“Not until you tell me what’s going on!” Candace insisted, lifting the phone over her head. “Who are you talking to? Mr. Hollywood?”
“Who?” Melody lunged for the phone, but Candace quickly pulled it away.
“That el mysterioso guy who always wears a hat and sunglasses. Didn’t he take you to the dance last night?”
“Not really. We were kind of forced to go together by Bekka. We didn’t even hang out or—” Melody stopped herself. “Why am I even explaining this to you?”
“I knew it! It’s Jackson!”
“Candace!” Melody lunged again. “Give me back my phone! Dad, get it!”
“No way,” he moped. “You two are on your own.” He got up and UGGed back to the kitchen, grumbling sarcastically about the joys of parenting teenage girls.
“Can-dace!” Melody whipped a pillow at her sister’s chest, but Candace batted it aside with the finesse of someone used to fighting off foreign invasions.
“Give it now!” Melody insisted. She lunged across the couch, her fingers primed for hair pulling. Just as she was about to make contact with Candace’s scalp, a puff of white powder clouded her vision.
Melody began coughing instantly.
“Stay back!” Candace warned, wielding the bottle of baby powder like a blade. “Or I’ll do it again.”
“My asthma!” Melody managed, waving away the baby-scented fog.
“Oh, crap, I forgot,” Candace said, dropping her weapon. “Are you okay? Do you need your inhaler?”
Melody gripped her throat and nodded. The instant Candace turned, Melody darted forward and ripped a wax strip off the inside of Candace’s thigh. “Ha! Gotcha!”
“Ahhhh!” Candace wailed. She jumped to her feet and, with a penny stuck to the back of her calf, made a run for the sliding glass door that led out back to the ravine. “Phone out!”
“You wouldn’t.” Melody squinted.
Candace unlocked the door and made a show of sliding it open. “Tell me what’s going on, or I swear this phone will be hanging like a flat-screen TV in some bird’s nest.”
Melody didn’t dare call her bluff. The last time she tried that, her Barbie backpack had been tossed into the back of a passing convertible. Instead she gave in, just as she always did, and whispered to Candace all about Bekka, Brett, Frankie, Jackson, the video, and the ticking clock.
“Wow,” Candace said after Melody had finished explaining. She handed back the phone without being prompted, cocked her head slightly, and stared. Her expression was a blend of intrigue and confusion, as if she were studying a stranger she could swear she’d met before.
Melody bit her thumbnail, terrified of her sister’s reaction. Is she going to laugh at my predicament? Call me a sucker for not turning in Frankie? Blame me for becoming friends with Bekka in the first place? Force Jackson out of my life? Tell our parents this whole monster thing isn’t part of Salem’s stimulus package after all?
A clap of thunder broke the silence that hung between them.
“Stop staring at me,” Melody urged. “Say something.”
“You almost had me,” Candace replied, grinning. “But the whole Frankenstein’s-daughter-hiding-out-in-her-father’s-lab thing? Seriously?” She pushed past Melody and padded back to the couch. “Look, if you don’t want to admit you and Jackson are sending love texts, that’s fine. But at least come up with something more creative. You’re the last person I expected to ride the monster train to Trendy Town. It’s way beneath you.”
Melody was about to defend herself but decided against it. Why not let Candace believe her Frankie drama was made up? That was better for everyone.
“You’re right.” Melody sighed and sat on the mirrored coffee table. “I was lying. I’m too embarrassed—”
“Aha!” Candace jumped to her feet. “You were telling the truth!”
“What? No, I wasn’t.”
“Lies!” Candace poked the thick air with an adamant finger. “You never admit I’m right when I’m actually right.”
Melody giggled guiltily while marveling at the way Candace defied the dumb-blond stereotype. There was no air in that head. The spinning wheels in her brain blew it all out her ears.
“So, there really is a Frankenstein’s daughter?” Candace whispered.
Melody nodded.
“And she really lives in a lab?”
Melody nodded again.
“And she’s charged with electricity?”
“Yes!”
“Très cliché.” Candace peeked at the sliding glass door that lead to the ravine. “Are there others?”
“I’m not sure,” Melody said. “But you don’t have to be scared.” Then Melody felt compelled to explain. “They’re completely normal… ish.”
“Scared?” Candace smiled slowly, her face illuminating like a lake at sunrise. “I’m not scared. I’m psyched.”
“Huh?” Melody brought her knees to her chest. The cold surface of the mirrored coffee table cooled her clammy feet.
“I’m proud of you.” Candace grinned. “You’re finally part of something dangerous.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I just can’t figure out why,” she admitted, beating white powder from the couch cushions. “It’s just not like you to get involved.”
Melody took offense to this comment, even if it came from the girl who thought downloading Hope for Haiti Now made her a humanitarian. “I guess I know what it feels like to be judged by my looks,” she explained, for what felt like the hundredth time.
“And?” Candace stood, feeling the backs of her legs for leftover strips. Her tone was more curious than condescending.
Melody knew it was hard for a genetically perfect person like Candace to understand what it was like to be aesthetically challenged. Because no matter how many times she told her sister about her life pre–nose job and the abuse she got from the kids at school, it never seemed to sink in. It was like explaining Costco to a Tanzanian bushman.
“And I want people to stop judging,” Melody continued. “Actually, I want people to stop feeling judged. Oh, and I want to stop bullies from intimidating people… or monsters… or whoever.…” She stopped, knowing she sounded slightly scattered. “I just want to help, okay?”
Candace began to spin like a dog chasing its tail. “You can start by pulling off the rest of this wax,” she said. “I can’t get a good grip on the ones in the back.”
“Forget it,” Melody mumbled. “After everything I just told you, that’s what you’re thinking about? Your legs?”
Ping!
Melody checked her phone. It was another audio message from Bekka. This time she listened to it on speaker.
“Tick… tick… tick…”
Bekka’s freckly face popped into Melody’s mind. It was a face Melody used to trust. A face she ate lunch with. The face of a friend. But now that face was smug. And it probably laughed like mwuhhhh hahaaaa haaaaa every time Bekka sent a stupid “tick… tick… tick” message. Melody tried to imagine her ex-friend snooping through her phone. Stumbling upon the video of Jackson. Concocting this blackmail scheme. Vilifying Frankie. Leading a monster hunt. Spreading fear and panic. Using her bruised ego as an excuse to destroy lives…
Ugh!
Melody’s heart pumped harder and faster with every thought. She wanted to stand up and take action. To tear off Bekka’s head the way Brett had accidentally torn off Frankie’s. Melody wanted to leap off the coffee table, grab one of the wax strips on the back of Candace’s precious legs, and yank out her frustration.
So she did.
“Ahhhh!” shrieked Candace.
Melody marched across the living room with a new sense of purpose. “Next time I hear that scream, it’s gonna be coming from Bekka.”
“Wait,” Candace said, hurrying after her. “You think there are any hot ones?”
“Easy, Bella! Now who’s riding the train to Trendy Town?”
“Stop!” Candace insisted. “I want to help.�
��
This time Melody turned to face her. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Candace nodded with genuine sincerity. “I need a cause for my college applications.”
“Candace!”
“What? The more support you have from normal people, the better, right?”
Melody considered that statement for a moment. Once again, her sister had a point. Who better to fight for the rights of the aesthetically challenged than the genetically perfect? Nothing says “We’re all the same on the inside” better than ACs and GPs living in harmony. Not even the movies.
“Fine. Get dressed,” Melody said. “And keep it casual.”
“Airplane casual or yoga casual?”
“Super casual.”
“Why? Where are we going?” Candace asked, fluffing her hair.
“I’m not sure yet,” Melody said, climbing the uneven wood steps to her bedroom. “But wherever it is, I’ll definitely need a driver.”
CHAPTER THREE
ALL CHARGED UP AND
NOWHERE TO GO
Frankie Stein turned to face the caged lab rats beside her bed. “I don’t have a ton of experience with this sort of thing,” she said. “But isn’t it customary to check up on a friend after her head falls off?”
Rat B—or Gwen, as Frankie had named her—lifted her pink nose and sniffed. Gaga, Girlicious, Green Day, and Ghostface Killah continued spooning.
“Well, if it isn’t, it should be,” she said, rolling onto her back. A single-bulb operating lamp hovered overhead. Like a judgmental Cyclops, it had been looking down on her for the last twenty-four hours.
Then again, who hadn’t?
It had been raining all day. A sudden flash lit the street beyond the frosted-glass window. It wasn’t the first bolt of lightning to strike Frankie’s metal bed. But it was the strongest. The current, so pure and powerful, made her father’s DIY amp-machine charge seem like a bull with a broken leg in comparison. Her legs shot up and landed with a thud. Just like her social life.
“All charged up and nowhere to go,” she said with a sigh, pinching open the toothy clamps that gripped her bolts like tiny alligator jaws. Her energy had been fully restored. Her neck had been restitched. And her seams had been tightened. After losing her head during a knee-melting make-out session with normie Brett Redding, Frankie had been given a second chance at life. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the life she wanted.
Breathing the formaldehyde-soaked air in her father’s laboratory, Frankie missed the voltage girly touches he had stripped away after the “incident”: the vanilla scented candles, the skeleton with Justin Bieber’s face, the beakers filled with lip gloss and makeup brushes, the pink rugs, the red couch, the glitter on Gaga, Gwen, Girlicious, Green Day, and Ghostface Killah. All were gone. All traces of happy Frankie had been removed. In their place were sterile surgical tools, curly electrical wires, and plain white lab rats—soulless reminders of how she had come into this world. And how easy it would be to unplug and take her out.
Not that her parents wanted to take her out. They obviously loved Frankie. Why else would Viktor have spent all night rebuilding her? It was the rest of the Salemites who wanted to pull the plug. After all, she was to blame for the first RAD hunt since the 1930s. She had scared Brett straight to the psychiatric ward. And every police officer in town was looking for her.
But still, did her parents have to confiscate her phone? Confine her to the lab? Yank her out of Merston to home-school her? Yes, she had sneaked out of the house and gone to the dance, even though she had been (unfairly) grounded. And yes, her green skin had been (completely) exposed. And yes, yes, yes, her head (accidentally) had fallen off. But come on! She was taking a stand against discrimination. Couldn’t they see that?
Thunder rumbled overhead. Gaga, Gwen, Girlicious, Green Day, and Ghostface Killah stood up on their hind legs and frantically scratched the glass walls of their cage.
Frankie reached inside. Their tiny hearts were speeding in fight-or-flight mode. But they were captives, with no options of fighting or fleeing. They were forced to stay put, no matter who threatened them. Same as Frankie.
“This will help,” she said, pulling out the tiny packet of multi-colored glitter she kept tucked away under their sawdust. “Just because Dad is mad at me doesn’t mean you should suffer.” She pinched open the mini seal and salted the rats like fries. “It’s raining glam,” she sang, trying to seem upbeat. She sounded tone-deaf instead.
Seconds later, the animals stopped speed-clawing and settled back into their usual comma-shaped state of relaxation. But now they looked like scoops of vanilla ice cream covered in rainbow sprinkles. “Voltage.” Frankie smiled approvingly. “The Glitterati are back.” It was only a minor step toward restoring the lab to its usual state of fab, but it was a start.
Without a single knock or warning, Viktor and Viveka entered.
Frankie backed away from the cage and returned to her bed—the only place she still belonged.
“You’re up,” said her father, appearing neither pleased nor disappointed. His indifference hurt more than one hundred stitches with a dull needle.
“Good night, Frankie,” her mother said wearily. She folded her arms across her black silk robe, shut her violet-colored eyes, and rested her head against the door frame.
The green pigment in her skin had faded. What once had the vibrancy of mint ice cream now looked more like pickle juice.
Frankie hurried toward them. “I’m sorry!” She wanted to give them a hug. She needed them to hug her back. But they just stood there. “Please forgive me, I promise I’ll—”
“No more promises.” Viktor lifted his supersize palm. His eyelids hung at half-mast. The corners of his wide mouth sagged like a sweaty gummy worm. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“We need to charge,” Viveka explained. “We were up all night putting you back together, and today has been…” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “Draining.”
Frankie looked down at her drab smiley-face hospital gown in shame. Her parents, fully grown, rarely needed to charge. But they obviously needed a boost now, and it was her fault.
Lifting her head, she forced herself to face them. But the door was closed and they were gone.
Now what?
On the other side of the wall, Viktor and Viveka’s amp machine whirred to life. Meanwhile Frankie, buzzing with more energy than Salem Electric, shuffled aimlessly across the shiny white floor longing for a life beyond her father’s lab. Yearning for an update from her friends. But where were they? Had they been grounded too? Were they still her friends?
And what about Melody and Jackson-slash-D.J. Hyde? They were supposed to be working on a plan to save Frankie from Bekka. But she hadn’t heard from them either… unless this was payback for putting them in harm’s way. Maybe D.J. didn’t even like her. Maybe Melody and Bekka were together right now, laughing. Raising glasses of bubbly normie soda and toasting their success.… “Here’s to Frankie—a bigger sucker than Lala’s dad, Dracula!”
Crawling back into bed, she wrapped the fleece-coated electromagnetic blankets around her body. “Look, Cyclops. I’m an avocado hand roll.”
The lamp stared back blankly.
Loneliness blew through Frankie’s insides like the first crisp breeze of fall—a chilling hint of the darkness that lay ahead.
Thunder clapped. Lightning flashed. The tap-tap-tap-tap of the Glitterati began again.
“It’s okay,” Frankie mumbled from her fleecy cone. “It’s just—”
Another flash.
The streetlights snapped off. The machine on the other side of the wall stopped humming. The lab went black.
“This is total bolt-shock!” Frankie kicked off the blankets and sat up. “Haven’t I been punished enough?”
Nervous energy crackled from her fingertips, lighting up the room. “Vol-tage!” she whispered with renewed appreciation for her otherwise embarrassing sparking habit.
Guided by popping yellow li
ghts, Frankie began making her way to the door. If she could just get to her parents’ bedroom before their last bits of energy drained, she could give them a jump start—a little something to carry them until the amp machine turned back on. Maybe then they’d realize how lucky they were to have her. Maybe she’d be forgiven. Maybe they’d hug her.
While Frankie was reaching for the door handle, another draft blew by. Only this one didn’t feel like loneliness. It felt like wind. She turned slowly to face the chill, straining to see in the darkness. But she could see only as far as the wrinkled hem of her surgical gown and the tops of her bare green feet.
The wind blew harder.
Frankie’s mouth went dry. Her bolts began to tingle. Sparks flew.
“Hullo?” Her voice shook.
The Glitterati darted back and forth across their crunchy sawdust.
“Shhh,” Frankie hissed, straining to hear what she couldn’t see.
Thwack!
Something slammed on the other side of the lab. A cabinet? The skeleton? The window?
The window!
Someone was breaking in!
Bekka!
Had she sent the police? Were they going to take Frankie while her parents lay helpless on their bed? Thoughts of getting hauled away with no time for good-byes made her light up like a baked Alaska.…
And that’s how she saw the brick speeding toward her in the dark.
Frankie assumed it could only have come from a gigantic normie mob that had formed outside. And if she remembered the story of her grandfather correctly, the normies had pitchforks, burning bales of hay, and major intolerance for electrically powered neighbors.
CHAPTER FOUR
EXTREME HOME
TAKEOVER
Frankie searched for any normie mob-dodging tips her father might have implanted in her brain when he built her. But the only thing that came to her was… duck!
Dropping to the linoleum, she lay on her belly and starfished her arms wide to get even flatter. Steel blades of terror turned in her stomach like a ceiling fan. Her panting was animalistic. Frankie squeezed her eyes shut and—
“Looks like a half-moon tonight,” whispered a male voice.
The Ghoul Next Door Page 3
