OVER THE ALPHA OCEAN AT 20,000 FEET
WILDERNESS GIRLS’ HELICOPTER
NOVEMBER 4TH
6:27 P.M.
The sun glowed red in the dimming sky as the WGs’ emergency helicopter zipped toward Alpha Island like a giant hummingbird. Inside the copter, Skye smoothed her hands over her new outfit, wishing the Wilderness Girl uniforms had a bit more pizzazz but happy to finally be out of her grubby Alphas flight suit. Once they had all hoisted themselves into the copter, Tiger had handed Skye, Allie, and Charlie each a stack of starched, crisply folded khaki shirts and shorts. Even if the uniforms were closer to UPS than AFL, the clothes were perfect for jumping and beating AJ to the finish line.
Skye’s teal eyes shot sideways at Charlie and Allie sitting next to her, and she saw that they looked as excited and nervous as she felt. Charlie was making some sort of Charlie-ish list on her aPod, while Allie was busy rubbing Purell between her sandaled toes. They were readying themselves for whatever awaited them back at Alpha Island—the good, the bad, and the angry.
For the first time since the plane crash, Skye felt the stirrings of real optimism thrumming in her chest. She wished she could embrace the positivity and execute a few pirouettes, but she was strapped to a metal bench against the wall of the helicopter cabin. The best she could do was twirl her ankles and crack her wrists to the rhythm of a whirring propeller, while mentally leap-spinning through space. She took a swig of river water from her canteen and directed her feet from first to second to third position on the aircraft’s floor. She peeked into the cockpit, where the pilot, a girl the WGs called Sarge, was gunning the engine, her ears obscured by giant plastic earphones and her eyes covered in tinted goggles. When Tiger had explained the situation—that they were racing to beat another aircraft back to Alpha Island—Sarge had nodded, remarking that she’d never lost an air race in her life.
Skye sat back and reviewed the past forty-eight hours, knowing that the minute they landed she’d have no time to think, only to act. Images from the PAP crash flashed through her mind, followed by the fun night with the boys around the campfire, her kiss with Taz, the scary night they’d spent in the WGs’ tent, and the friendships they’d ended up making. When a memory of the awful fight on the plateau surfaced, Skye shook her head and tossed it away. All that was behind them now.
Training her eyes on Charlie and Allie sitting beside her, Skye lifted her chapped lips in a bemused smile. While the past few days had held some of the lowest lows she’d ever experienced, their time in the Mojave had also been surprisingly fun.
She sighed with relief over the biggest accomplishment of all—making up with Charlie and Allie after the plateau blowout. She couldn’t imagine the game ending with the three Jackie O’s not on speaking terms. Now that they’d made it through this, she knew Charlie and Allie were the real deal—the kind of besties she would keep as FFLs (Friends For Life). If a plane crash, a wilderness expedition, nearly dying of thirst, and getting held hostage in a tent didn’t bond you to your friends, what would?
Sarge’s voice crackled over the helicopter speakers. “Stand by for landing.”
Across the cabin, the three WGs sat on the bench opposite Skye’s. Ember gave her a thumbs-up and Skye mimicked the gesture, flashing a toothy smile at her new friend. Then she turned and stared out the window at the @-shaped island rising out of the woman-made ocean below, its curved tail sparkling with pink phosphorescent sand.
She shivered at a sudden realization: The next time she saw this view, she would be flying home—either expelled or as an Alpha for life.
Skye began to search the island, her eyes combing the campus for signs of life as the copter lowered its altitude. Where was everyone? The campus seemed deserted. No metallic-clad girls lounged outside on the great A-shaped lawn. Nobody hurried to class at the Sophocles Theater Arts Building or the Marie Curie Inventor’s Lab or—and here Skye shuddered, realizing that an empty campus meant a lot of people she loved had probably been expelled—to the dance cube that dangled sixty feet in the air above the island. Had all her fellow bun-heads been kicked out?
Eyes on the prize, she reminded herself. There was no point in worrying about the fates of her dance buddies Ophelia, Tweety, and Prue right now. It would only slow her down. Besides, if she won, it would be a win for them, too. Skye nodded decisively, her platinum wavelets bouncing a little. If she was crowned AFL, she would find a way to help the bun-heads in their own careers.
Because it’s all about teamwork. A little laugh escaped Skye’s lips. The WGs had rubbed off on her more than they knew.
The second the helicopter touched down on the great lawn, Tiger jumped up and began unbuckling the Alphas from their safety harnesses. “Move, move, move!” she yelled, in full WG platoon-leader mode. “This is a race, remember? Every second counts.”
Skye remembered. She threw off her harness and bolted from the bench, Charlie in front of her and Allie behind. Seconds later, the three Jackie O’s jumped the ten feet from the copter door and onto Shira’s sweater-soft blue-green lawn, made of a special variety of grass flown in from New Zealand. I’ll miss this island was Skye’s first thought as she rolled onto the sweet-smelling grass. Her second thought was more upbeat: Maybe someday I’ll buy this island.
“No time for goodbyes,” Tiger grunted, jump-rolling onto the grass along with Ember and Mountain.
“Thanks for everything,” Charlie said, her eyes a little teary. “We had the time of our lives with you.”
Skye felt a lump forming in her throat. The WGs were awesome; she didn’t want to say goodbye. She grabbed Ember, who’d guided her through the river and taught her how to repel down a cliff, and placed her hands on either side of her freckled, made-over face. “Bye, Ember. You’re totally ah-mazing. Thank you for everything!” she cried, her voice thick with emotion.
“We’ll look you up as soon as this is over,” Charlie assured the three WGs as they practically shoved her toward the Pavilion. “See you in the real world—”
“Enough,” Mountain yell-smiled. “Go! Win this thing.” She winked and waved them forward.
So the Jackie O’s began to run. And all Skye could hear was the pounding of three sets of WG-imprinted pink combat boots on the gravel. The flowery smell of the island’s wild plumeria engulfed her and giant ferns thwacked at her shoulders and her furiously pumping arms as she sprinted toward to the Pavilion. Up ahead, the bris-soleil shades began to open up on the tall metallic building like the wings of a phoenix, as if welcoming them home.
Which meant someone was inside.
The pounding of Skye’s footfalls was so rhythmic, so loud, that it seemed to almost be a chant, as if her feet were ordering her to keep going. Win this thing. Win this thing. Win. This. Thing.
Sprinting alongside Charlie and Allie, Skye knew one thing for sure: She wanted this more than anything else in the world. And maybe wanting something badly enough was worth something.
Skye’s mind raced as her lungs burned from exertion. AJ couldn’t possibly want this as much as Skye did. The girl had already gone platinum as a singer. Twice. And besides, AJ had sabotaged them. She refused to believe that dirty tricks could lead to a win. Not when the stakes were this high. Skye’s internal chant grew more focused as her breathing became more labored. Beat AJ! Beat AJ! Beat AJ!
Suddenly, the round doors of the Pavilion—bordered on both sides with fluorescent orange and pink flowers in ALPHAS-shaped beds—were twenty, then ten, then five feet away. A foot ahead of them now, Charlie turned around and flashed Skye and Allie a wild-eyed grin.
They were close enough to taste victory.
“I want all three of us to win this,” Charlie panted. “We need to arrive as a singular unit.”
Charlie’s hands shot outward. Skye took one and Allie took the other. Skye’s heart began a Janelle Monáe tap-inspired dance sequence in her chest. She took a gasping breath, exhaling as the three O’s barreled through the doors together, their smiles wide enough to show the world every one of their Whitestrip-enhanced teeth.
Together, they were the embodiment of teamwork, of triumph, of Alpha.
Bursting through the doors of the theater, Skye’s high-wattage smile fizzled to a power-outage pout. The perfectly circular room was empty and dark. Except for one person sitting calmly in the center of the round stage under the glare of a single spotlight.
It wasn’t AJ waiting for them.
It was Shira.
The bossy Aussie’s blood-red lips formed a tight smile, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised above her trademark black sunglasses in silent greeting. Her Pilates-toned butt perched atop a hoverdisc, and she sat with her legs primly crossed, her patent-leather Prada pumps dangling just a few inches above the floor.
Skye’s heart sank as she skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs. Shira had returned to Alpha Island to end this crazy competition once and for all. But the dark, lonely theater told Skye everything she needed to know—they were too late, and they had lost the race. AJ had beaten them back after all, and now it was execution time.
Skye blinked back angry tears as her eyes searched the empty bleachers in vain for a muse rolling her monogrammed suitcase.
Charlie’s hand squeezed hers, but it wasn’t enough to quell Skye’s disappointment. Nothing would be. Not for a long time. In fact, not ever.
“G’day, lollies,” Shira purred, breaking the horrible silence of the theater. She hopped off her hoverdisc and planted her stilettos on the shiny white stage, placing her pale hands on either side of her slender waist. She wore a long black dress that shone in the spotlight like wet asphalt.
“Hello,” Charlie squeaked.
“Hello,” Allie whispered.
“Hi,” Skye managed. Her mouth was dryer than the desert she’d just flown out of.
“Did you have a nice flight?” Shira asked, as though making small talk over tea.
Three sets of khaki-shirted shoulders shrugged nervously in response.
Let’s get this over with. Skye straightened her posture, sticking out her B-cups in preparation for her execution.
“Never mind. Let’s get to it, shall we? Over the past few weeks, each of you had tried your very best to distinguish yourself as a leader. But the truth is, there can only be one true Alpha.”
Spit it out!
“And it isn’t AJ.”
Skye’s mouth fell open into a shocked oval.
Not AJ? Then who?
She choked back a sigh that teetered on a sob, wishing Shira would just get to the point.
Out of the corner of her eye, Skye thought she saw something flickering in the darkened rows of empty audience seats behind Shira. She blinked hard and looked again, but the flicker was gone.
Maybe she had sun poisoning from her desert adventure after all. Not that it mattered now, at the end of the game. She’d have plenty of time to recuperate back in Westchester.
“You. The one and only Alpha is you,” Charlie whispered, her brown eyes drilling angry holes in Shira’s head. Skye’s breath caught in her throat. Of course. A single tear fell down Charlie’s pink cheek, as if punctuating the end of her sentence. “And this was all for nothing.”
“Chah-lie, you were always so smart,” Shira smile-hissed. “But you’re only half right. The only Alpha left on this island is me.”
“But this wasn’t all for nothing,” Allie mused, trying to figure out the puzzle, since the Aussie wasn’t talking. “Because we learned to follow our passions and believe in ourselves?” Allie’s voice dripped with tired clichés and sarcasm as she anticipated the lame speech that was sure to come next.
Skye stared at Shira, waiting for an answer she didn’t want to hear, wishing she’d never set foot on Alpha Island. Because if this whole competition, with all its broken hearts, was truly just one more of Shira’s manipulative games, then Charlie was right. It had all been for nothing.
Skye thought of the ballet slipper her mother had given her, the one that was supposed to make all her hopes and dreams come true. She shook her head bitterly and stared at the shiny white floor beneath her feet. The HAD slipper hadn’t worked. It was just a pointe shoe without a point.
“All correct, Allie. You did learn to follow your passions and believe in yourselves. And you learned how to get around the rules of my island,” Shira added. “Which is why you’ll be leaving it soon. Forever.”
So much for hopes and dreams; this was the stuff of nightmares.