Monster High 3: Where There's a Wolf, There's a Way

by Lisi Harrison

“I still can’t believe you can do that without smearing it all over your face.” Clawdeen smiled. She was too excited to feel slighted by Lala’s recent bond with Clawd. Besides, there was a time and place for petty emotions. The time was sooo yesterday, and the place was middle school. Anyone with her own bedroom and a Singer XL-150 was far too mature for such grievances—or should at least pretend to be.

  “Well?” Lala said, folding her pale arms across her chest.

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, why didn’t you tell me?” she pressed.

  Clawdeen kicked off her flats. “I didn’t want my mom to find out.”

  “Seriously?” Lala pushed back the sleeves of Clawd’s cardigan. “Why would I tell your mom?”

  “You wouldn’t. You’d tell my brother, and he’d tell my mom.”

  “He doesn’t know?”

  “Of course not,” Clawdeen snapped, irked by Lala’s irk. They were supposed to be speed-prepping and giggle-snorting, dizzy with the excitement and danger of it all. Doing each other’s hair and zipping each other’s dresses. Holding hands and running through the parking lot, wobbling in their heels and fumbling with the car keys. Blasting their iPods. Planning Clawdeen’s entrance… anything but this.

  “So Clawd’s not going?”

  “No, he’s not going. None of them are.” Clawdeen opened her garment bag and blew a kiss at the lilac-gray masterpiece inside. The deep V, the iridescent sheen, the metallic black sash…“Can I knock off a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress or what?” If only she had time to slip into it with grace. Instead, she threw it on like a frenzied runway model during Fashion Week and hurried into her snakeskin booties. Moon-shmoon, it all fit perfectly.

  After a speedy application of makeup, one final leg shave, and a generous spritz of black-currant body mist, Clawdeen stood on the lid of the toilet seat and consulted the mirror. A sixteen-year-old girl with an elegantly moody dress, tousled auburn curls, luminescent eyes, and the promise of Cleo’s emerald earrings smiled back.

  “Let’s move!” she said, jumping down.

  “I dunno,” Lala said.

  Clawdeen froze. “What?”

  “I just don’t think it’s safe to go alone.”

  “Not safe or not fun?” Clawdeen dared.

  Lala’s eyes darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped, unleashing the ire in vampire.

  “It means you wanted to go when you thought Clawd was going,” Clawdeen said, picking her clothes up off the floor and jamming them into her bag. Anything to keep her shaking hands busy.

  “Because I thought he could protect us if something happened,” Lala said, a little too loudly.

  “Nothing’s going to happen.” Clawdeen turned on her phone and offered it to Lala. “Look.” She read text after text from Cleo and Melody, urging them to hurry up and come to the party. “See? Everything is perfect.”

  Lala looked away from the screen, conflicted. “If Uncle Vlad heard I sneaked out, he’d kill me. And if my dad found out, he’d kill me again.”

  “How will they find out? Your uncle is in Portland, and your dad is on a yacht. Besides, you’re already dead.”

  “It’s not safe, Claw. Please don’t do this. Maybe if we bring Clawd—?”

  Clawdeen couldn’t stand to whisper-argue any longer. She was already late for her own party. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d miss it completely. “Forget it, La. I’ll go alone.”

  She tossed her bags under the basin. Without another word, she slipped outside and raced for the back parking lot. In the distance, the maintenance truck, battered from years of hard labor, seemed up for anything. Including a fifteen-minute road trip with a semi-experienced, albeit determined, birthday girl.

  Clawdeen unlocked the driver-side door, suddenly aware of how strange it felt to be one-on-one with the truck. Who was she kidding, thinking she could drive this thing by herself. Maybe Lala was right. Maybe she should ask Clawd. He could—no! Independence was not a dish served with two spoons. She would have to chew on this alone.

  After a deep breath of oxygenated courage and another where r u? text from Cleo, Clawdeen opened the door. At least she knew the air bags worked.

  “Going somewhere?”

  The driver’s seat was occupied.

  Mom?

  “Nice dress,” Harriet said, gripping the wheel with both hands.

  Ping!

  Clawdeen ignored the text. “I can explain,” she said, even though she couldn’t. How would a woman who spent most of her life catering to six males understand the need for independence?

  “I know about the party tonight,” Harriet said, staring into the dark lot as if driving.

  Clawdeen’s heart Titanic-ed. “How?”

  Harriet tugged her ears.

  Ping!

  Another text.

  Is this really happening? Is my mother going to be the sole admirer of a dress that took months to make?

  “Sorry,” she muttered into the chilly breeze.

  “Why, Deenie?”

  Clawdeen considered her answer carefully. If only there was something she could say to gain her mother’s sympathy. I feel neglected….This is me crying out for attention….My life is in danger if I don’t go through with this party….

  Harriet lifted her daughter’s chin and looked her in the eye. “If you want to be treated like a grown-up, you have to act like a grown-up. So how about you get in the truck and tell me the truth.”

  Her mother had a point. Besides, she’d heard everything. There was nothing left to hide.

  Clawdeen shuffled around to the passenger side and climbed in. Old coffee cups lay crushed by her party boots. A new pine-scented air freshener hung from the rearview mirror. The air between them was tense and frigid. But this was hardly the time to ask Harriet to crank the heat.

  “Well?”

  “The truth?” Clawdeen began. “The truth is I wanted a party. I wanted the friends, the dress, the presents, the dancing… everything. One night just for me. Not the triplets. Not Clawd. Not Leena. Not Rocks or Nino. Just me. And then, when everyone said it was too dangerous, I—” The corners of her mouth began to twitch. Clawdeen lowered her eyes, ashamed of her sixteen-year-old tears. “I’m just so over everyone telling me what’s best for me.” She wiped her cheeks. “It’s like you all think I’m completely useless, but I’m not. I can work every power tool in Dad’s shed. I can run faster than every boy in my grade. I get straight As, I can make my own clothes, and I’ve never once seen the inside of the principal’s office or a police car—which is more than my brothers can say. I’ve never trashed a Denny’s for running out of sausages, which is more than my sister can say. Oh, and my video blog has seven fans, and one of them said I’m a natural in front of the camera and a DIY maverick.” The tears came faster now, wreaking havoc on her smoky lids. Not that it mattered. The parking lot was as far as she was going… probably for the next decade. “I guess I wanted to prove that I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

  “Driving without a license is not a decision, Deenie. It’s a crime.”

  “I was going to call a cab,” she lied.

  “And tell the driver what? To take you to a party that may or may not be a trap?” Harriet pulled the elastic from her ponytail and shook out her cinnamon-colored hair. It had grown at least an inch since dinner. “These are not decisions; they’re mistakes.”

  “What’s wrong with mistakes?” Clawdeen barked. She shifted to face the window and mumbled, “Not that I’d know. No one’s ever let me make any.”

  After that the only sound between them was the ping of Clawdeen’s text messages.

  Harriet cleared her throat. “I understand how you feel.”

  Unsure that she’d heard correctly, Clawdeen turned back toward her mother. The cracked blue leather seat creaked in protest. “You do?”

  Ping!

  Harriet twisted the gold wedding band around her finger. “I used to be a lot like you when I was younger. I couldn�
��t stand being bossed around by my mom and older sisters. So I worked as a waitress after school and saved up my money, and the summer before college, I backpacked through Europe. It was so liberating that I ended up staying. For the next two years I worked in restaurants, learned bits and pieces of different languages, and met the most incredible people.”

  Clawdeen was one part fascinated, two parts envious. It sounded like how flying must feel. Why hadn’t her mom ever told her that before? “What made you come back?”

  “A guy named Clawrk.” Harriet grinned, suddenly looking girlish, the way she might have looked in those days. “We met at a café in Amsterdam and spent the next two weeks traveling together before he returned home to America. He begged me to return with him, but I refused. I told myself I wouldn’t follow him, or any man. So he left and I stayed.”

  Clawdeen swiveled in her seat and faced her mother. “Just like that? Didn’t he try to make you go with him?”

  “Your father was too smart for that,” Harriet snickered. “He told me I was making a big mistake, and then stepped aside and let me make it. Let’s just say I was on a plane four days later.” She paused and took Clawdeen’s hand. “But your dad’s a different guy now. He’s not nearly as tough as he used to be. Do you know he cried during Toy Story 3?”

  Clawdeen giggled.

  Harriet sighed. “The hardest thing about being a parent is watching your kids make mistakes. Our instinct is to protect you. But you’re right, Deenie. Sometimes we have to step aside and let you make them anyway. The best we can do is be there when you mess up.”

  Ping!

  “Someone’s trying to find you.”

  “It’s probably Cleo and Melody wondering where I am.” Clawdeen shut off her phone. They’d figure it out eventually.

  “Buckle up.”

  “Huh?”

  “Hurry,” Harriet ordered, starting the engine. “We have a Sassy Sixteen to go to.”

  Clawdeen’s heartbeat started to quicken. “What?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” her mother said, turning on the heat. “Maybe everything will be fine. But I’ll be right beside you, just in case it’s not.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Clawdeen said, giving Harriet a giant hug. And then, “Can I drive?”

  Harriet laughed. “Now you’re pushing it,” she replied, slowly backing out of the spot.

  “Wait!” called a familiar voice. “Stop!”

  Harriet stepped on the brake.

  “If you’re gonna do this, at least let me drive. You suck—” Lala appeared breathless at her window. “Oh, Mrs. Wolf. Sorry! I—I thought you were someone else.” Her cheeks turned bright red. It was the most color she’d ever had.

  Clawdeen leaned forward and waved. “It’s okay, La. She’s cool.”

  “You’re not going to let that fabulous dress go to waste, are you?” asked Harriet.

  Lala looked confused.

  “Hop in,” Harriet said. “We’re late enough as it is.”

  Elated, the vamp did as she was told, squeezing up front beside Clawdeen.

  “Woo-hoo!” they shouted as Harriet merged onto the highway and sped toward what might end up being the first—and most catastrophic—mistake of Clawdeen’s life.

  It was awesome.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  PHAEDIN, FADE OUT

  The train screeched into the Oregon City station.

  “One more stop and we’re there,” Billy announced.

  Frankie jammed her hands into the pockets of her black skinny jeans and turned away from the window. As pumped as she was for Portland, this was the only stop she had been thinking about. The goal—to get past it without sparking—involved not only her fingers but her memories too.

  Billy’s dark, almond-shaped eyes narrowed with concern. “You okay?”

  “Voltage,” she managed, wishing he would stop caring so much and just kiss her. Then she’d associate Oregon City with his lips instead of Brett’s. She’d finally be able to move forward.

  Sadly, VisiBilly wasn’t a make-the-first-move-on-a-train kind of guy. Unlike InvisiBilly, the new Billy had gone to great lengths over the past week to prove he was a gentleman. And somewhere along the way, their friendship had become a courtship.

  He wasn’t able to “officially” start school until next semester. Still, Billy was at Merston every day at 3:35 PM with a black rose and an offer to walk Frankie home. He helped Viveka carry groceries in from the car. And always texted before he went to bed. They laughed less but talked more. After all, his practical jokes were mega-impractical now that he could be seen. Instead, striking looks and a clean-cut style became his calling card. And no one was more taken with Billy than her parents. They never would have let her see a Lady Gaga concert in Portland with Brett.

  Ding. Ding.

  The doors slid open. Frankie refused to think about the last time she had stepped through them. Refused to pay any attention to that Pop Rocks sensation erupting in her stomach. Refused to imagine how she’d feel if he got on the train right now. Refused to…

  “Don’t call my name, don’t call my name, Alejandro…”

  Four bleached-out blonds stepped onto the train belting the chorus of “Alejandro.” Dressed in matching black shirtdresses and turquoise tights, with GAGA written in pink across their chests, they reminded Frankie why she was there. Suddenly, all thoughts of boys, kisses, and Pop Rocks tummies were left behind in Oregon City, where they belonged.

  Still singing, the Gagas sat directly across the aisle from Billy. Tanned and dark-featured, wearing faded jeans, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and gray-and-turquoise Nikes, he was unquestionably something to behold. But so were they. Loud, proud, and free of inhibitions, they were everything Frankie aspired to be. And everything she could be… at least for tonight. Without further hesitation, she pulled her hands out of her pockets, knelt on her seat, and joined in.

  “Don’t wanna kiss, don’t wanna touch…”

  Nudging Billy, she urged him to sing along. And he did.

  A briefcase-wielding man folded up his newspaper and switched cars. They took that as an invitation to sing louder. Soon, fans from all over the train began spilling in, each one a walking homage to Lady Gaga’s unique sense of style. Billy, who didn’t botch a single lyric, waved his arms as if conducting an orchestra. Every now and then he’d crack Frankie up with his falsetto and then go back to charming the other girls with his gleaming smile.

  Carefree and uninhibited, Frankie had never felt so complete. She wasn’t thinking about RADs or normies. Danger or safety. Hiding or protests. No one was. For the first time in her life, none of that mattered. Her only concern was having fun.

  Arm in arm, the musical flash mob got through every song on The Fame Monster and half of The Fame before reaching their stop. While the train slowed, they crowded around the doors anxiously, primed and ready for the real thing.

  “I never would have taken you for a monster,” said one of the original blonds. “You look so… mainstream.”

  Billy burst out laughing. Frankie smiled at the irony.

  Her outfit—black lace-up boots, black skinny jeans, a fitted black turtleneck, and a fur vest (inspired by Cleo’s)—had been deliberate. Tonight she’d be the “normal” one. Perhaps then she’d understand what normies were so afraid of. But it was obvious by the way they’d accepted her that “mainstream versus monster” wasn’t the issue. Connecting was.

  Billy stepped onto the crowded platform. “You think the concert will be as fun as the train ride was?”

  “I’m not sure it can be,” Frankie said with a giggle.

  “I’m glad you made me learn the words.”

  Frankie took his hand. “I’m glad about a lot of things.”

  The Rose Garden Arena generated more electricity than a Stein family reunion. The stadium was charged with joy, alive with energy circulated by thousands of bodies moving to the same beat. Frankie savored it like a gourmet meal.

  Costum
e after costume, song after song, Lady Gaga kept everyone amped—so much so that Billy was sweating bronzer on the collar of his white shirt, a sobering reminder of how different they really were. Not that he seemed to care, or even notice. He put his arm around Frankie and sang along to “So Happy I Could Die” with the joy of someone who has just been released from prison.

  During the chorus he drew Frankie closer. Casually, she licked her lips and allowed him to guide her. He turned to face her and smiled like a movie star. That tingly feeling right before two people make contact, when the brain shuts down and the body takes over, had begun. A Pop Rock or two burst inside her stomach. The crowd around them became dull and fuzzy….

  And then she giggled.

  Billy pulled back, his expression a mixture of confusion and pain.

  “Sorry.” Frankie giggled again. “It’s nothing….”

  “You sure?”

  Frankie nodded with certainty. Billy closed his eyes and leaned toward her. She giggled again.

  “What?”

  “Sorry,” she said, laughing. “It’s just that up until last week, you were, like, my best friend, and now—”

  He kissed her. Hard at first, as if proving a point, and then sweetly, as if proving his love. For someone with so little practice, he seemed to know what he was doing. Enough to distract her from the burned-caramel smell of his spray-tanned face.

  Frankie mirrored his movements with accuracy and skill. Like a robotic fashionista who copied the trends without adding her own style, Frankie was uninspired. And yet she kept going, refusing to give up until she felt the fireworks. Because Billy was perfect for her. And she was—

  Whooosh.

  All of a sudden, Frankie’s entire body began to sweat. Her flesh burned, her cheeks flushed. Yes! She leaned into him even more.

  Billy pulled away. “What was that?” His shirt was stained orange. Dripping sweat, he wiped his forehead invisible. He dried the back of his hand on his jeans, leaving behind another orange stain—and a see-through spot on that hand.

  “Uh-oh. Billy, your—”

  “I know.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I need to start investing in the good stuff,” he said breezily.