Movers and Fakers (7 page)

She paused, trying to think of how to tell him that the real Allie—not the imposter version—missed him. She brought her fingers
back to her keypad and typed.

Allie:
You make me feel like myself.

Suddenly, the whole Pavilion sounded like it had been dropped into a popcorn machine. Overhead, the sky went from slate gray
to stormy, and hailstones the size of golf balls angrily pelted the glass skylights. Ninety-nine Alphas and Darwin all went
instantly silent, watching the storm and waiting for Shira to arrive. The island had been built inside its own biosphere,
with Shira at its helm. When she was hot under the collar, the island compensated by cooling off—the weather was more or less
entirely dictated by her moods.

“She’s pissed,” whispered Charlie. “And she’s almost here.”

The crowd was nervous and mute as they waited for Shira to take the stage. Allie half expected a panel of judges to show up,
or at least some
Survivor
-style torches. It was clear that heads were about to roll.

Shira’s words from last week in her office thundered in Allie’s skull:

Identity theft… illegal… tell everyone…

But what she’d written to Darwin was true; she
was
herself here—a new kind of self, one who took risks, who was brave and adventurous—whenever she wasn’t busy worrying about
being Allie J.

Allie wanted to write him one more text, but the insistent tapping of a manicured finger against a microphone signaled Shira’s
arrival at the Pavilion. A hush fell over the girls as Shira walked out onto the stage, her dark glasses reflecting the recessed
stage lights. With her wild auburn waves and long black maxidress, she reminded Allie of the zombies from Michael Jackson’s
“Thriller” video.

At the thought of what was surely coming next, Allie’s empty stomach fluttered like the school of angelfish she’d seen last
week in the tunnels with Darwin. The Jackie O’s would hate her forever. Darwin would toss her aside like yesterday’s homework.
The song he’d written for her would curdle like old milk, along with the night they’d had together and their amazing kiss.
Another Alpha—
probably the real Allie J!
—would soon capture his heart forever.

And Allie would have to slink home in disgrace. She couldn’t decide which fate was more hideous: being sent to juvie for identity
theft or having to endure the sight of Fletcher and Trina with no possibility of escape until college.

A smile played on Shira’s lips, thin and lethal as a razorblade.

Ohmuhgud, my life is over.

“This is it,” she heard Charlie mumble.

Allie put her hand over Charlie’s and squeezed. “You’ll be fine,” she murmured. She wished more than anything that they both
would.

Shira paced back and forth across the stage until the silence that blanketed the crowd of Alphas went from expectant to terrified.
The hailstorm died out as quickly as it had started, and now it was quiet enough for Allie to hear her heart thundering in
her ears.

“G’day, my lollies. Daphne Sacks. Chloe Merrill.Devendra Banks. Hazel Vellieux. Mallory Rice. Robin Nicoletti. Naomi Shultz.
Elizabeth Sanders-Post. Jessie-Lynn Jones. Lauren Flowers. Isobel Abeles. Ivy Lambert. If I called your name, please stand
up.”

Eleven pale, terrified girls rose slowly from their seats, wringing their hands like finalists in a perverse pageant.

“You are hereby dismissed from Alpha Academy, effective immediately. Your teachers have reported that you are not Alpha material.”

A wave of relief swelled among the remaining Alphas as the executed eleven shuffled tearily out of the room. Allie, Skye,
and Charlie stood up in a spontaneous three-girl hug—miraculously, they had dodged another round of Shira’s bullets!

As the room buzzed with girls trying to figure out why the executed eleven had been cut, Allie looked over her shoulder at
Darwin, still standing in the back corner. He winked. Allie grinned back.
Uhmuhgud, am I really safe?
Allie would keep posing as Allie J for the next four years if it meant tasting Darwin’s cinnamon-flavored lips again. Sure,
there would be a lot more Purell and pumice stones for her feet, but…

“Uh-oh,” Charlie whispered, interrupting Allie’s mental happy-dance. “There’s more. She’s got another bombshell. That’s her
bombshell smile.”

Sure enough, Allie could see Shira’s lips twitching like the whiskers of a cat.

“And now,” Shira’s Aussie-inflected voice boomed, “a little something to celebrate another day at the most prestigious school
on earth. Those of you who work hard—who are
true to yourselves
like the women for whom your houses are named—will rise to the top, not just here but in the real world. And speaking of
the real world, it’s time for a show!”

A curtain on the stage went up, revealing an electric guitar, a microphone, and three backup musicians. All that was missing
was…
Ohmuhgud ohmuhgud ohmuhgud.

Allie’s posture hermit-crabbed as she tried to shrink into her egg-chair. All the pieces were falling into place. Shira wanted
maximum humiliation, maximum effect. Allie watched Shira’s lips move in slo-mo as the full terror of what was happening sank
in.

“Allie J will now sing her hit song ‘I’m a Fuel for Your Love’! Come on up, Allie!”

Charlie beamed at Allie. “You didn’t tell us you were performing!”

“Go, girl, enjoy it,” said Skye.

Ohmuhgud Ohmuhgud! My social homicide has officially arrived!
Allie had the silent, ridiculous smile of a demented mime plastered on her parched lips. She stood up and nearly fell over
on legs as supportive as JELL-O.

She wobbled slowly toward the stage in a delirious fog, squeezing her hands together in a futile attempt to keep them from
shaking.
Trigger pulled.

Eighty-seven Alphas cheered her on as she climbed onto the stage and took the guitar from Shira’s outstretched arms. She had
memorized all the words to Allie J’s songs, but all the lyrics in the world couldn’t give her a good singing voice. Even worse,
she hadn’t touched a guitar in her life, other than one unfortunate incident at age ten when she had won a backstage pass
to a Justin Timberlake concert. Allie began to shake. Panic pressed down on her like a 300-pound elephant sitting on her chest.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” Shira said, leaning in and speaking in low tones over the applause.

Allie walked toward the mic, praying for a miracle. She could barely see or breathe, and she didn’t know whether she was about
to cry or hurl. A snotty, blubbering, full-blown sob-fest loomed in her throat and her vision had gone fuzzy from fear. She
looked up at Darwin through a curtain of tears and saw his blurred form in the back row, clapping wildly, his gorgeous face
sporting a proud grin for the girl she was pretending to be.

As Allie reached for the guitar, a panel began to open up in the center of the stage floor. From the hole in the floor came
the first few familiar notes of “I’m a Fuel for Your Love.”

And playing them was the real Allie J. Guitar in hand, wearing a tattered white dress and a dozen dangly necklaces, smiling
and confident—with a real mole.

As the audience gasped, every part of Allie remained frozen onstage except for the fat, mascara-tinted tears that rolled down
her cheeks. Here at last was the real thing, the one with all the talent and fame, the girl she’d been pretending to be, easily
stepping (barefoot, with a minimal carbon footprint, but still!) into a life that was now Allie A’s.

Just a few feet away, Allie J began to sing:

Without you I am cold

A chin without a goatee

So if the truth be told

I need you to ignite me

The audience looked from fake-Allie to real-Allie and murmured confusedly to one another. Then most of them jumped to their
feet and started to dance, deciding, Allie guessed, to enjoy themselves and figure out what was wrong with this picture later.
Allie J continued her throaty performance:

This is where I’m torn

You’re bad energy

Now I fill up on corn

It’s all about synergy

Allie A couldn’t move. Her legs were stuck to the stage floor like they’d been glued there. Never in her life had she felt
this humiliated. The time she tripped while working as a mall model, busting open her lip and bleeding all over the clothes,
didn’t even come close. Fletcher and Trina’s betrayal was a cakewalk compared to this. She closed her eyes in a futile attempt
to block out the circus-mirror effect her mortification was having on the room. But even behind closed eyes, Allie saw the
sneers on every pretty Alpha face.

Take a hint

You’re totally done

Reduce the carbon footprint

It’s best for everyone

As Allie J played the final bridge of the song, Allie A opened her eyes and searched out the Jackie O’s. They hadn’t stood
up for the performance. They paid no attention to the real Allie J, focusing only on Allie, their eyes flashing with shock…
then rage. What was worse, behind the seething anger, each of them looked hurt. Especially Charlie. Allie swallowed—her throat
felt like Brillo. The pain she had caused her friends was ten times scarier to contemplate than their anger.

I acted like a fool

Before I knew better

Don’t pump me full of fuel

Don’t dry-clean my hemp sweater

Finally Allie’s eyes found Darwin in the back row. He stared straight ahead, not willing to even make eye contact with her.
The look on his face was stony and furious and devastatingly sad.

As the last bars of Allie J’s song faded out, Shira stepped back onto the stage, clapping her hands along with the rest of
the audience. Everyone but the Jackie O’s and Darwin hollered and whistled.

“Allie J. Abbott, everyone! Let’s give her another big round of applause, shall we?” As the clapping died out, Shira crossed
the stage and rested a manicured hand on Allie’s shoulder. “And, of course, you’ve already met Allie
A
. Abbott.”

Allie willed herself not to flinch at Shira’s icy touch.

“Whose talent, up until today, has been impersonating a folk singer. Let’s hope Ms. Abbott finds her real talent soon, or
she’ll be leaving us like our twelve friends tonight. Assembly dismissed.” Shira flounced offstage, leaving the two Allies—one
drinking in the adoration of a quickly forming crowd of girls, the other standing alone, wishing she could morph into a hologram
and vanish into thin air.

Fresh tears sprang into Allie’s eyes as Darwin flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt and stormed out of the room without even
glancing her way. Her gaze moved to the Jackie O’s, who lingered in their chairs, talking in hushed voices. Through her tears,
they looked streaky and blurred like a Van Gogh.

Each of them glared at her with a mixture of hurt, anger, and pity. They seemed embarrassed, too: maybe a little bit for Allie,
but also for themselves, for having believed her lies.

Allie shivered in the dark shadow she’d cast over the Jackie O’s. Her lie had seemed so insignificant in her bedroom in Santa
Ana—what was one little initial?—but with time it had grown bigger than Godzilla. Yet now she felt smaller than a grain of
sand. She shrank into herself even more as she watched Charlie and Skye stand up and walk out of the room together arm in
arm, brushing silently past Alphas trying to milk them for information about how Allie could have gotten away with this.

The Oprahs to Allie’s right and the Michelle Obamas to her left were whispering and laughing, and every few seconds she heard
the beep of an aPod as the Alphas processed the scandal via text. Out of the remaining eighty-seven girls, only Allie J looked
at her with a neutral expression.

“I’m, like, so flattered by how much you wanted to be me,” she said over the throng of Alphas that surrounded her.

Her aPod beeped, and Allie’s insides clenched in anticipation.

The sender was anonymous.

Q:
How many Allie J’s does it take to change a lightbulb?

A:
Three: One to change it, one to write a song about it, and one imposter to take all the credit.

Allie turned off her phone and took a long, shaky breath, wondering what would become of her now. She couldn’t go home, not
after Shira had given her a second chance. But how could she possibly stay here?

As her tear-filled eyes traveled from one disdainful face to another, Allie felt like nuclear waste. Unwanted, untouchable,
and ugly.

If this was what Shira meant by facing the music, Allie never wanted to hear this song again.

THE PAVILION

GREAT LAWN

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21ST

10:36 P.M.

“I can’t believe this!” Skye fumed. “I thought we could trust her.”

She and Charlie had joined the stampede of Alphas spilling out onto the lawn in front of the Pavilion, and Skye had begun
to twirl back and forth between two planters filled with wildflowers, processing Allie’s shocking revelation with her limbs
as much as with her brain.

Charlie sighed, feeling a little dizzy from watching Skye. “I thought I was really getting to know her. What a joke.”

“I mean, it’s one thing to lie about little things, like someone’s outfit not making them look fat or someone’s boyfriend
not being a potential contestant on
Beauty and the Geek
. But this! This is
beyond.
This is
sick.
” Skye stopped spinning and stared straight into Charlie’s red-rimmed eyes. Both of them had shed a few bitter tears in the
auditorium during Allie’s unmasking.

Charlie looked past the milling throng of Alphas and spotted Darwin standing in the shadows of a palm grove just on the outskirts
of the patio. He was staring up at something, apparently studying a bunch of coconuts. Just then, Allie burst through the
Pavilion doors and ran past Skye and Charlie, flinching as if she thought they might hit her. Her path was arrow straight,
her target Darwin.