Dylan. Part 11

The Barcelona International Airport (or Barth-eh-lona, Barth-eh-lona, as the locals called it) was another reminder that Alicia was a world away from home. Women whizzed pa.s.sed her, smelling like musky cologne and wearing brightly colored pumps. Men wore hair gel that shined like M.A.C. Lipgla.s.s and loafers without socks. College kids with bulging backpacks that had been sloppily st.i.tched with American or Canadian flags shuffled by in Tevas, their expressions a mix of airplane-groggy and let-the-games-begin psyched. as the locals called it) was another reminder that Alicia was a world away from home. Women whizzed pa.s.sed her, smelling like musky cologne and wearing brightly colored pumps. Men wore hair gel that shined like M.A.C. Lipgla.s.s and loafers without socks. College kids with bulging backpacks that had been sloppily st.i.tched with American or Canadian flags shuffled by in Tevas, their expressions a mix of airplane-groggy and let-the-games-begin psyched.

If Ma.s.sie had been in the overly air-conditioned terminal, she'd have been rolling her eyes at the "poor taste parade." But Alicia had a secret appreciation for variety. Light denim washes and sneakers that looked like bowling shoes weren't exactly her thing, but they were different-a welcome change from the usual. And wasn't that what summer's all about?

A loud girly squeal, the kind perfected by High School Musical High School Musical fans, forced Alicia's attention to the orange wall of billboards to her left. Between the faded ad for a Goya exhibit at El Prado and some sugary cereal made of red marshmallowshaped bulls were five Euro tweens giggle-posing next to a poster of an overly Photoshopped, deeply bronzed, hazel-eyed, black-haired boy. fans, forced Alicia's attention to the orange wall of billboards to her left. Between the faded ad for a Goya exhibit at El Prado and some sugary cereal made of red marshmallowshaped bulls were five Euro tweens giggle-posing next to a poster of an overly Photoshopped, deeply bronzed, hazel-eyed, black-haired boy.

After their picture had been taken, they each kissed his bleached, bathroom tilelike teeth, leaving behind cherry-red lip prints and a citrus-floral medley of the different perfumes they must have been sampling in the duty-free shop.

Alicia stopped in front of the billboard and tried to decipher the yellow all-caps font that shouted: SI ERES UNA VERDADERA BELLEZA ESPAnOLA TE QUIERO PARA MI PROXIMO VIDEO MUSICAL. EL BAILE RECREADO PARA LA CANCIoN "RAIN IN SPAIN." LAS AUDISIONES SERAN EN EL HOTEL LINDO. I! TE HARE UNA ESTRELLA.

Alicia had learned enough Spanish from her mother and their six previous visits to know that the pop star on the poster was looking for a real Spanish beauty to be in his new music video. And-from what she could gather-his name was i!.

Instantly, a vision of herself in a swiveling makeup chair being blushed, blow-dried, then whisked off to wardrobe made her chapped travel-hands slick with excitement sweat. After the Spanish paparazzi had made her a household name, she'd return to U.S. soil ready to claim her seat on the alpha throne. She'd hold a private viewing party in her father's screening room, where the Pretty Committee and their new crushes (TBD) would admire her on the big screen as she played her international music video for them over and over and over. Every time she'd turn it off, they'd beg her to run it again so they could admire her beauty and study her advanced dance moves one more time. It would be the perfect way to start the eighth grade. Ma.s.sie would envy her times ten. And that that would give her a surplus of confidence that would fuel her until Thanksgiving, if not a week or two longer. would give her a surplus of confidence that would fuel her until Thanksgiving, if not a week or two longer.

So what if she wasn't a real real Spanish Beauty? Her mother was, and that made her half. And Spanish Beauty? Her mother was, and that made her half. And half half of Alicia was better than anyone else's of Alicia was better than anyone else's whole, whole, at least from what she could see in the airport: Her slick dark hair was the shiniest, her Dior's were the roundest, her navy Ralph Lauren shirtdress and wide gold belt were the most stylish, and her wood-soled Miu Miu wedges were the highest. Besides, she was trained at Westchester's prestigious Body Alive Dance Studios. And there wasn't a purebred in all of Spain who could claim that. at least from what she could see in the airport: Her slick dark hair was the shiniest, her Dior's were the roundest, her navy Ralph Lauren shirtdress and wide gold belt were the most stylish, and her wood-soled Miu Miu wedges were the highest. Besides, she was trained at Westchester's prestigious Body Alive Dance Studios. And there wasn't a purebred in all of Spain who could claim that.

She may not have been an alpha yet, but becoming a Spalpha (Spanish alpha) was totally doable. And once she ruled Spain for a summer she'd have enough experience to dominate OCD. From the moment Alicia stepped off the plane, twenty-seven people-wait, make that twenty-eight-had checked her out. And she hadn't even arrived at baggage claim yet.

When she did, she spotted her sixteen-year-old twin cousins, Celia and Isobel Callas, sitting in one of those long golf carts used to transport luggage, teasing the driver by repeatedly knocking off his black patent-leather cap. They threw their long, tanned necks back and cackled as he feigned frustration. It probably wasn't every day-or every decade, even-that the pint-sized porter had two leggy, raven-haired socialites ravage him for free. The scene made Alicia's exfoliated feet tingle with joy.

"Yippeeee!" Celia-or was it Isobel?-hollered as she tossed the driver's cap like a Frisbee. It landed on the moving conveyor belt and began making its circular journey. He rolled his eyes playfully and hopped off the cart to chase after it. Isobel-or was it Celia?-jumped in the front seat, gripped the wheel, slammed her metallic gold espadrille on the gas pedal, and began doing doughnuts across the shiny beige floor. Alicia couldn't have been more proud to call them family.

"A-lee-cia! A-lee-cia!" they shouted as they sped toward her. they shouted as they sped toward her.

"Hola!" Alicia beam-waved, then jumped out of the way. They screech-stopped in front of her, leaped out, and planted a series of double-cheek welcome kisses on her blushing face. Alicia beam-waved, then jumped out of the way. They screech-stopped in front of her, leaped out, and planted a series of double-cheek welcome kisses on her blushing face.

"So great to see you, cousin," said Celia, tugging the ma.s.sive gold C C on her ma.s.sive gold chain. It hung below her barely there cleavage and knocked against the stiff edges of her fuchsia denim vest. She wore it with a burnt-orange taffeta bubble skirt and lace-up gold sandals. Her hair was slicked into a tight bun that reflected more light than the porter's patent-leather cap. "You look very stylish." on her ma.s.sive gold chain. It hung below her barely there cleavage and knocked against the stiff edges of her fuchsia denim vest. She wore it with a burnt-orange taffeta bubble skirt and lace-up gold sandals. Her hair was slicked into a tight bun that reflected more light than the porter's patent-leather cap. "You look very stylish."

"Gra.s.sy," Alicia chirped, putting her new abbreviation for Alicia chirped, putting her new abbreviation for gracias gracias straight to work. straight to work.

"I love how you say 'gra.s.sy'! May I borrow?" asked Isobel, who was wearing a Mediterranean-blue tube top, white short-shorts, and oversize blue-plastic-frame Ray-Bans.

They made those?

"You can borrow gra.s.sy, Iso-I want to borrow that gold belt." Celia reached out and poked Alicia's braided Ralph Lauren belt. can borrow gra.s.sy, Iso-I want to borrow that gold belt." Celia reached out and poked Alicia's braided Ralph Lauren belt.

"Given." Alicia smiled, thinking of her new summer wardrobe and how much her cousins were going to worship it. "My closet is your closet, but . . ." Her voice trailed off as she remembered their thirteen-year-old sister, Nina, and her pa.s.sion for stealing designer clothes.

The Spanish Loser Beyond Repair had spent a couple of weeks at OCD last semester and had not only tried to steal the Pretty Committee's boyfriends but also half of the girls' wardrobes. So far there was no sign of her. Alicia crossed her French-manied fingers and prayed it would stay that way for the entire summer. Hopefully she'd been shipped off to a reform school for kleptomaniacs, because there was nothing less Spalpha than a SLBR tagalong with theft issues.

A loud, New York Stock Exchangetype bell rang, then bags started to appear on the conveyor belt. One by one, they floated by like pageant contestants, sporting pink bows, plaid scarves, and neon tags to ensure they'd be safely reunited with their loving owners. But no one turned to claim them. Instead, the weary travelers could not take their eyes off the three dark beauties and their bright summer clothes. Already Alicia could feel her Spalpha stock rising.

Isobel lifted her blue Ray-Bans, narrowed her almond-shaped brown eyes, and turned to Celia. She said something quickly in Spanish to her sister. Alicia only managed to pick up the words "borrow," "cousin," and "audition." Determined to make this a no-secrets summer, she spoke up: "Are you talking about the video audition?" she asked, proud that she was already in the know.

"Si," Isobel lowered her voice and her gla.s.ses. Isobel lowered her voice and her gla.s.ses.

Alicia forced a smile, while her dream of becoming a Spanish star collapsed like a snaking wall of dominoes. How was she supposed to compete with the gorgeous-times-two twins?

"Your American clothes will be perfect for the audition," Celia offered.

"I heart that." Alicia rocked back and forth on the wood heels of her Miu Mius. She felt beautiful and bouncy, like her entire body was made of Pantene-commercial hair. "And maybe I can try out in some of your-"

"You can't!" Celia snapped, her gold necklace swinging back and forth. "You are not true Spanish."

"Puh-lease!" Alicia rolled her tired brown eyes. It was bad enough when Ma.s.sie called her Fannish (fake Spanish) just because her father, Len, was American. But it was quite another thing to hear it from her own flesh and blood. And no self-respecting alpha would stand for it. The old Alicia would have admitted defeat and resigned herself to a summer of cheering on her cousins while she envy-watched from the sidelines. But the new Alicia was going to fight for her rightful place in the alpha kingdom. And she was going to win.

"They asked for a true Spanish beauty, right?" Alicia pressed.

The twins nodded, barely noticing as the porter snuck up behind them, reclaimed his cart, and sped off.

"Well, what I don't have in Spanish, Spanish, I make up for in I make up for in beauty beauty." Alicia tossed her hair. She was acting the part now-soon she would become it.

"Point," Isobel nodded, still using Alicia's expression from last summer.

"I say we sneak out of the house tonight and go to the Hotel Lindo. We will party there and search for i! and his entourage and-"

Sluuuurppppp. Sluuuurppppp.

The sound of someone straw-draining the last drops of liquid from a gla.s.s bottle put an instant hold on their scheme session. Alicia turned to see why and came face-to-face with Nina, who had been lurking behind her, an empty Orangina in hand. She was still tall and thin. Her b.o.o.bs were still ma.s.sive. But she no longer posed a physical threat, thanks to her new hair-don't. Thick platinum bangs and a bowl-bob grazed her rounded jaw. On a supermodel in New York who only wore skinny jeans, tight black turtlenecks, and matte red lipstick, this look would have been hawt. But on someone wearing a ketchup stained turquoise racer-back tank with yellow linen pants, it came off like more of a dare.

"Hola," Nina hissed, offering no embrace. She was obviously still bitter that the Pretty Committee had publicly busted her at the OCD Valentine's Day dance for stealing their stuff. They'd then had the police escort her off campus and dump her at the airport. Nina hissed, offering no embrace. She was obviously still bitter that the Pretty Committee had publicly busted her at the OCD Valentine's Day dance for stealing their stuff. They'd then had the police escort her off campus and dump her at the airport.

"Hola," Alicia responded coldly. In the split second since Nina had appeared, it seemed like everyone who had been watching them turned away. She was terrible for business. Alicia responded coldly. In the split second since Nina had appeared, it seemed like everyone who had been watching them turned away. She was terrible for business.

"I know what you were talking about." Nina rubbed her heavily lined brown eyes like she'd just woken up, smudging blue kohl under her bottom lashes. "But no one has ever seen i! in person. What makes you think-"

"Go get Cousin's bags." Celia stomped her gold sandal. "andale! "andale! Papa is waiting in the car." Papa is waiting in the car."

Nina chucked her bottle in a metal trash can and stormed off to retrieve the only set of Louis Vuitton suitcases in the mix.

Isobel leaned in toward Alicia, surrounding her in the unmistakable scent of Bobbi Brown's Beach. "We must not let her know what we are up to. She is a-how you say . . . tagalong! And will make us look bad in front of i!. If you want to have fun with us this summer, you must avoid Little Sister."

"No prob," Alicia sighed, relieved that they were all thinking the same thing.

"Ready?" Nina asked, wheeling two brown-and-gold suitcases, one in each hand. She led the way through the sliding gla.s.s door outside to the pick-up area.

It was humid and sunny. The foreign smell of cigarette smoke and exhaust fumes wafted around them, reminding Alicia that she was entering an alternate universe where anything was possible. Betas could become alphas, Fannish could become Spanish, and Nina and her "rob hobby" could be easily avoided.

Suddenly, Nina stopped walking. She turned around and smiled her toothy Julia Roberts grin at Alicia. "Did my sisters tell you we're sharing a room this summer?"

Celia and Isobel quickly turned to face each other, as if they were deeply involved in a telepathic conversation and couldn't be interrupted.

Alicia's heart thumped to the beat of the salsa music blaring from a blue MINI Cooper that had just pa.s.sed them. "What do you mean? I always get my own-"

"Mama is renovating the guest wing." Nina licked her puffy lips with delight. "So we will all be together. You, me, my graphic-novel collection, and your precious American clothes." She winked.

"Wait! What?" What?" Alicia checked her pink, crocodile-strap Gucci watch, wondering if there was time to catch the last flight back to JFK. Alicia checked her pink, crocodile-strap Gucci watch, wondering if there was time to catch the last flight back to JFK.

Just then, Nina rolled one of the suitcases through a steaming brown clump of . . .

She stopped to examine the stinky wheel. "Uh oh, perro perro poo!" poo!"

Celia and Isobel gasped while Alicia buried her face in her hands, knowing exactly how her poor Louis felt.

CLIQUE novels by Lisi Harrison:

THE CLIQUE.

BEST FRIENDS FOR NEVER.

REVENGE OF THE WANNABES.

INVASION OF THE BOY s.n.a.t.c.hERS.

THE PRETTY COMMITTEE STRIKES BACK.

DIAL L FOR LOSER.

IT'S NOT EASY BEING MEAN SEALED WITH A DISS.

BRATFEST AT TIFFANY'S THE CLIQUE SUMMER COLLECTION.

P.S. I LOATHE YOU.

BOYS R US.

CHARMED AND DANGEROUS.

Also by Lisi Harrison: ALPHAS.