The Ultra Violets Read online

  The four girls stood in silence in the center of the schoolyard. Scarlet should have said she was sorry for being such a bossypants. Cheri should have said she was sorry for the trouble with Albert. Opal should have said she was sorry for almost electrocuting them. But no one said anything.

  In the background, a French poodle barked.

  At last Opal spoke. “Later, Worst Friends Forevs,” she said sullenly, picking up the stolen black sunglasses from the wet grass and putting them on again. As she backed out of the schoolyard, she called mockingly, “See you tomorrow! On our field trip! And BTdubs, nice hair!”

  Iris, Scarlet, and Cheri watched Opal walking backward, backward, backward until she was out of sight. Iris thought she might cry again.

  “Oh Iris,” Cheri whispered, reaching out to clutch a handful of the purple cotton candy that was her gorgeous violet mane. “Worst. Hair Day. Ever.”

  “And what about the class trip?” Scarlet asked, twisting her frizzy ponytail. “If Opal’s gone all evil, no way am I sitting next to her on the bus.”

  “Or the ferry.” Cheri sighed. Now more than ever, she wished that Opal had gone pirate instead.

  “I guess we finally know what Opaline’s ahems are,” Scarlet said. She meant it as a little joke, to break the tension and cheer Iris up. But Iris just shook her head. The mustachioed opossum. The monorail commuter with the caterpillar unibrow. The mantis man in the park. It couldn’t all just be a coincidence. Something was way wrong in Sync City. And now this.

  “We know what Opal’s powers are, yeah,” Iris said quietly at last. Arms folded across her chest, she lifted her chin and looked up at the sun. She remembered once more that it was a star, too, and its rays seemed to fill her with strength. She couldn’t see the waves of light beaming down on her. But she could feel them. A breeze blew her fried violet hair off her shoulders, and she turned her gaze to Scarlet and Cheri. Her pupils were so small, it was as if her eyes were pure color, the palest shade of purple-blue the girls had ever seen. Cheri and Scarlet were mesmerized: Iris practically glowed.

  “If we’re seriously becoming superheroes,” she said, calm again after the storm, “I think our best friend . . . just turned into the bad guy.”

  Totally (School) Tripping

  SO THIS IS WHEN IT GOES DOWN. THIS IS WHERE IT’S AT. This is what happens four years after four girls were four-ever altered at a sleepover fail in a FLab on the forty-second floor of a Highly Questionable Tower.

  This is the day of the class trip.

  They were on the school bus, crossing the bridge over the Joan River. The flashing fish and plaid stingrays and octopi with daisified sucker cups still swam beneath the surface, but the girls were too high above to see them.

  While Karyn Karson, Brad Hochoquatro, the notorious Albert Feinstein, and all the other students in their class chattered excitedly and pressed their faces to the bus windows to look at the Sync City skyline behind them, Iris, Cheri, Scarlet, and Opal sat with their sound off. Iris tried to digi-sketch the view from the bridge, but the ride was too bumpy. Besides, she wasn’t really feeling very inspired. She unwrapped a fresh blueberry lollipop, but everything tasted like broccoli.

  Cheri was so upset about what had happened the day before, she hadn’t even bothered to paint her nails for the field trip. The bubblegum pink was chipped at the tips and still blackened in the spots where Opal’s electroshock treatment had burned it.

  “No clandestine pet today, Cher?” Iris asked. The tote bag sat empty between them.

  Cheri just shook her head no.

  A shiny black ponytail shot up in front, and Scarlet propped her chin on the seat back. She scowled over at Iris and Cheri, her freckles underlining her eyes. Tilting her ponytail in the direction of her neighbor, she mouthed, “AWK-WARD.” But she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. In spite of her protests to Mr. Knimoy, she had ended up sitting next to Opal after all. The class had chosen partners days before the four girls had their private electrical storm, and Scarlet couldn’t get anyone else to switch places with her that morning.

  Toot toot! Ms. Skynyrd, who had come along to supervise with Mr. Knimoy, blew her whistle. Even outside the gymporium, she wore her usual traffic yellow tracksuit. It matched the bus perfectly. On any other day this would have cheered Cheri up immediately. And she did briefly imagine a yellow Labrador retriever colored by Iris with black bumblebee stripes to go with both Ms. Skynyrd and the bus. But even that thought didn’t make her smile.

  “In your seat, Miss Jones,” Ms. Skynyrd was saying.

  With a roll of her eyes, Scarlet slunk down and turned to face forward. Opal was back in her usual outfit: button-up shirt, Peter Pan collar, pocket protector. And her hair was back in two gold barrettes. But Scarlet knew better. She knew Opal had changed for the bad. She could see the streak of white snaking through her hair.

  Scarlet’s feet kicked against the seat in front of them, wishing they were Cabbage-Patching, Roger-Rabbiting, Hokey-Pokeying—any dance but here! Not very practically, but very impulsively, she had worn her brand-new ballerina pointe shoes. They were the most delicate pink, with satin ribbons that laced up her ankles. She thought they were terribly pretty. And if Rhett Smith or Karyn Karson or anyone else made fun of her for wearing ballet slippers on their field trip, Scarlet swore she’d go old school and pants them.

  She cleared her throat.

  “My mom packed an extra chocolate pudding cup for the class trip,” she offered. “If you want it?”

  Behind her black Stang-Rayz, Opal’s expression was unreadable. “They have a food court at BeauTek,” she said flatly.

  “Alrighty then,” Scarlet said under her breath, slinking down even deeper in her seat.

  • • •

  When Opal had finally worked up the nerve to tell her mom about the field trip, naturally her mom went mental. Talk about your sturm and drang! She ranted on and on about how there was no way her company would allow it, how it was unfair of Opal to put her in this position, blah, blah, blah. Opal pleaded and pouted right back. She was just on the verge of making it rain in their apartment when Dr. Trudeau gave in. She must have seen the clouds pass over Opal’s eyes, because she agreed to ask her boss, Develon Louder, president of BeauTek, for permission.

  Dr. Trudeau had presented the request as calmly as she could, standing before Develon, trembling in her Fugg boots—which were so comfortable when you were on your feet all day in a lab. As Develon lifted her black Burkant bag and peered at her through the transparent plastic strip, Dr. Trudeau braced herself for the barrage of cuss words. At least the Burkant might block Develon’s projectile spittle.

  But the cuss words never came.

  “Capital idea, Trudeau,” Develon purred instead, lowering her bag once more and stroking it like a kitten with her lacquered red nails.

  “Excuse me, sir?” Opal’s mom asked meekly. (Clause twenty-nine of the employee contract required that all staff refer to Develon as “sir.”)

  “PRIMO IDEA, TRUDEAU!” Develon shouted in her usual tone of voice. “What better way to build loyalty to the BeauTek brand than by getting ’em when they’re young and impressionable!”

  Dr. Trudeau stared at her boss blankly.

  “I BELIEVE THE CHILDREN ARE OUR FUTURE!” Develon said. “Our future customers!”

  “My thoughts exactly, sir,” Opal’s mom stammered, realizing that her daughter’s pushiness was actually scoring her some on-the-job brownie points.

  “But remember”—Develon Louder gave Dr. Trudeau a bump with her Burkant, bustling her out of her office much as Dr. Trudeau had ushered Opal out of her lab—“the sub-sub-parking lot is strictly off-limits.”

  “Of course, sir.” Opal’s mom nodded.

  “And the Vi-Shush is strictly verboten.”

 
“What’s that, sir? Ver-what?”

  “VERBOTEN!” Develon Louder shouted. “THAT’S GERMAN FOR FOR*$#@!BIDDEN!”

  “Yes, sir!” Dr. Trudeau shouted back as Develon slammed the silver door in her face.

  And with a minimum amount of spit, Opal’s class was cleared for the field trip.

  • • •

  Now, through the bus’s front window, Opal could see BeauTek, beaming like a fortress of bile. They parked out front. With Ms. Skynyrd leading and Mr. Knimoy herding from behind, the students filed off and marched beneath the archway of the Mall of No Returns.

  Dr. Trudeau was waiting inside, and Opal went up to her and gave her a super-obvious hug. “Hi, Mom,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Opal, sweetie,” her mother muttered down to her, “do you really need to wear those sunglasses in—”

  “Yes,” Opal cut her off curtly, then beckoned the other three over. They approached with hesitation.

  “Mom,” Opal said, “you remember Iris, Scarlet, and Cheri, right? You used to work with their moms at that FLabby place?”

  “Ah, yes,” Dr. Trudeau said. Just the mention of her old job still annoyed her. She looked down her nose at the trio. Dr. Henderson’s daughter was wearing too much lip gloss. Dr. Jones’s daughter wouldn’t stop fidgeting. And Dr. Tyler’s girl had the most outrageously violet hair! “Well, enjoy the tour, girls,” she sniffed. “Go on and join the group. Sir Louder is about to speak.”

  Opal stuck her tongue out at the other three as they shuffled to the back of their class.

  Once all the students were gathered on the main floor, a stick-thin woman in a wasp-waist pantsuit stepped in front of the fountain. The class fell silent as she lifted what looked like a square black pocketbook in front of her face. Her eyes darted out at them through a thin transparent strip in the bag, and her silver topknot bobbled above it like a loose doorknob.

  “Oh-kay . . .” Scarlet murmured. Ms. Skynyrd overheard her and waggled her gym whistle as a warning.

  “Welcome, students, to BeauTek!” the woman announced. Her voice ricocheted around the corridors of the former mall. “I am Develon Louder, president of the company. And here at BeauTek, we’re in the business of the science of beauty!”

  Standing at her side, Dr. Trudeau smiled nervously.

  Develon continued her introduction, talking about the company’s innovations in the fields of invisible tattoos and innie-outie belly button reversals and toothpastes that scrubbed the sinks they were spit into.

  “So enjoy your tour, children,” she finished from behind her black bag. “Enjoy the astounding sight of science in action! And remember, everyone gets a sample of our latest weed-reducing wrinkle cream at the end. And a two percent discount on your first order. In store or online.”

  “Two percent?” Cheri’s head did the math. “That’s only two cents on the dollar!”

  Develon turned the tour over to Dr. Trudeau and teetered away from the group on her six-inch stiletto heels. As they clicked along the floor, Cheri thought back to the dirty shoe she’d found in the park. The memory of the twitching mantis man flashed through her mind, and she hugged her empty tote bag close to her side.

  Opal’s mom began to lead the class around level A, talking first about the innovations taking place at the Build-a-Girl Workshop. Iris kept telling herself she should have been interested, being a girl herself. But no matter how hard she tried, she just wasn’t that into it. She dragged along at the end of the line with Cheri.

  Behind them, Scarlet kept sprinting up the walls and back-flipping off them.

  The rest of the class was just filing into the Forever Twenty-Fun lab when something caught Iris’s eye. Separate from the group, a certain student in oversized sunglasses was riding up the escalator.

  Iris gave Cheri a poke in the ribs and pointed just as Scarlet joined them.

  “Hey,” Scarlet said, spotting Opal, too.

  “Our tour, detour?” Iris suggested.

  “For sure,” Cheri agreed.

  “Okay, hold on,” Iris said, concentrating. And in another instant, the three girls were disguised. As acid-yellow Mall of No Returns shopping bags.

  “What kind of disguise is this?!” Scarlet spluttered, ducking toward the escalators just as the doors to Forever Twenty-Fun closed.

  “No one even shops here anymore!” Cheri hissed, hunching behind her.

  “Sorry!” Iris whispered back. “It was the best I could do on short notice!”

  And it was good enough, because no one paid any attention to the stray shopping bags riding the escalators.

  Opal was a floor ahead of the threesome. By the time Iris, Scarlet, and Cheri reached level C, she was nowhere to be found.

  They stood by the top of the escalator. Three stories down, they could see the colored fountain where the skinny lady had given her speech from behind her giant purse. But level C itself was quite empty. It didn’t have lots of storefront labs, like they’d seen on level A. Just a food court to one side, with windows that looked out to the river . . .

  “Opal told me there was a food court,” Scarlet said.

  . . . and, to the other side, a pair of deep pink doors.

  “Ooh, pretty color,” cooed Cheri. “I wonder what’s behind them.”

  Iris scanned level C, from the pink doors to the food court. But there was no sign of Opal. Or anyone else. “Let’s go find out,” she said.

  Slowly they turned, inch by inch, step by step, nearing the pink doors. It was the middle of the morning, and sunlight streamed through the windows behind them. But something about the air-conditioned emptiness of the space made them shiver. “C must stand for Creepy,” Iris said. They could hear the constant whirm-chunka-whirm-chunka-whirm of the escalators behind them. It sounded to Scarlet like a robot’s theme song. She hoped the escalator wasn’t secretly a Transformer with shiny steel teeth.

  As they got closer to the double pink doors, the girls noticed a sign. In curly script, the engraved brass plate read Victoria’s Shush. Cheri tipped her head back and calculated that the doors were three times taller than them.

  “Want me to try and slam-dance them open?” Scarlet hissed, itching to move.

  “Chill, Cha-cha,” Iris muttered back. “There’s got to be a better way.” Her eyes searched the glossy pink doors. Below one brass handle was a small golden circle.

  “Cher,” Iris said, “what do you think?”

  Cheri looked at the old-fashioned lock, then fished in her tote bag and brought out a thin metal file.

  Scarlet stared at it with surprise. “What are you carrying that around for?” she asked, her voice bouncing around the empty corridor. “Planning a jailbreak?”

  In response, Cheri held the file up to her hand and smoothed down the ragged edge of one of her chipped fingernails.

  “Oh,” Scarlet said in a low voice, slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t think they made nail files like that anymore.”

  “It’s vintage,” Cheri murmured back. Then, with Iris and Scarlet covering her, she crouched down and slid the nail file into the lock. She gingerly twisted it this way and that, mumbling, “If I just apply the correct amount of torque . . .”

  Scarlet mouthed to Iris, “Torque?” Iris shrugged her shoulders. And they heard a click.

  “We’re in!” Cheri whispered.

  Iris gave one of the doors a light push and it slowly creaked open. The girls glanced over their shoulders once more. Level C remained vacant. Eerily so. They tiptoed across the threshold into the Vi-Shush. (They didn’t know it was called that. But you do!)

  “Hello?” Iris said softly, her eyes scanning the dark lab. But they still didn’t see Opal. And they didn’t see any scientists, either. And they
were stunned by what they did see.

  Three rows of long lab tables, all topped with wire cages, all holding small animals.

  “OMV,” Cheri said, the color draining from her cheeks. “What is this place?”

  Each girl took an aisle and walked down it in silence. The tattooed monkeys on mini stationary bikes. The ferrets with glow-in-the-dark teeth. The leopard-print bunnies, the rats with inflatable lips, the featherless chickens, even a tank of three-eyed flashing fish: They saw it all. And it all was purple.

  “Iris?” Scarlet asked across the aisle. “You didn’t whoa—!” Before she could finish her sentence, she came crashing onto the floor. “Owie,” she muttered, picking up the banana peel she’d slipped on.

  “Ook! Ook!” a capuchin monkey with lavender eyelashes hooted behind her, clapping and chortling so hard that he almost lost his footing on his tiny treadmill.

  “Laugh it up, fuzzball,” Scarlet grumbled, getting to her feet again. “What I was about to ask was—”

  “No,” Iris said in a low voice, guessing Scarlet’s question. “I didn’t do any of this. I’ve only ever changed the color of Cheri’s shelter pets. I’d never keep rabbits and monkeys in a lab!”

  Hanging from each cage was a small screen. Cheri touched one, and at first an official-looking seal flashed up. She only had a chance to read the words Project M— before the seal disappeared, replaced by an image of the animal in the cage. A bunch of data spewed out in a tinny mechanical voice: about the animals, chemicals, and side effects. “Guys,” Cheri said, trying to make sense of it. “I think they might be experimenting with animals’ DNA. Like, blending genes?” As she stood and stared at the nightmare petting zoo around her, Cheri felt positively vomitous. There were so many purple animals locked up in cages, she didn’t know what to do. Her eyes raced from her aisle to Scarlet’s to Iris’s, and she thought she might faint.