Several students in the second row leaned forward to ask the couple if Cleo’s announcement was true. Frankie glanced at Haylee, who mouthed back, I’m sorry. Sorry for what? Heath simply looked at Brett and shrugged as though he had no idea what was going on, nor did he care.
“What part of ‘respect their privacy’ don’t you get?” Cleo snapped.
The first two rows faced forward, and the murmurs stopped. Why would Haylee quit? And why did she confide in Cleo? No offense, Glitterati, but I smell a rat.
Cleo banged her yellow stack of index cards on the podium and rolled back her bronzed shoulders.
“Index cards?” Billy whispered as he sat on the floor and leaned against Frankie’s legs.
“I heard she hired Bill Clinton’s former speechwriter,” Spectra added, sitting beside him.
“My name is Cleo de Nile, and I’m running with my long-term boyfriend, Deuce Gorgon.” Her voice was unwavering. Her bangs glistening. Her coral dress revealing.
“And if you vote for us, we’ll win for you. It’s that simple. T’eau Dally is looking for a golden couple to represent the merger of function and style.” She gestured to Deuce in his black beanie, white Wayfarers, and sloppy jeans. “As you can see, he’s function.” She gestured to the braided gold band across her black bangs. “And I’m style.”
Applause.
“When it comes to high performance, well, D is the king of b-ball, and I’m queen bee.” She glanced down at the cards.
Applause.
“But we’re more than just great-looking faces.” She paused to bat her fake lashes at Frankie. “We’re environmentally best-friendly, which appeals to T’eau Dally’s green ethic—”
Billy nudged Frankie on the shin. “Look,” he whispered, eyeing Haylee.
Are her lips moving in time with Cleo’s?
“No flyers or unrecyclable bolts in our campaign!” Cleo continued. Haylee mouthed along.
Holy shock! Cleo is reading Haylee’s speech!
“And when we win, we’ll take that idea even further by adding skylights to the cafeteria, solar-powered heating—”
Lala clapped. Frankie picked her seams.
“Organic food made by Harriet Wolf—”
Clawdeen and her brothers clapped.
“A spa in the nurse’s office, because stress is the number one cause of illness.” Haylee mouthed along.
Deuce leaned into the mike. “Video-game consoles in the locker rooms.”
His teammates stood and cheered, “Deuce! Deuce! Deuce!”
Frankie picked another seam.
Cleo grabbed the mike. “Swim lanes in the halls.”
“Ace!” Blue shouted.
“Rake!” called Irish Emmy.
“Solid, concrete things that T’eau Dally and Merston can be proud—”
Bzzzzzz.
Deuce leaned forward and flashed a peace sign. “Gorgon and de Nile will make you smile.” He pulled Cleo in for a kiss.
“Give them a hand!” Lala shouted over roars of approval.
In a show of good sportsmanship, Frankie did. And then that hand slid off its seams and landed with a suicidal thud.
Brett quickly bent down to get it. “I don’t think she was being serious.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Frankie said, sniffling.
A gold linen strip floated down from the stage and landed on her shoulder. “Wrap it in that until you get home.”
“Thanks,” Frankie mumbled without looking up.
“Consider it a consolation prize,” purred Cleo as three hundred–plus students lined up to vote. “Thanks for playing. It’s been golden.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ROADIE TRIP
Melody bounded up the school steps, the soles of her Converse slapping the pavement in a loud-enough-to-get-busted sort of way. She’d skipped the assembly for a quick photo shoot with the band, and if she hurried, she could slip in unnoticed before the voting was over. At least that was what she had thought before catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass doors: feather-fringed hair, metallic eye shadow, smudged liner, Cici’s shiny gray jeggings, Sage’s neon-yellow off-the-shoulder tee. She was way too Saturday night for a Monday afternoon. Principal Weeks would notice her from the NASA space shuttle. And then there was Jackson….
Melody had spent the weekend convincing him that the ride from Granite was just a ride, and they’d finally agreed not to let the band come between them. Things were back to normal. Plans for Camp Crescendo were under way…
… and then Sage had called.
New posters were their final attempt to drum up summer gigs before resorting to “real job” hunts. And attendance at the photo shoot by their new lead Goddess was mandatory. What would happen to the Camp Crescendo plan if the band got summer gigs? Melody shook the thought from her mind. She’d jump off that bridge when she came to it.
The shoot was speedy, as promised. It was just the whole let’s-rethink-the-name-of-the-band-now-that-Davina-is-gone conversation that went into overtime. And it was still going when Melody dashed into the hallway.
STYLE DOLLS? (Cici.)
SUPERSONIC SCANDAL? (Sage.)
SONIC DIVA? (Cici.)
FOOTLOOSE AND FINGER-FREE? (Nine-Point-Five.)
ROCK GLITZ? (Sage.)
Melody’s phone was pinging like iTunes. She should have switched it to silent mode. Should have snapped back into school mode. Should have slipped inside the auditorium. But she couldn’t move. She felt like a caged bird, wanting to fly but forced to stay grounded.
LEADFEATHER, she texted. It was the perfect way to describe the feeling.
Her bandmates responded immediately with a HELLZ YEAH!
Problem solved. No more excuses. The voting booths were waiting. What was it they were voting for, again?
Ping!
She dug for her phone. Probably Jackson wondering where she was…
TO: Melody
June 20, 1:16 PM
GRANITE: OUTSIDE UR SCHOOL. MEET ME. WANNA SHOW U SOMETHING.
Another minute won’t hurt. Will it?
Granite, in his usual leather jacket, worn jeans, and scuffed boots, was leaning against his motorcycle as if posing for a movie poster. His light gray eyes faced the bright sun, and yet the glare didn’t seem to bother him. Nothing did.
“Hop on,” he said, offering his helmet.
Melody glanced back at the mustard-colored building. Fourth period was still a half hour away. She slipped on the helmet. Like strong hands during a make-out, it gripped the sides of her face and blocked out the universe.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they merged onto I-5 north. Definitely longer than a minute…
Melody tried to be irritated when he didn’t answer. But the sun was on her back, the wind was in her face, and Granite’s abs were as taut as guitar strings. Not that Jackson’s weren’t. They were… just in a thinner sort of way. It was time to head back to school. To Jackson. To reality. All she had to do was lean a little closer to Granite’s pointy ear and, in her best Siren voice, tell him to turn around. Instead, she held on tight and enjoyed the ride.
An hour later they were driving over a bridge that put them in downtown Portland. They zoomed past a Chinese garden, a cool record shop on Second Avenue, and tons of vintage stores that Candace would have loved. But Granite didn’t slow down until they came to a squared-off pile of rubble on a busy corner of Third Avenue.
“What is this place?”
“The future site of a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf,” he said, kicking a brick.
“This was your old home?” Melody asked as the pile of rubble took on new meaning.
Granite nodded. “This was Venue.” He pulled her past the caution tape and onto what used to be the beer-soaked stage. Hills of poster-covered walls lay at their feet like unwanted cookie crumbs at the bottom of the bag. He bent down and handed her a diamond-shaped rock with the word JAM on it.
“I remember when Eddie Vedder dr
opped off that poster,” Granite said. “No one had even heard of Pearl Jam yet. He pulled his van right up to the doors and blasted the demo during a staff meeting. Vic, the owner, booked the band that night.”
“Really?” Melody asked, gripping the concrete diamond as if it were the Hope.
“I dunno if it’s cuz I was watching from up high or what, but that Vedder is one short dude,” Granite said. He ran a finger down the cracked wood bar, raising a cloud of dust that frolicked in the sun.
“What happened to the other gargoyles?”
“The architect came by and pried them loose before the wrecking ball came. He wanted them for a bank he was designing.” He paused. “I couldn’t do it.”
“Do what?”
He helped her over a pile of broken tables.
“Spend the next hundred years above a bank.” He winced. “Could you imagine?”
Melody shuddered at the thought.
“We had been hearing about all the cool things happening for RADs in Salem, so that’s where I went.”
Melody almost said she was happy he did.
Thirty minutes later they were standing in front of a black, windowless building, eating meatball subs and drinking supersize sodas.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“Dante’s.”
“You mean where Stormy Knight played?”
Granite grinned and nodded. “I didn’t exactly go straight to Salem after Venue closed. I kind of hung here for a few weeks.” He winked, letting her know it was their secret. “That’s how I met the Goddesses. We got to talking after their show, and they offered me a job as their roadie, so I split.”
Melody tossed her half-eaten food in the trash. “I love how free your life is.”
“Have wings, will travel.” He winked again.
Wings?
“Come on, I’ll show you the inside.” Granite took her hand again. This time he didn’t let go.
A guy in a black tee and Dickies was pulling chairs off the wood tables. He glanced up when they walked in. “Closed, man.”
The place smelled like Pine-Sol and chicken wings.
“Ray. It’s me, bro.”
“Granite?” He shook his head and came over for a too-cool-to-hug one-armed back smack. “Sick of Salem already?”
Granite chuckled. “Just visiting.”
While he introduced her to Ray, Melody barely managed to look away from the L7 and Butthole Surfers posters. They would look so cool in her room.
“Mind if I give her a quick tour?”
“Go for it.”
Granite held aside a black curtain, heavy with dust. It swung closed behind them, cutting off any last bit of daylight. They headed down a narrow hallway behind the stage that twisted and turned, exactly like Melody’s stomach. Friends hold hands all the time, right? Melody pulled away and scratched her arm.
“Behold, the greenroom,” Granite said. But there was nothing green about it. The smell of stale cigarettes greeted them at the door. “This is where Jeffie Nylons set fire to a refrigerator. Don’t ask me how.”
A worn burgundy sofa was framed by scorch marks on the white walls. She ran her hand along the charcoal-colored scars. “I saw the footage on YouTube. Were you here?”
“Yup. Never seen anything like it.” Granite plopped down on the couch and rested his boots on the smudged glass top of the coffee table. Melody wondered whose famous fingerprints he was stepping on.
A man in a striped button-down and dark, ironed jeans stood in the dark doorway. His brown leather boots and gold accessories earned him the title of Most Hollywood-Looking Dude Ever. “Do I know you?”
Granite jumped to stand. “Mr. Snyder?”
The guy stuck out his hand with mild trepidation. Granite grasped it and shook it like a can of spray paint. “I’m Granite. We met at the Heavens to Betsy gig last month.” Mr. Snyder grinned, his overbleached smile a dental homage to the Apple Store. “How could I forget? You’re the crack who expects me to believe you’ve been at every Venue show since the late sixties, right?”
Granite nodded with the pride of being remembered. And then to Melody, “Mr. Snyder is the biggest tour manager in the entire Northwest.”
Something began to knock. It was massive opportunity.
“Hey.” Melody smiled, shaking his cologne-soaked hand. “My band is actually looking for some summer gigs. I can get you a demo or show you some videos posted on—”
He looked her up and down appraisingly. “Feathers are done, kid.” And then to Granite: “You got some chutzpah.” He chuckled to himself. “Every show since the sixties, huh?”
Granite nodded.
“So that makes you… what… about seventy years old?”
“Something like that,” Granite said, clutching his cool like a winning lottery ticket. Still, this guy was seriously ruffling Melody’s feathers. Ha.
“Melody’s band is incredibly well known,” he offered. “You must have heard of Grunge Go—”
“Leadfeather,” she interrupted.
Snyder checked the screen of his BlackBerry and turned to leave. “I told you, kid, feathers are done.”
“Wait,” Melody called.
Mr. Snyder stopped.
“Look at me… uh…”
“Lew. My first name is Lew.”
“Okay, Lew, look at me.”
Granite covered his mouth in disbelief. “Melody! What are you—?”
Melody raised her palm to silence him. Some people spend a lifetime searching for a way in. But she had the golden key. Only a fool would refuse to use it.
“You love Leadfeather,” she said to Snyder. “You love the name, you love the sound, and you love Granite, their manager.”
Lew ran a hand through his thick gray hair. “You bet I do.”
Melody took a deep breath. She looked directly into the man’s blinking blue eyes and said, “You need to put Leadfeather on tour this summer.”
Lew nodded.
“I’m thinking state-of-the-art tour bus, five-star hotels, and pizza money.”
Lew poked at the keys on his BlackBerry. He pressed Send. “Wheels are in motion, kid.” He pulled a business card out of Granite’s ear. “I minor in magic,” he boasted. “This one has my personal line. Make sure the rest of the band is free and call me at first light. I want to move on this before the big five book out.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Granite said. “I’m thinking we should start local, do a couple of smaller shows, then move into Seattle, San Francisco, maybe even LA.”
Lew pulled Granite into a headlock and knuckle rubbed his head, “Oy, I love this kid. So full of shpilkis.” His cell phone chirped. “This is the promoter. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Granite played it cool until the door slammed, and then pulled Melody in for a hug. To her, it felt like running into a wall. “That was insane!”
“I know!” she shouted into his neck. “The girls are going to be so excited.”
Ping!
TO: Melody
June 20, 6:02 PM
JACKSON: WHERE R U?
She pulled away from Granite and stared at the screen. Her mouth went dry. Her heart began to speed. It’s not that she had anything to hide. She and Granite were just friends. Colleagues, really. But how would she explain the summer tour? The snag in the Camp Crescendo plan? The fact that she’d used her Siren powers to alter the plan? She couldn’t. So she turned off her phone and put on Granite’s helmet. Shutting out the universe once again.
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:43 PM
MOM: WHERE R U?
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:44 PM
MELODY: UPSTAIRS. DOING HOMEWORK! U?
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:44 PM
MOM: DOWNSTAIRS. READING. HOW WAS SCHOOL TODAY?
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:45 PM
MELODY: FINE.
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:45 PM
MOM: FUNNY. I WAS THER
E. DIDN’T SEE U.
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:46 PM
MELODY: HUH? WHY WERE U THERE?
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:47 PM
MOM: PRINCIPAL WEEKS CALLED ME IN.
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:47 PM
MELODY: CANDACE AGAIN?
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:48 PM
MOM: U.
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:48 PM
MELODY: ME???
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:48 PM
MOM: U SKIPPED TODAY. FAILED A TEST LAST WEEK, WHICH I GOT HIM TO LET YOU RETAKE, BTW. WHAT’S GOING ON????
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:49 PM
MELODY: I CAN EXPLAIN. I’LL COME DOWN.
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:49 PM
MOM: NO!!!! STAY WHERE YOU ARE. TEXTING ONLY. YOU ARE NOT USING THAT VOICE ON ME AGAIN. NOW TELL ME WHAT’S GOING ON. THE TRUTH.
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:50 PM
MELODY: KINDA JOINED A BAND.
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:50 PM
MOM: WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME? MERSTON HAS A GR8 MUSIC PROGRAM.
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:51 PM
MELODY: NOT SCHOOL BAND. A BAND. COLLEGE BAND. SORTA PLAYING AT BARS.
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:52 PM
MOM: HOW R U GETTING INTO BARS?
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:53 PM
MELODY: ONE GUESS.
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:53 PM
MOM: RIGHT. THE VOICE. FORGET I ASKED. BEEN DRINKING? TRUTH!
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:54 PM
MELODY: JUST SINGING. I SWEAR.
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:54 PM
MOM: U HAVE SCHOOL.
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:55 PM
MELODY: IT’S LIFE EXPERIENCE THAT COUNTS.
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:55 PM
MOM: WHAT??? YOU’VE NEVER BEEN LIKE THIS BEFORE.
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:55 PM
MELODY: LIKE WHAT? HAPPY?
TO: Melody
June 20, 8:56 PM
MOM: RUDE. DISHONEST. IRRESPONSIBLE. I’VE NEVER SEEN U LIKE THIS.
TO: Mom
June 20, 8:56 PM
Monster High 4: Back and Deader Than Ever Page 12
