Hand in the air, Nine rushed to Melody’s side. “I’ll high-four-point-five to that, sistah!” She smacked Melody’s palm.
Sage nodded. “Same story for all of us. But Davina, our last singer, was a total fit-wit.”
Huh?
“Obsessed with fitting in.”
“Not with us, though,” explained Cici. “With the quote un-quote popular crowd.”
Melody could have talked to these girls forever. But Jackson was waiting, and she wanted to be fair. “So, who wants to Smucker?”
The trio exchanged puzzled glances.
OMG, what was I thinking? It wasn’t even clever when Overalls said it! Melody wanted to charge for the rectangular window and test out her feathers.
“Wait, do you mean jam?” asked Sage.
Mortified, Melody nodded. “It’s an old roadie term from the seventies,” she lied.
“I love it!” said Cici.
“Me too,” said Nine-Point-Five, twirling her sticks. “Let’s Smucker. One, two, one two three four!”
Melody recognized the cover instantly. It was a reggae-slash-punk-infused version of “Everlong” by the Foo Fighters.
“Join in whenever,” Sage called over the music.
Melody stood and closed her eyes. She tapped her thigh to the offbeat and then began.
“Come down and waste away with me…”
She sang quietly at first, blending, not showcasing. But when the sunny beat cooled, Melody fused with the song. The music rose up through the floor, into her high-tops, up her legs, through her stomach, and out her mouth like a hot spring.
The redhead poked her head in and began swaying. Behind her, wannabes craned for a glimpse inside. Melody saw them as if in a dream. Gauzy and distant. There but indistinguishable.
“If anything could ever feel this real forever, if anything could ever be this good again…”
The final line hung in the air like Candace’s Black Orchid perfume. The acoustic bass and guitar chords quieted. Everything went silent. The redhead closed the door with a soft click.
“Woooo-hooooo!” howled Nine-Point-Five, waving her sticks in the air.
Cici tossed up her tiara and shouted, “That rocked!”
Melody burst into laughter.
“So, what are your summer plans?” asked Sage, unplugging.
Melody checked to see that the door was closed all the way. “Um, no plans yet,” she muttered. “Why?”
“We’re trying to line up gigs so we don’t have to get jobs.”
Thoughts of warm summer nights and stage-hopping gave Melody roller-coaster stomach. What could be better?
An urgent knock interrupted. Jackson entered.
“Who’s the accountant?” Nine whisper-asked Cici.
The fuzzy love screen that had covered Melody’s eyes whenever she looked at her boyfriend lifted, and she saw Jackson the way the Goddesses must have seen him. His freshly ironed short-sleeved plaid button-down was tucked too neatly into his pleated khakis. His soft brown bangs were gelled and combed across his forehead, and his black glasses were definitely more geek than chic. It was the first time she’d ever looked at him like this.
“Uh, sorry, Carl, the tax club only meets on Saturday,” said Sage.
Jackson glared at Melody.
“Um… everyone, this is my, uh, Jackson.”
Sage, Cici, and Nine-Point-Five stared at her. Nine-Point-Five glanced at Jackson and then back at Melody as if to say, For real?
Jackson looked at Melody. Hurt carved an invisible path between them. Was she that insecure?
“Sorry to interrupt, but it’s four fifteen and—”
Melody widened her eyes. Five more minutes?
Jackson widened back. You promised.
Nine-Point-Five broke the heavy silence. “Hey, I know you! You’re that guy from the ‘Ghoul’ show!” She tapped Sage’s shoulder with her sticks. “Remember him?”
Sage nodded, recognition spreading across her face. “Yeah!”
Melody stood reluctantly and joined Jackson at the door.
Nine-Point-Five followed her. “I loved you in that show! Can you actually turn into that fun guy, or was that whole thing faked?”
Melody exhaled.
Jackson smiled gratefully. It wasn’t often that his alter ego inspired such admiration. “It’s all real,” he said, flashing his hand fan.
“That’s hot!” Nine-Point-Five said. “We were calling you Brad Pitt-Stain because you were all sweaty.”
Jackson managed a smile. Melody blushed on his behalf.
“It was nice meeting you. Your band is really good.” Jackson flashed them an earnest thumbs-up. And then to Melody, “Come on, we have to go.”
She turned and looked back into the room. Sage smiled a disappointed half smile. “Hey, if you’ve got somewhere better to go…”
Melody shook her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just—”
“Actually, we’ve got summer job interviews at a performing-arts camp,” he explained, the way someone might brag about walking the red carpet.
The room was silent. Cici and Nine burst out laughing.
“So you do have summer plans,” Sage noted, confused.
“Not really,” Melody said, avoiding Jackson’s eyes. “I mean—”
“No problem,” Sage said, looking away.
Melody swallowed. “Okay, well thanks so much. That was awesome. Talk to you later, I guess?”
Jackson led her into the elevator like a petulant preschooler.
Maybe not telling them she was a Siren had been a mistake. Maybe it was her destiny to use her voice, not to hide it. Maybe…
Bing.
The door closed behind them.
“Going down?” asked a chipper girl with an eager-to-please smile.
Jackson nodded.
Melody sighed. Going down, indeed.
CHAPTER TEN
ACCESS D-NIED
The cafeteria, which smelled like wet wool beanies and tuna casserole, crackled with cutthroat competition. It was the first time Lala had been responsible for anything cutthroat in her entire life, and it felt surprisingly good.
An unfamiliar warm feeling—was it pride?—filled her like soft serve in a cone. It tickled her insides and made her hold her head up high and flash her fangs at everyone who passed. Both RADs and normies were excited about the possibility of being sponsored by two of the biggest footwear brands on the planet. And her dad would be, too, if he ever hung up his headset long enough to hear about the contest.
A red plastic tray of cheeseburgers floated by, followed closely by a lavender raincoat belted with a delicate silver chain.
“Hey, Spectra!”
The ghost obviously hadn’t heard her over the lunchtime playlist’s latest Jack Johnson selection, because the cheeseburgers kept moving. “Spectra!”
A girl in a denim jacket appeared in Lala’s path. “Who are you voting for? Cleo or Frankie? Maybe just give us the first initials or something if you don’t want to take sides.”
Lala opened her mouth to respond, but a cool lilac breeze blew in her ear. She shivered.
“You called?”
Lala turned toward Spectra’s sweet, ethereal voice—and found herself facing a vintage Pac-Man tee and khaki cargo shorts. “Billy? I just saw Spectra. Is she okay?”
“It’s me. Spectra.”
Lala paused, confused.
“Billy and I decided to switch clothes today. That way I could take his English test, and he could take my bio quiz.”
“Must be nice,” Lala mumbled.
The girl in the denim jacket had turned back to her friends. “I’m telling you, Cleo might dress the best, but Frankie’s so authentic.”
Lala said she was undecided and then headed toward her usual table.
Haylee and Heath took up one corner, flipping back and forth between the SENIOR LUNCHEON and T’EAU DALLY sections of her Balance Board binder. Haylee’s mousy bangs looked greasy, and she had bags under
her eyes. Clearly, campaigning for T’eau Dally while planning the senior graduation luncheon was more than her looks could handle.
Frankie, Blue, and Clawdeen were hovering over a magazine, looking for vote-day outfits. Lala grinned and slid onto the bench next to Clawd, who was too engrossed in Deuce’s update on last night’s winning basket to notice.
Cleo took advantage of the lull in the sports recap to wave papyrus samples in front of Deuce’s nose. Were they planning a campaign or a wedding? He shrugged and pointed to the middle one, though his mirrored Ray-Bans made it impossible to know if he was even looking. Lala couldn’t help wondering how much he needed his glasses versus how much he hid behind them. Yes, without something covering his eyes, everything Deuce looked at would turn to stone. But contact lenses could be coated with the same solution that kept his shades from transforming onlookers. Contacts just wouldn’t conceal his intolerance for girlie stuff.
“Howzit with the boomer being back?” Blue stretched out her webbed fingers and pinched a piece of unagi with her chopsticks.
Lala grinned, hoping the fake fang flash conveyed more confidence than she actually felt. Leave it to Blue to remember to ask about the “amazing” father-daughter relationship Lala had been blabbing about all week. How they had spent hours bonding by the fire, rising and shining for early-morning hikes, cooking vegan meals together… Because how could she actually admit that her father had been home for two weeks and they’d barely even talked? That her pets were terrified of him? That he had no idea about the T’eau Dally contest?
Thankfully, she never had to. Arcade Fire’s “Wake Up” faded just in time for the entire table to hear Jackson whine, “Come on, Melly, you’ve been on that thing all day!”
“I promised Sage I’d send her the name of a bootleg.”
Jackson took a bite of his turkey on rye. Melody sent her text.
“Speaking of bootleg, have you seen the new Mother jeans?” Cleo asked. “They are a perfect mix of flare and skinny. I’m sending Ram out for a pair after school if anyone wants to place an order.”
Clawdeen raised her hand.
“Speaking of perfect mix,” Spectra said, “I think Billy and I should try out for the T’eau Dally thing. We’re the perfect combination of beautiful and gorgeous.”
Everyone cracked up.
Cleo flicked her on the arm. “Dumb and dumber is more like it.”
Billy unscrewed the top on Cleo’s chili powder shaker. As usual, she reached for the spice and shook. A hailstorm of red powder coated her tabbouleh.
“Ka, Billy!” She pinched the eye of Horus amulet around her neck and waved it in the air. She snapped the lids back onto the glass containers of her Middle Eastern feast and dropped them into her linen tote. “Come on, D.”
Deuce shrugged and popped the last bite of his pepperoni pizza into his mouth. He stood, stretched, and grabbed his empty tray, following Cleo as she marched out.
“I’m so over her acting like she’s better than the rest of us,” Billy said.
“Go easy on her,” Frankie said. “She’s just upset because her twin sister, Nefra, is leaving Salem for Alexandria.”
“Twin?” Lala asked. “They’re not twins.”
“Yeah, Nefra is older than Cleo,” Spectra said. “And where did you hear she was moving? She lives in Cairo.”
“You told me that,” Frankie said pointedly.
“Me?” Spectra gasped.
Ping.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Ping. Ping.
Like kernels in a microwave, text alerts popped throughout the cafeteria. Clawdeen, Blue, Melody, Jackson, Frankie, Heath, Lala, Clawd, Billy, and Spectra all reached for their phones in unison.
Haylee looked up from her planner.
Brett laughed. “What’s that? Like a secret RAD code or something?”
No one responded. The RADs were too busy reading the message that glowed from their screens.
TO: ALL
June 14, 12:34 PM
MR. D: MANDATORY MTG 7 PM FRI AT THE CLEARING. RADS ONLY.
Jackson was the first to ask. “What’s going on, Lala?”
“Why so mysterious?” asked Heath.
Billy’s phone waved in the air. “What’s happening?”
Brett and Haylee glanced at each other in a no fair! sort of way.
“Why the clearing?” wondered Clawd.
“Why does it have to be Friday?” complained Melody.
Lala’s cheeks burned. She had no idea, but she wasn’t about to let on. Not after she’d been bragging all week about how close she and her dad were getting.
She made a zipping motion across her lips in an of-course-I-know-but-I-can’t-tell-you kind of way.
Clawdeen groaned. “Oh. Come. On! You have to tell us! You can’t keep us waiting until Friday.”
Lala accidentally locked eyes with Melody. Great. All I need is for Melody to force me to admit I don’t know what’s going on. Lala quickly looked away.
Blue leaned across the table and grabbed an apple slice from Lala’s tray. “It’s got to be about the T’eau Dally thing. Right, La?”
Lala tried her best to look coy. Not that she really knew what coy looked like.
“I bet the ol’ boomer is gonna throw some ace congratulations barbie for Lala,” Blue said.
Lala dug her fangs into her bottom lip. The pain distracted her from the torture.
“I know something,” Spectra whispered, sending a cool, lilac-scented breeze across the table. Everyone leaned closer to the Pac-Man shirt. “I heard that Mr. D is resigning as our superior. He’s holding the meeting to announce the new leader. As soon as he’s done, a helicopter will whisk him away to Majorca.”
“Who’s the new superior?” asked Heath.
“You have a superior?” asked Haylee.
Frankie crinkled her brows. “Where’s Majorca?”
Lala’s legs began to itch. She wanted to race home and beg her father for the truth. What if her dad was going to take her with him, as a surprise? But what if the surprise was that he wasn’t?
Bwoop. Bwoop. Bwoop.
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and the end of Spectra’s story.
“Whoops!” She pushed back from the table and got to her feet. Grabbing Billy’s old gray messenger bag, she made kissy noises. “Gotta scoot! Don’t want to be late for my English test.”
Everyone turned to face Lala. She felt the tofu fingers rise up in her belly and gather in the back of her throat. “I can’t say anything,” she managed. “He trusted me to keep the secret.”
“Come on,” they urged.
Lala squirmed uncomfortably.
Clawd elbow-nudged her. His yellow-brown eyes were intense and focused. “You don’t have to tell anyone anything. You’re great at keeping secrets. That’s one of the things I…” He stopped himself in case anyone was listening, but squeezed her hand under the table.
Clawd was right. She was good at keeping secrets. If only she had one to keep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CAMPAIN IN THE BUTT
TUESDAY, JUNE 14
Bwoop. Bwoop.
School’s out. It’s T’eau time!
Frankie kissed her flyers for luck and forced an ear-grazing smile. Smiling, she’d read, prompts the secretion of serotonin, nature’s happy chemical. And it was crucial she project joy and confidence, especially under such misty skies. She needed to win the heart spaces (and votes!) of her fellow Merstonites. If she didn’t, someone else (Cleo! Haylee!) would.
The main doors parted with a slam, and the student tsunami surged. Frankie seratonin-smiled a stitch wider than usual and called, “You won’t regret a vote for Frankie and Brett!” She handed her first green flyer to a freshman in glasses. He blushed and then swallowed, his skinny Adam’s apple bobbing like a fishing lure. She offered her second flyer to a senior with black clip-on bangs. The girl waved Frankie away like a bad smell. “I’m a de Nile–phile,” she announced, flashing th
e charm on her necklace.
A gift from Cleo, the magic amulet was supposed to bring good fortune to anyone who wore it—if the wearer voted for her and Deuce. Every girl who passed seemed to be wearing one. Stars for fame, coins for wealth, hearts for love… So far, Cleo’s charms were doing a great job making Frankie disappear. She hoped Brett was having more luck by the football field.
“STEIN AND REDDING GO TOGETHER LIKE DOGS AND SHEDDING!” she called into the nonresponsive crowd. Classmates hurried by, refusing to make eye contact with her. Is this how the perfume-sample sprayers at Saks feel? It’s only a piece of paper, people!
Desperate to spread the word, Frankie accidentally passed a flyer to Haylee, who wadded it up and tossed it into the trash.
“Thank you for not littering,” Frankie managed in her kindest voice. Because the It Couple weren’t just models; they were role models.
“Thank you for killing trees!” Haylee shouted.
Her supporters applauded as if she’d just finished her inaugural address.
Address?
A dress!
That’s it!
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 15
If Frankie wanted to look like the ambassador of fusion, she would have to dress like the ambassador of fusion. No more black jeggings and off-the-shoulder shirts. That was expected like the 9:07 AM train to Snoozerville. From now on, she would have Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup style: two different tastes blended. Only hers would be sporty and sassy, just like the T’eau Dally brand.
In the first-floor bathroom, Frankie studied her reflection: pink super high-top Chucks, rainbow-striped thigh-high socks, a Black Swan –inspired black tutu skirt, a form-flattering Merston football jersey (thanks to Clawdeen’s DIY sewing skills and Clawd’s generous donation), and a cropped denim blazer. Her hair was tied in dozens of fist-sized knots with colorful shoelaces, and her makeup was runway-ready. Poor Lala, she thought. Frankie couldn’t imagine a life without mirrors. Color blindness would be bad enough. But couture blindness? It deserved a handicapped parking spot and an annual fund-raiser.
Frankie kissed the mirror, leaving behind a pink pucker, and any last bits of insecurity left over from the day before. She and Brett had a contest to win.
Monster High 4: Back and Deader Than Ever Page 8
