Monster High 4: Back and Deader Than Ever

by Lisi Harrison

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  Copyright Page

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  For Hallie Jones, the ghost-est with the most-est.

  A special merci beaucoup to Ingrid Vallon, a wonderful friend and française proofreader.

  J’adore.

  (Ingrid, did I spell all that properly?)

  PROLOGUE

  LET’S GET VISIBLE

  The invisible charmer had a girlfriend. She was spirited and smelled like lilacs. She loved listening to live bands and reporting “the latest” to gossip-starved students. She held hands with him. She tittered at his jokes. Things were getting serious.

  It was time for Billy to wear clothes.

  “Prepare to go from zero to hero,” Frankie said, holding open the door to Abercrombie & Fitch.

  “There’s an itch in Fitch, and we’re gonna scratch it,” Billy added, grinning with anticipation as he stepped into the air-conditioned store. The holiday season had just ended, and thus everything was on sale. High prices were no longer an excuse for nudity. He was ready to zip up, button up, and show up.

  “Look,” said Frankie, pointing at their reflection in the wood-framed mirror. A green girl with white-streaked black hair, plaid tights, and a denim minidress was standing beside a floating pair of sunglasses and tattered Timberlands. The duo burst out laughing.

  In a romantic comedy, this would be a pivotal scene. While watching it, the audience would decide that Billy should be with Frankie instead of the lilac-scented girl. The moviegoers would have seen how they laughed on the train from Salem to Portland. Heard strangers refer to them as a perfect couple. Marveled at how uninhibited they were with each other. And everyone in that audience would long for the person seated beside him or her to be just as dynamic.

  But this wasn’t a movie. It was real life. And for once, Billy Phaedin’s story was more magical than Hollywood.

  They sifted through the racks, blissfully unaware of other shoppers and their puzzled glances. Afloat in a bubble of inside jokes and laughter, they hardly noticed a mother pulling her tween daughter closer to her hip.

  “Welcome,” said a California blond in a ruffled black dress and a bright blue hoodie. She turned to peek at her coworker by the cash register, as if executing a dare. “Can I help you find your size?” And then a little louder, “And your body?”

  The girl at the register smacked the counter in disbelief and cracked up. Billy clenched his fists. Frankie had warned him about this. It had taken weeks of shopping in Salem before the salespeople began treating her like a normie. Now she was a VIP. But Voltage Important Person status wasn’t granted after a single spree. It took time and trust. And they were in Portland now, breaking into a new market. So Billy bit his lip and let Frankie do the talking.

  “We’d love the help,” she said, twisting her hair into a knot. How do girls do that? Billy wondered. Her bolts gleamed unapologetically. “My friend needs a wardrobe.”

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” asked the girl with a know-it-all squint.

  “Salem,” Frankie said.

  “Thought so. I heard about you guys,” she said, eyeing Frankie’s bolts. She reached for them. “Are those—?”

  Frankie swatted the girl’s hand. “Don’t touch. They’re live.”

  The blond blushed. “Sorry.”

  “No prob.” Frankie smiled. “You hook Billy up with some mint clothes, and I’ll send you a pair of stick-ons from my father’s lab. I do it for all my mall friends back home.”

  “F’real?”

  Frankie nodded.

  “Epic. Well, I’m Autumn. And if you guys want to have a seat in our dressing lounge, I’ll start pulling some looks.”

  Frankie led the way and Billy followed. Not the way he used to, galumphing like a sad puppy because she was crushing on Brett Redding instead of him. On this day he was more like a proud pony, trotting joyfully because he was the exception to the Hollywood rule. He could have a megawatt-hot best friend and no longer have to fight the urge to kiss her. She could even have a cool normie boyfriend he didn’t want to choke. He was that stable.

  Ever since he met Spectra—two months earlier at Clawdeen’s Sassy Sixteen party—the only thing Billy had felt for Frankie and Brett was happiness. He no longer felt invisible. Spectra and her playful sense of humor, girlie giggle, and just-because kisses brought color and definition to his world in a way that spray tans never could.

  They settled into the brown leather couch outside the fitting rooms and helped themselves to the complimentary A&F water.

  “Spectra’s been begging me to get visible,” Billy said, dropping his sunglasses into Frankie’s purse. “She’s gonna freak.”

  Frankie took a small sip and then screwed the top back onto her bottle. “She’ll probably tell everyone you were just given a full wardrobe as the new spokesmodel for the store.”

  Billy sighed. Here we go again. “Spec may cut corners when it comes to fact-checking, but she’s not a liar.”

  There was a time when Billy would have hoped Frankie was speaking out of jealousy. But he knew better. Frankie might be green on the outside, but inside she was pure gold—except when it came to Spectra’s “stories.” Those made her see red.

  “I’m not saying she’s a liar,” Frankie insisted. “More like a—”

  Billy stiffened. “A what?”

  Frankie paused to consider her words. “A verbal free spirit.”

  “Maybe because she is a spirit,” he tried.

  “I’m talking about her rumors,” Frankie insisted. “Half the time it’s like she’s just making stuff up.” And then she added, “I’m sorry,” as she always did. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I won’t,” Billy assured her. “Spectra may fill in the blanks sometimes, but she’s not mean.”

  “She could spread a fake rumor about you or—”

  A Bieber-haired boy stepped out of the fitting room holding a striped V-neck. He paused to watch Frankie, who appeared to be talking to herself.

  “What are you looking at?” Billy asked in his deepest voice. “Never seen a green ventriloquist before?”

  “Uh…” The boy scanned the lounge as if looking for hidden cameras. When he didn’t find any, he stiffened—and then grinned. He took a step closer and lifted his palm. “Right awn.”

  Billy thrust his own palm forward and smacked the guy like a long-lost brother. The unexpected force launched Bieber Boy straight into a clothing rack. Hangers swayed wildly above his limp body.

  Frankie raced toward him. “Omigod, are you okay? It was an accident. Usually people run away. We’re not used to—”

  “I’m cool,” he grunted, and then wobbled to his feet with the grace of a colossal pregnant woman. “Can I take your picture?”

  He didn’t seem to mind that one of his subjects was invisible. There was something about the way Frankie’s arm seemed to hover in midair that thrilled him into a dozen thank-yous.

  “Things are really different now,” Billy said once they were alone again. The RADs’ growing acceptance was starting to spread beyond Salem.

  Frankie twirled a loose wrist seam around her finger. “It’s hard to believe Clawdeen’s party turned everything arou
nd.”

  “Losing your head at the school dance kind of got the ball rolling, don’tcha think?”

  Frankie giggled at the memory. “We’re not freaks anymore.”

  “I know. It sucks.” Billy sighed.

  Frankie shot him a look.

  He smiled. “I have to find new material.”

  “It’s about time.”

  “Where’s my model?” asked Autumn, her arms stacked with stylishly wrinkled plaids and denims.

  Billy wiggled his boot. “Here.”

  “Epic. I’ll just put this stuff in a room and—”

  “S’okay,” Billy said, grabbing half the stack and placing it beside him on the couch. “I can change out here. It’s not like anyone can see anything, right?”

  Frankie jumped to her feet and clapped. “Fashion show!”

  For the next hour, Billy allowed himself to be dressed and undressed by two gorgeous girls who wanted nothing more than to make him as cute as visibly possible. He was out in public owning his RADness, mere hours away from a night of lilac-scented hugs.

  And the invisible boy lived happily ever after….

  “Just promise me you won’t change,” Frankie said as they rode the train home, cocooned in a nest of black-and-white bags.

  “I promise,” he said, but it was too late. He already had.

  CHAPTER ONE

  GHOULS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN

  Frankie triple-checked the date on her iPhone to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. It still read June 1. Yellow sparks sprayed from her fingertips, raining down around the crowded bleachers in the school gym. They settled by her black-and-white-striped Mary Janes and then winked out like fireflies. After this day, there would be twenty-three days of school left! Twenty-four days until the first day of summer vacation! Twenty-four days until twenty-four-seven VOLTAGE!

  Amid the mounting sounds of chattering students jockeying for seats, the normie boy beside her placed a warm hand on her shoulder. You okay? his denim-blue eyes seemed to ask.

  Frankie smile-nodded and then returned to the screen. After six months of PDA (public displays of anxiety), Brett Redding still noticed her every flicker. If she sparked during a test, he’d lift his gaze and wink reassuringly. If she sparked when a teacher called on her, he’d place a hand on her back. When she sparked during a scary movie, however, he’d laugh. But Merston High’s other students? They had stopped marveling at her quirks months earlier. The shock of seeing Frankenstein’s granddaughter snap, crackle, and pop was soooo last November.

  Unable to sit still, Frankie bounced her mint-green knee. Zap! Another spark singed a small hole in the polyurethane coating on the bench. She wrinkled her nose and tried to wave away the smell of burning plastic before anyone noticed.

  “What’s with the light show?” he asked, scanning the gym for a possible cause.

  “I’m fine,” Frankie assured him as she thumbed her keypad. “I just thought of something else for my summer to-do-or-die list, and I got excited.”

  “It’s just called a to-do list.” Brett grinned. “You know that, right?”

  “Not mine.” She quickly typed: EXPERIMENT: TAN LEGS ONLY, SO IT LOOKS LIKE I’M WEARING DARK GREEN TIGHTS. “To-dos are a snooze. Everything on my list is to die for,” Frankie insisted, defending her sixteen ideas. Because, really, they were more than just ideas. They were warm-weather adventures. At least, they were to her. Most of her friends had already tasted the salty Pacific Ocean or spent an entire day barefoot; caught a real firefly in a jar or tried a three-day solar-energy cleanse. But not Frankie. She may have been implanted with fifteen years’ worth of knowledge, but this was going to be her first summer of real life. And she was going to seize the season with every stitch in her body. She just had to make it through this last weekly diversity-training assembly without shorting out, and she’d be one hour closer.

  Blue squeezed in beside Frankie on the bench. Once settled, she wound her blond curls up in a knot and secured them with an aqua lacquered chopstick. Fanning the back of her neck, the Aussie sea creature sighed. “Man, I can’t wait to don the ol’ bathers and soak my scales in the fuzzy.”

  “What time is your pedicure?” Frankie wondered, thinking she’d benefit from a little piggy polish herself.

  “Nay, Sheila,” Blue said with her usual dolphin-y cackle. “That was Australian for ‘I need a swim.’ I’m as chapped as a mozzy in the Woop Woop.” Sunbeams shone through the gym’s skylight and onto her dry scales, casting iridescent crescent-shaped glimmers on the wall behind them.

  “A swim sounds voltage!” Frankie beamed. “Let’s get a big group together. I’ll have Daddy turn down the turbines in our backyard, and we can jump in the falls.”

  Blue clapped her pink-mesh-gloved hands for joy.

  “What’s this I hear about a pool party?” Clawdeen asked, making her way up the steps. She plopped her red leather cross-body bag on the bench beside Blue and then pulled an orange chunk of foam from her right ear. The canine’s ears were too sensitive for assembly noise. But social plans and gossip? She never tuned those out. “Where and when?” she asked, removing the left earplug.

  “My house after school,” Frankie announced.

  “Works for me,” Clawdeen said, fluffing the auburn tuft around her neck and then jamming the plugs back in place. Even though the moon wasn’t close to full, Clawdeen’s arms and neck were covered in luxurious fur. She was in perpetual Hollywood glam mode since she had cut back on the waxing and upped the grooming. Normies in every grade were now adorning their collars and sleeves with synthetic pelts in a multitude of textures and colors. Yet none could compete with the shine and fullness of Clawdeen’s. She DIYed herself a crystal brooch that said FUR REAL and wore it daily, just in case they tried.

  Cleo squeezed in beside Clawdeen. Bodies parted Red Sea–style to let her through. She finger-combed her bangs and then surveyed the crowd. Her purple jersey minidress wrapped her caramel-colored curves like a birthday present; the gold linen strips around her wrists were the bows.

  “Is skinny-dipping allowed at this pool party?” Billy asked from somewhere nearby.

  “What was the point of all our shopping trips if you’re not going to wear your new clothes?” Frankie asked her invisible best friend.

  “It’s hot out,” he said.

  “Well, I hope your invisibooty isn’t on these benches,” Cleo said, sitting. The smell of amber and superiority surrounded her like a protective bubble. “My outfit hasn’t been Scotchgarded yet.”

  “How about beeotch-guarded?” Billy snipped.

  Everyone giggled except Cleo’s boyfriend, Deuce. He knew better than to laugh at anything that cast his royal girlfriend in an unflattering light. Instead, he began to squirm like the snakes under his beanie, and turned to greet his b-ball buddy Davis Dreyson in the row behind them. Deuce’s signature mirrored Ray-Bans reflected his friend’s easy smile.

  “Why are we even here?” asked Blue. “We’re as diverse as a two-headed dingo.” She wrapped her arms around Irish Emmy—her new normie friend from the swim team—and then kissed her sloppily on the cheek. “See?”

  “Aww, dry up, ya bird.” Irish Emmy giggled, wiping the slobber off her pale face. Her flat-ironed red hair undulated like sea grass.

  Blue was right. They didn’t need lectures and tolerance exercises anymore. The diversity-training assemblies had done a mint job of teaching normies and RADs how to coexist peacefully. There hadn’t been a single issue in months. In fact, RAD (Regular Attribute Dodgers) were trending up this semester. Way up.

  Frankie’s seams had inspired the latest henna tattoo craze: shoulder and wrist stitches. Cleo admirers wrapped their arms in linen. Deuce’s signature hat-and-sunglasses look had spread through the basketball team faster than athlete’s foot. Faux-fur tributes to Clawdeen rolled down the halls like tumbleweed. And Blue’s sleeves were advertised in the latest spring colors. Freak was finally chic. So why not call it a day? An early dismissal for a job well don
e? After their swim, they could rent a paddleboat and drift along the Willamette River. Breathe the grass-scented air. Sample each flavor of gelato—

  “Everyone up!” shouted a frizzy-haired fortysomething as she walk-bounced toward the center of the basketball court. As if working the runway at O’Hare Airport, she waved the students to stand.

  Mrs. Foose—the school’s “integration expert,” as Principal Weeks called her—had been hired to teach tolerance to the students at Merston High. “Maybe she can teach us how to tolerate her wardrobe,” Cleo had remarked at the first assembly. And as much as Frankie hated to judge, she could see Cleo’s point. Foose’s uniform—an oversize slogan tee (today’s said LOVE THY GAYBOR), high-waisted Levi’s, and teeter-tottering purple-and-silver EasyTone Reeboks—was hard to condone.

  “It’s our last assembly of the year, so sing it like you mean it.” Mrs. Foose pressed a button on her old-school boom box and stiffly lifted her left hand to her chest. A rather robust rendition of Merston High’s new anthem echoed through the gym. Frankie—always eager to make the best of a boring situation—stood in the bleachers and sang at the top of her lung space.

  “Come one, come all, don’t hesitate!

  At Merston High we tol-er-ate!

  Class is cool; let’s go study.

  High school rocks when a RAD’s your buddy!”

  Frankie sang this line extra loud, and everyone applauded and jumped up on the bleachers. Mrs. Foose flashed a thumbs-up, reveling in the surge of teen spirit. Frankie flashed a thumbs-up back. Cleo rolled her topaz-colored eyes, probably wishing she could cut off Frankie’s thumb and jam it up her—

  “Buuuut… normies are quite special too,

  So mix and mingle—it’s not taboo!

  Learn from each other, never smother.

  Merston High: It’s like no other!”

  Frankie led the school in a round of enthusiastic bleacher stomping while Mrs. Foose wiped tears of pride from her eyes.

  “Don’t hate!” the teacher called, fist-pumping.

  “Tol-er-ate!” the students responded.

  Applause rang out as Mrs. Foose turned off the boom box and adjusted the microphone on her headset. “Seats, everyone!”