Lisi Harrison - Top of the Feud Chain

Copyright 2009 by Alloy Entertainment

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

When I Grow Up, by Rodney Jerkins, James Stanley MacCarty, Smith Paul Granville Samwell, Theron Makiel Thomas, Timothy Jamahli Thomas (Rodney Jerkins Productions, Inc., Glenwood Music Corporation/EMI Music Publishing, Inc., Universal Music Corporation).

All rights reserved.

Poppy

Little, Brown and Company

Hachette Book Group

237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

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First eBook Edition: August 2009

Poppy is an imprint of Little, Brown and Company

The Poppy name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

ISBN: 978-0-316-07132-1

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

THE CLIQUE

BEST FRIENDS FOR NEVER

REVENGE OF THE WANNABES

INVASION OF THE BOY SNATCHERS

THE PRETTY COMMITTEE STRIKES BACK

DIAL L FOR LOSER

ITS NOT EASY BEING MEAN

SEALED WITH A DISS

BRATFEST AT TIFFANYS

THE CLIQUE SUMMER COLLECTION

P.S. I LOATHE YOU

BOYS R US

Other novels by Lisi Harrison:

ALPHAS

For Danielle Paige, alpha extraordinaire

Welcome to the inaugural class of Alpha Academy. Thousands of girls answered the alpha call over the last year. One hundred have been selected. The fittest shall survive.

As you know from my No. 1 best-selling autobiographies, Watch Your Outback: An Aussie Orphans Struggle to Endure, You Cant Eat Hope, and From Roos to Riches, I have built a billion-dollar empire on nothing but good instincts and sheer determinationor, rather, Shira determination, as many Fortune 500 CEOs now call it. My FEWs (Female Empowerment Workshops) have been licensed all around the world and translated into seventy languages. My cosmetics company, X-Chromosome, is the leading manufacturer in beauty products for girls, worldwide. And Brazille Enterprises Well, Ill stop here.

This is about you.

While my legacy will live forever, I may not. Should I eventually pass, I will leave behind one hundred girls forever changed by Alpha Academy. Your illustrious class is filled with hyphenates: We have an environmentalist-poetess, a dancer-model-actress, a junior Wimbledon winner-inventor, a Bollywood film starcell phone novelist. But a true alpha is more than her rsum. She is more than perfect pitch, a perfect turnout, a perfect ten, or even a perfect IQ. She is a machine with heart. She is the future. She is you.

Survive a year at Alpha Academy and your wildest dreams will roll out before you like a giant red carpet. Orientation begins September 5. Bring your A-game and a toothbrush. Everything else will be provided. Enclosed is an aPod. It will explain the rest. Turn it on.

Sincerely,

Shira Brazille

President of Brazille Enterprises

International Alpha Female

There were five Skye Hamiltons in the Body Alive Dance Studio. One on each mirrored wall and one in the flesh. As in-the-flesh Skye step-turn-step-pli-step-fan-step-ball-changed, the reflections followed. So did the nine other girls in Atelier No. 1. Or at least they tried.

A trickle of sweat slithered from the base of Skyes tightly bunned blond waves down the back of her pale blue leo. She drew her shoulder blades back (even more), trying to pinch the salty snakenot because she was embarrassed, but because she could. Her body always did what it was told. All she had to do crank up the music and ask.

And one twooo thu-hree fourrrr five six seh-vuuuun eight. Madame Prokofiev slow-clapped to the jazzy ooze of Michael Bubls Fever while scanning her students for TICS (Timing, Incongruity, Carelessness, and Smiles). As always, her scrutinizing brown eyes whizzed past Skye like two bullets aimed at someone else.

Too wristy, Becca! She clapped. Less chin, Reese. Clap. Rollllllll the knee, Wendi. Dont poke. Clap. Clap. And I swear on my tendons, Heidi, if you dont fix that posture, Im going to use you as a throw pillow!

Chignoned and clad in a no-nonsense black cami with matching flare dance pants, the aging brunette looked like a prima ballerina laced up tighter than a pair of toe shoes. Yet she moved like honey and stung like a bee.

Skye loved her.

Charged by Madame Ps silent approval, Skye added a turn before the freeze, then came out of it with hands in prayer posea Bollywood Namaste Flower. The routine hadnt called for ither instincts had. Shed downloaded the M.I.A. track from Slumdog Millionaire, and like some people got songs stuck in their heads, Skye had this one stuck in her body.

Enough. Madame P clapped sharply, the frown lines in her passion-wrinkled forehead bunched like loose leg warmers. Had she gone too far with her flower?

All nine dancers stop-panted, but Skyes heart kept hitch-kicking against her rib cage. Finally, she crossed her arms over her B-minus cups and ordered it to take five.

She lined up with the rest of the DSL Daters (they made super-fast connections with boys), Missy Cambridge, Becca Brie, Leslie Lynn Rubin, and Heidi Sprout. Like Skye, her besties were blondtwo in braids, two with poniesand wore identical pink balloon skirts over gray leotards and tights (BADS Anna Pavlova Collection). Skye had added her signature sleeveslike leg warmers for arms; todays were black mesh with charms dangling from the wrists: a horseshoe for luck, a dance shoe for love, a pair of lips for kissing, and a locker key for practical reasons. Every time she moved they jingled, adding a little extra something to the otherwise humdrum musical score.

Flair, ladies. Madame P heel-toed to the center of the room, clucking her tongue in disappointment. Dance is not just knowing the steps. Its interpreting them. She winked at Skye, releasing her from the scold. So please try to remember. Were doing Twyla, not Twilight, so stop sucking!

Some of the girls gasped. Some giggled nervously. Skye pressed her thumb against the sharp grooves of her locker key. The pain kept her from gloat-smirking.

Madame Prokofiev snapped her fingers. Again! And one twooo thu-hree fourrrr five six seh-vuuuun eight.

This time, the girls responded like thoroughbreds at the starting bell. Their Capeziod feet polished the shiny wood floor that the Hamilton family had owned for years. The force of their synchronized movements pumped Skye with energy and made her sweat pride. Not only for the girls who danced, but also for her parents, who gave them the place to do it.

A thunderous knock interrupted their flow. The door opened just enough for Madame P to see that someone wanted her in the hall. She gave Skye a nod, silently transferring power to her star pupil, and then slipped out.

Skye rolled her neck, then padded happily to the front of the class, pausing only to change songs. Same routine in triple time. She grinned, her legs twitching, ready for some real dancing.

When I grow up I wanna be famous I wanna be a star