HOTEL LINDO
¡I!’S VIP CASTING CONTEST LAUNCH PARTY

Monday, June 8
9:02 P.M.

“ADM!” Alicia blurted when she stepped away from the lobby and into a party that looked like it had been masterminded by Willy Wonka.

A giant mirrored conveyor belt supported by small, black glitter–covered pillars snaked around the L-shaped pool, offering brightly colored cocktails, an assortment of tapas, gum, mints, water, perfume, cologne, candy, soda, ¡i! CDs, ¡i! caps, ¡i! beach balls, and special edition ¡i!Pod Nanos to anyone within grabbing distance. Alicia was about to grab five—one for everyone in the Pretty Committee—but stopped herself. Massie would never act that openly excited over freebies. According to her, alphas had three options when it came to swag:

• Act like you already have it. (Then buy it.)

• Act like you could easily get it—if and when you decided it was worth having. (Then buy it.)

• Act like it sucked and you didn’t want it. (Then buy something better.)

Alicia forced herself to turn away to avoid further temptation. Instead she looked up at the dance floor, which was located on the roof of the horizontal part of the L over the main lobby, and accessible by a ski resort–style chairlift. According to two girls chatting loudly next to her, the blaring music was from a series of playlists created by ¡i! himself.

But the best part was that the wild affair was completely unsupervised by the hotel staff—except for the Lindo peacocks, who roamed the grounds with their luminous feathers splayed to remind the glamorous guests that they had just as much reason to be there as anyone. There were no waiters with over-bleached teeth butting into people’s conversations and wagging stinky trays of food under their noses. No security teams or barrel-chested bodyguards with curly wires in their ears. Just tanned and toned VIPs who’d managed to score invites to the only event to make Westchester’s fetes look like bounce-house birthday parties with Happy Meals. It was a “no parents” party on a “parents only” budget. It was the Spalpha epicenter. And Alicia was there!

While Nina hovered over the conveyor belt, filling the pockets of her tie-dyed jeans with all things ¡i!, Alicia slipped behind the colorful Swarovski crystal–covered statue of some bullfighter. He was waving a sparkly red blanket and puffing out his chest with courage as a shimmering brown bull charged toward him. It was the perfect place to search the crowd for the pop star without looking like a pathetic crowd-searcher. After years of hitting the party scene with Massie, Alicia had learned one very important lesson: Know the game before you play. Jumping in without a strategy was social suicide. According to the Walpha—Westchester alpha—it was the same as going to a new mall without studying the store directory.

Crouching behind the bull’s butt, Alicia had to shimmy left, then right, to avoid being spotted by the passing guests, all of whom—for some weird reason—felt compelled to pull ice cubes out of their drinks and whip them at the beast’s hoofs. Some even bent down and lip-kissed the matador’s jeweled feet.

Suddenly, someone tapped her shoulder. Startled, Alicia whipped her silky brunette head around.

“If you want to sniff poo, you should go home to your suitcase.” Nina giggle-pointed to the bull’s behind, which was awfully close to Alicia’s pert nose.

“What are you doing here?” Alicia asked Nina’s pockets, which were overflowing with ¡i!Pod Nanos in every color.

Just then a fistful of ice cubes pelted the side of Nina’s thigh. Nina immediately Spanish-cursed the thrower and her boyfriend in response, but instead of apologizing, the couple threw another frosty handful at Nina’s DIYed legs.

“What are they doing?” Alicia quickly abandoned her hiding place to avoid getting hit by another icy round.

“It’s an old tradition.” Nina knelt toward the matador’s feet. Two ¡i!Pod Nanos fell to the puddle-soaked ground. “This is Juan Belmonte,” she said before kissing his crystal-covered shoes twice. “He is the most beloved matador in the history of our country.” She collected her Nanos and stood. “This statue was commissioned by the hotel’s owner for millions of dollars. During his birth month of May, people from all over the country come to pay their respects.”

“So what’s with the ice?” Alicia asked quietly, just in case ¡i! was lurking within earshot and overheard her asking about basic Spanish history.

Nina smacked the animal’s flared nostrils. “This is Granadino, the bull that took him down. We throw ice at him to douse the hellfire that burns within his heart.”

“He’s still alive?” Alicia asked as a hailstorm of ice bounced off Granadino’s charging front thigh.

“ADM, no!” Nina spat. “But his spirit is.”

At that moment, thunder rumbled overhead, followed by the sound of rain bouncing off the tiled pool deck. But no one ran for cover. Instead they pushed past Juan Belmonte and piled onto the chairlift. Seconds later they were storming the dance floor as the unmistakable beginning of “The Rain in Spain” remix blasted from the rooftop.

“Woooo-hoooo!” everyone shouted from above as they ground and pulsed like Cuisinarts. Alicia was itching to join in and demonstrate how Body Alive’s signature modern jazz moves could blend with any beat—even Broadway musical mashups. It was the fastest way to knock out the competition and fight jet lag. But she held back. The only thing worse than dancing alone would be dancing with Nina. And right now those were her only two options. Besides, it didn’t look like ¡i! was there yet, so what was the point?

“Ho-laaaaaaaaa,” bellowed Celia and Isobel as they—and a cloud of powdery perfume—attacked Alicia’s senses.

Flanked by her model-tall cousins, Alicia felt like she was five years old and hiding behind the silky curtains in her parents’ master bedroom again. Only this time the “curtains” were designed by Versace and made of fuchsia chiffon (Celia’s) and pleated lime green tulle (Isobel’s). The strappy gold sandals that peeked out from under their gowns were from Choo’s resort collection. Their makeup was all shimmer and dew, and their hair had been styled with the three B’s in mind: big, beachy, and bed-head. If it hadn’t been for their gyrating hips, Alicia would have sworn she was looking at a glossy fashion layout in Vogue—the adult one.

“Look who we found in the elevator.” Celia stepped back—to the beat of the song—and yanked three impeccably dressed boys into their circle. Seconds later they were throwing their heads back, laughing and dancing, while the people up top looked down and envy-stared.

Despite the silver open-toe boots, Alicia felt short and invisible. Was she awnestly wearing a mesh top while they were in Versace? First ditched, now duped, Alicia missed the comfort and security of the Pretty Committee more than she ever had. What was she supposed to do now? Join their mini mosh pit? Por fah-vor! She hadn’t even been formally introduced.

Thankfully Isobel noticed Alicia’s awkward, I’m-having-fun-even-though-I’m being-ignored smile and stepped in.

“Cousin, this is G, S, and P.” She tapped the three sandy-haired boys on their heads. “They’re triplets. Just like us, plus one.”

The boys seemed high-school age, with their semi- stubbly cheeks and confident grimaces. But they were wearing khaki Hugo Boss sport coats over their jeans, so Alicia had no clue how old they really were. Not that it mattered—they were true Spalpha arm candy.

“Encantada de conocerte.” Alicia smiled, giving each one a solid two seconds of extreme eye contact while she shook their strong hands. Their light brown eyes twinkled their nice-to-meet-yous, and she knew they meant it.

“These guys work for ¡i!,” Celia explained. “P is his personal assistant, S handles his schedule, and G—”

“Gets his girls!” P and S shouted at the same time. They exchanged a boisterous round of high-fives.

“You know,” Nina wiggle-jumped into their circle. “When you put ’em all together, your initials spell pigs.”

Everyone stopped dancing—except her.

“I’m Nina.” She brushed her white-blond bangs to the side and pulled back her shoulders, acquainting them with her initials: double D. “I’m Celia and Isobel’s younger sister.”

“Only by marriage,” Isobel tried.

Alicia and the boys exchanged a confused look.

“So where is ¡i!?” Celia asked, quickly changing the subject.

“I imagine he’s in our private cabana.” S pointed to the green and white–striped tent by the pool. Several girls were huddle-hovering close by, biting their nails and side-staring at the triplets, hoping their new lip glosses and high heels might earn them personal invites inside.

“Lead the way.” Celia tossed her messy black hair and linked arms with G—or was it P?

Alicia, refusing to be left behind for a third time that day, made every effort to stay close to her cousins and far away from Nina.

Only, she hadn’t evened managed to take three steps forward when a pale fifteen-year-old boy came between her and the twins.

“Lo siento,” Alicia offered her excuse me in Spanish, catching a whiff of his sporty deodorant.

“’Ello,” he said with a big grin that advertised his slightly crooked eyetooth. He had dark blue eyes, light blond hair, and Saltine-colored skin. A long gold chain hung down his tight tank top and swung just above the waist of his black Seven jeans. He was definitely cute in a Beckham sort of way, but didn’t look Spanish at awl.

“Beg yoh pah-dun, but may I ask you—”

ADM! A Brit! Code red! Alicia had to get away from him aysap before he blew her cover. The last thing a Spalpha needed was to get trapped in an English conversation.

She shot him a you-must-have-me-confused-with- someone-who-speaks-your-language look and squeezed by. “No habla Inglés. ¡Adiós, chico!”

“But—”

Alicia barely took another two steps before she was stopped again—this time by Nina. “Get out of my way!”

Nina pulled a red ¡i!-shaped lollipop out of her back pocket and jammed it in her wide mouth. “You know they’re using you, right?”

Alicia’s heart started to pound. She hated when people told her things she secretly suspected, but hoped weren’t true. But this couldn’t be one of those times, right? Nina was obviously jealous of her relationship with the twins, and was clearly desperate to sabotage it. Maybe she was shaky because of the time difference. Or perhaps her chest was synching like an iPod to the pulsating base of the Spanish song blasting from the rooftop?

“What are you talking about?” Alicia widened her already wide brown eyes.

“They don’t want to hang out with you, Cousin.” Nina exhaled dramatically, shooting her cherry breath all over Alicia’s face. “They want to hang out with Ralph.”

Alicia strained to see through the guests, hoping the twins had stopped to wait for her while she navigated LBR patrol.

But they hadn’t.

Their fuchsia and lime green Versace gowns were already distant specks in the crowd, like blotches of color in a Monet.

“Told ya,” Nina said smugly, as if reading Alicia’s mind.

Two peacocks crossed their path—a surreal moment that would have made Alicia and Massie crack up for days. But under the current circumstances, it was hard to summon even a light grin.

Nina smirked, clearly pleased with herself, and hooked her offensive hair behind an ear, revealing a turquoise hoop earring. The sight of it transported Alicia to last summer and the relaxing weekend she and her mother had spent boutiquing in Greece.

“Hey, wait! Those are mine.” Alicia reached for the hoop.

Nina jumped back and the earring swung back, too, taunting Alicia and mocking her desperation.

Alicia’s bottom lip began to quiver. But why? Was she hungry? Tired? Lonely? Confused? Humiliated? Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. But crying in public was only for funerals, where waterproof mascara was a must. Instead she summoned her inner Spalpha and reached for the earring again. This time she managed to hook her finger through it. Nina’s ear stretched out like the skin on an old lady’s elbow.

“Ow!” Nina shoved Alicia. Hard!

Alicia lost her balance in the silver open-toe boots and almost fell backward. But years of dance had trained her to catch herself before hitting the ground.

“My ear is bleeding!” Nina huffed, lifting her index finger to show off the tiny dot of blood.

Alicia strained her eyes to assess the damage. “That’s not blood. It’s part of your stupid lollipop.”

A few people who had gathered to watch the chica fight snickered at Alicia’s keen discovery.

“It’s blood!” Nina insisted.

Alicia, now playing to the growing crowd, flicked the lollipop chunk to the ground.

More laughter.

“Now give me back my earrings before I call the police,” Alicia shouted, so her fans could hear. “Just like I did last time you stole from me.”

Nina lowered her head, lifted her eyes, and charged straight for Alicia, just like Granadino. Alicia jumped out of the way—just in time to see Nina slam straight into Juan Belmonte’s shimmering feet.

The crowd gasped.

Hoping to save the day, Alicia hurried over and quickly separated her cousin from the teetering matador. But when she wrapped her arms around Nina, one of the mesh holes in her Spalpha shirt caught on the back of Nina’s stolen turquoise earring.

“Let go!” Nina grumbled, wriggling to free herself from Alicia’s grasp.

“I’m stuck!” Alicia cried.

But Nina clearly didn’t believe her. She shoved Alicia. And Alicia shoved back, driven by anger that was more concentrated than the nutrients in her Lemon Zest Luna Bar. The force was enough to rip the shirt from the earring, rip the earring from Nina’s ear, and send them all—shirt, earring, ear, and the rest of the two girls—crashing into Juan Belmonte . . . who was tackled to death all over again.