes you never want to get back together with someone.

  Finally Darwin settled into the empty seat next to Allie. His eyes crinkled hello.

  “Everyone’s here, so let’s begin.” Keifer claimed the center of the circle, her bangs more crooked than Tori Spelling’s boobs. “Two rules. One: No hand-raising in my class. I’ll either call on you, or you’ll just speak up. Rule number two: Call me Keifer. Rule number three: No flirting.”

  More of the girls giggled awkwardly. Charlie stared at the grass floor.

  “Sounds good, Keifer,” Hannah blurted.

  Allie and Darwin exchanged an eye roll. She felt a spark all the way down to her muddy toes.

  Keifer smiled at her new pet, then pressed a button on her aPod. The roof retracted, giving way to the bright, cloud-streaked sky. “The Fuselage is symbolic of your upcoming journey. There is no limit to where your imagination can fly.”

  The girls lifted their eyes and peered out at the endless possibilities. Allie mostly saw a whole lot of blue sky.

  “Faulkner, Dickens, Angelou, Rowling, me… You have the potential to be as good as these greats. And do you know why?”

  Hannah raised her hand. Keifer shook her head disapprovingly.

  “Because you’re all starting from the same place.” She touched her heart with one hand and pointed to their tablets with the other. “The need to express yourself, and a blank page.”

  Suddenly, Allie was overcome with inspiration. She had suffered more than any of those so-called writers and experienced more sadness in the last month then they had in a lifetime. So why not share it with the world? Give the people someone real to relate to. Someone other than Oprah. Allie’s innards jumped. Her soul was rising to the occasion.

  “This page is a time machine, a teleporter, a magic wand. With it you can create a world. Give life. Take it away. Then resurrect it. But it only works with honesty and specificity, and it all starts here.” She wiggled her thimble-clad finger. “You have fifteen minutes. Give me a paragraph on what you’re feeling right now. One caveat: Don’t overthink it. In fact, don’t think at all. Let your heart do the writing. Begin.”

  Allie froze, her soul-jumping inspiration congealing like old sweet ‘n’ sour sauce.

  Darwin lowered his head and began scribbling. Allie tried peeking, but his upper body hung half-moon over his tablet.

  Allie summoned her sorrow. Fletcher, Trin
a, identity theft—emotions began to rise again, but stopped just before they reached her thimble finger. They were feelings, not sentences. It was pain, not words. It was a missive on hell, not a beach read.

  But wait! This paragraph wasn’t about her. It was about Allie J. The girl who rebounded from breakups like a rubber pinball. So all Allie A had to do was funnel her words through Allie J’s industrial-strength heart and—

  “Fingers down.”

  “Serious-leh? That was fifteen minutes?” Allie looked around, but no one else seemed surprised.

  “It sure was.” Hannah beamed.

  “Hannah, why don’t you go first.” Keifer brushed a choppy layer behind her heavily pierced ear.

  “Sure.” She cleared her throat and looked around meaningfully at each of her classmates. “I am here because I killed an American girl.”

  The entire class gasped. Hannah’s lips curled in a smug smile and began to read. “‘When I was five, I killed my American Girl doll.’”

  Everyone giggled with relief except Darwin, whose Y chromosomes prevented him from understanding the sanctity of the plastic childhood treasure. “‘She came with this prefab story of how she’d survived the Depression. But I found the idea of breadlines boring, so I wrote my own. She was the star of my first play, The Case of the Doll Murder. At the end, Barney the Dinosaur, played by my reluctant younger brother, was carted away as the culprit. Miraculously, the doll was revived after a posthumous surgery by a GI Joe medic. But the damage was done. I’d been bitten by the writing bug, and I never recovered.’”

  Keifer gave an appreciative smile, which granted the rest of the class permission to applaud. “The moment of recognition for a young writer. Charming. Now let’s see it.”

  The 3-D images on the wall returned. This time they contained the bare outlines of a dinosaur, a solider, and a large-headed doll.

  “Shira has created Wordz-to-Life software,” Keifer explained. “This program allows us to watch your stories, and help you see where you need more detail.”