“Brett, it’s me,” FrankiBilly said, walking toward him slowly. “I’m the one you kissed.”
A pack of security guards burst into the room.
“Wait! Leave her alone!” they heard Melody shout in the background. “She’s harmless!”
Much to everyone’s surprise, the guards backed off.
“Who are you?” Brett asked.
“I’m the one responsible for all of this.” FrankiBilly gestured to Brett’s hospital bed and then to the mass of reporters and other people below his window. “And I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’ll never go near you, or anyone else, again. I didn’t mean to frighten—”
“Frighten?” Brett kicked off his plaid comforter and sat up straight. He was wearing his Frankenstein T-shirt—the one he’d worn on the first day of school. “I was afraid, but not of you. Of myself! I was afraid I killed you. Did I? I mean, did I hurt you? Because I didn’t mean to. One minute I was having the best kiss of my life, and the next I—”
“Help!” Bekka yelled. “Somebody help him! That thing has taken over his mind!”
“Don’t hate me because I’m boo-tiful,” FrankiBilly said to Bekka.
“Oh no, he didn’t!” Lala cracked up, high-fiving the other girls.
The security team moved in. This time, Ross and his crew held them back.
“VOLTAGE!” Frankie shouted. “This is just like watching Gossip Girl. Only it’s real. And about me!”
“Melody did it!” Lala tossed her black scarf in the air.
Cleo rolled her eyes. “We’ll see. It’s not over yet.”
Brett stepped toward FrankiBilly. “Nothing has taken over my mind, Bekka. Just my heart.”
“It has his heart!” Bekka yelled. But no one cared what she had to say. Not when Brett was reaching for FrankiBilly’s hand. FrankiBilly gave it to him.
“Are they going to kiss?” Clawdeen gasped.
Bekka lunged toward Billy. “Get away from him!”
Two security guards raced toward her.
“Put me down!” She thrashed as they took hold of her. “That thing is a monster! This town is full of monsters! They’re stealing our men!” The guards lifted her by the armpits and carried her toward the exit. “Wait!” Bekka slammed her feet on either side of the doorway. “I have proof. I can prove it. I can prove it right now.”
“Put her down,” Ross insisted.
“Send in my friend Haylee,” Bekka insisted.
Seconds later, her mousy best friend click-clacked into the room with the unstoppable drive of a tightly wound toy. She wore a fitted tweed blazer, baggy slacks, a newsboy cap, and her signature beige cat-eye glasses. The only thing that kept her from looking so five decades ago was the iPad in the outer pocket of her green faux crocodile-skin attaché case.
Bekka wiggled her fingers impatiently. “Give it.”
Haylee smacked the iPad into Bekka’s open hand.
Frankie tugged her neck seams. “What is she doing?”
Bekka tapped the screen a few times, held it up to the cameras, and pressed PLAY.
“No!” Frankie shouted at the TV. “You can’t do that! Melody got there way before the deadline! You promised!”
Viktor and Viveka gasped.
Blue scratched. Lala shivered. Clawdeen growled.
“See?” Cleo grinned as the video of Jackson Jekyll turning into D.J. Hyde began to roll. “I told you normies couldn’t be trusted.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE
AND GORE
A swarm of reporters buzzed through the open door. Handheld microphones and suspended booms aimed for Bekka, eager to get a quote from the girl at the center of the story they had already dubbed the Salem Snitch Trials. But if it were up to Melody, snitch would be replaced with a more appropriate word for the freckle-faced female dog.
“Let me through!” shouted Melody, pushing past them.
Surprisingly, they did. But it was too late. The condemning video of Jackson had just been broadcast on Channel 2 and was being picked up by the national affiliates. Next stop: YouTube. Final destination? The world.
“What are you doing?” Melody grabbed the iPad right out of Bekka’s clammy hands. “We had a deal! I gave you what you wanted.”
“Oh, really? Because that”—she pointed at Brett and Franki-Billy, now seated on the edge of the bed and chatting softly—“was not part of the deal.”
Haylee rifled through her attaché. “And I have the documentation to prove it.”
“So, now Jackson has to pay for something Brett is doing?” Melody clenched her fists. “That makes no sense—”
“Excuse me, Miss Madden?” called a reporter. “Can you tell us about the boy in this video?”
Anxious for the scoop, the media descended on Bekka like pigeons on a pizza crust.
“Yes,” she answered, happy to help.
“Are there others?”
“I’m sure of it. These freaks must have families.”
“Have you received any threats?”
“If stealing the love of my life isn’t a threat, I don’t know what is.”
“Back to the boy in the video. Is this split-wit capable of killing?”
Melody backed away from the feeding frenzy—whipped, beaten, and pureed. The evidence of her failure was immediate. Jackson had become the new Frankie faster than she could text I’M SORRY. “The Girl Who Lost Her Head” was old news. Everyone wanted the “Split-Wit” now. Not that they’d find him. Jackson was probably boarding a flight to London, fanning his sweaty face, and ruing the day he had met Melody Carver by the Riverfront carousel. Never knowing how deeply she would mourn his absence. Mourn the experiences they could have shared. Mourn the good they could have done. Mourn the voice she might have had. Death by media was quick and painful.
If only Candace had been there. She would have done something to distract the reporters. Something to pull the attention away from Jackson and put it on—
Wait! Melody’s heart quickened. Her decoy was sitting beside Brett wearing a wedding dress.
“Excuse me for interrupting,” she said, pulling Billy to his feet. “Did you paint your entire body or just the parts we can see?” she whispered into his wig. It had the sweet plastic smell of Barbie hair.
“Just the parts you can see,” he said softly. “Why?”
“Take off your clothes. Become floating limbs. Give them something new to chase.”
“Love it!” Billy snickered.
A minute later, Grandma Stein’s wedding dress was lying in a lacy heap on the hospital floor. Two mint-green arms, Frankie’s fake head, and the nape of Billy’s neck were all that remained.
“Trick or treat!” he yelled, jangling about like a floppy skeleton.
Shrieks and gasps filled the crowded room. The medical staff bolted for the exit.
“Catch me if you can!” Billy called, leading the story-starved reporters down the hall of Salem Hospital’s psych ward.
“Wait! What’s your name?” Brett called. “Where are you going?” He began to chase after FrankiBilly, but Mrs. Redding insisted on going in his stead so that he could rest.
Bekka grabbed Mrs. Redding by her rose-colored cardigan. “You’re seriously going to bring that thing back to him?”
“Mom, hurry!” Brett called. “They might hurt her.”
Mrs. Redding took off in a sprint. Bekka followed her, shouting something about getting stuck with grandchildren the color of algae.
Once everyone had left, Melody scooped up the lace dress and began smoothing out the creases. Mint-green makeup streaked the sides.
“Is she going to be okay?” Brett asked, his blue eyes moist with genuine concern.
Melody nodded with quiet confidence.
Brett stood up anyway. He wobbled slightly and gripped the bed rails to steady himself. “I’m going to check. Just in case.”
Melody hurried to his side and eased him back onto the bed. “I think maybe you should stay her
e until you get a little stronger.”
He strained to see what was going on in the hallway. “But what if they hurt her?”
“Trust me.” Melody grinned.
“He’ll be fine.”
“He?” Brett asked, looking shocked all over again.
“I mean—” Melody searched his face and then sighed. Hasn’t the poor guy been through enough? Isn’t it time he knows the truth? “That wasn’t the girl you kissed,” she whispered in his ear.
“Aw, come on!” He shot up. “Is everyone trying to mess with me, or what?”
“No one is messing with you, Brett. I promise. We’re just trying to keep everyone safe. So that was a decoy. To keep Bekka from exposing the real girl.”
“Who’s the real girl?”
“I can’t tell you that without her permission. But I’ll ask her if she wants to meet you.”
“Really? Does she go to our school?”
Melody zipped her lips.
“Just tell me this: Is she a real monster?”
Melody hesitated. What was she supposed to say now? She studied his eyes in search of a clue. They were wide with hope. Moist with tenderness. Hungry for the truth. Finally, she nodded.
Brett’s rigid features softened to let her in. His smile was wide at first, but it soon fell to a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
He sighed, lowering his gaze to his black fingernails. “I guess this means I’m not a monster.”
Melody grinned. In some ways they were very similar. Darkness swirled beneath their shiny exteriors. They didn’t want what other shiny people wanted. They were attracted to the twisted. Like human equivalents of San Francisco—there were unpredictable faults under their beauty. Their lives were an endless search for a safe place to stand.
“Why don’t you become a NUDI?”
“A what?”
“It’s my pro-monster organization. Normies Uncool with Discriminating Idiots.”
He grinned. “Where do I sign up?”
“You just did.”
“Sorry, Melody,” he said sadly.
“For what?”
“For Bekka. I know you guys were friends. And Jackson’s a cool guy. She shouldn’t have done that.”
“Thanks,” Melody said, resting her forehead against the soundproof window. “Omigod, look!” she said, pressing her finger against the glass.
Below, cameramen were practically moshing as they fought for a shot of something on the pavement. Melody could see Haylee and Brett’s friend Heath off to one side, but the mob was so thick that she couldn’t see what had attracted the reporters’ attention.
Brett grabbed the remote and flicked on the small wall-mounted TV. The screen showed a tight shot of Frankie’s fake face lying on the curb of the parking lot. Nearby were the black-and-white-streaked wig and a stack of paper towels covered in mint-green makeup. Ross, slightly relieved but mostly disappointed, reported that the whole monster episode was a practical joke executed by a group of students at Merston High. Then he tossed back to the studio, where a special-effects expert was standing by, ready to speculate on how the crafty kids might have pulled off the prank.
Brett muted the TV. “It wasn’t a prank, though, right?”
“I promise, she’s real. I can introduce you tomorrow.”
He smiled sweetly. His sincerity made Melody miss Jackson.
Minutes later, Ross Healy and his team returned to pack up their gear.
“You had me,” he said, punching Brett with a fake one-two to the stomach.
“I had nothing to do with it,” Brett assured him. “The joke was on me.”
“Brilliant, B-man.” Ross handed him a card. “Lemme know when something else goes down at that freaky school of yours. I’ll hook you up with Gaga tickets or something.”
Brett raised his thick eyebrows. “You think maybe I could shoot for you one day? I’m into filmmaking.”
“Who are your influences?” Ross asked.
Confident that Brett wouldn’t spill any secrets, Melody took her cue to leave and sneaked out to find Billy and Candace.
Outside the hospital room, a police officer was pressing Bekka for information about her involvement in the prank. “Miss,” he said, smacking his leather notebook against his palm, “the more you cooperate, the lighter your sentence will be.”
“Sentence?”
He nodded.
“I’m telling you, it wasn’t a prank.” She sniffled. “These monsters are real. Where’s Haylee? Can someone find Haylee?”
“I saw her outside talking to Heath,” Melody said, happy to deliver the bad news.
Bekka huffed. “Fine. Then ask her. She’ll tell you. I’m not lying!”
The police officer eyed Melody with suspicion. “Do you know this girl?”
“I do,” Melody responded respectfully. After giving her name and address to the police officer, Melody told him she was happy to help in any way she could.
“Oh, thank the Lord!” Bekka began sobbing.
“To the best of your knowledge, can you see any reason why Bekka…” He checked his notebook. “… Bekka Madden would have cause to believe she saw a monster?”
Bekka widened her green eyes in a desperate plea for mercy. Her look seemed to say “I’m sorry for everything”—the dissolved friendship, the blackmail, the phone threats, the broken promise, playing the video of Jackson.…
Melody pursed her lips and considered the apology. Now that the hunt was over and life for the RADs would return to normal, Melody actually felt sorry for Bekka. Brett was smitten with Frankie. Bekka had made a public fool of herself. And Haylee was her only friend. Wasn’t that punishment enough? Did she really need to be arrested too?
“Bekka is an amazing girl. She would never lie,” Melody stated.
Bekka stopped sobbing immediately. “See? I told you!”
“But a practical joke isn’t the same as telling a lie, is it? I mean, if you ask me, it shouldn’t be. Because what Bekka pulled off was more like art.” Melody smacked her playfully on the back. “Just think about the amount of work that went into filming that video. Not to mention making the whole Frankenstein costume, organizing the special effects, and getting the police and the media involved. It’s kind of impressive if you think about it. If there was an awards show for practical jokes, Bekka, my friend, you would clean up.”
“What? You’re lying!” Bekka turned to the policeman. “She’s lying!”
“What’s going to happen to her, Officer? Nothing too serious, I hope. She was just trying to be funny.”
He adjusted his cap. “A healthy dose of community service, for starters.”
Melody nodded in approval and then strolled off with a smug grin. She had just done her community a service as well. And it felt fantastic.
CHAPTER TWELVE
EAT, DRINK, AND BE WARY
Nothing against the Olympics. They’re inspiring, and they originated in Greece, just like Deucey. But whenever they rolled around, Cleo’s favorite TV shows were taken off the air and replaced with—and let’s be honest—two weeks’ worth of obscure, unendorsable physical activities. During that time, Cleo would often find herself wandering aimlessly around the palace like a lost camel in the desert, in search of something familiar to ground her. It was a disorienting, unnerving condition for which the only cures were the closing ceremonies and the subsequent return of her regularly scheduled programming. Once order had been restored, she’d celebrate by eating one of Hasina’s decadent chocolate pyramid cupcakes, to replenish the inevitable calorie loss she’d suffered during her fourteen days of wandering.
And now, seated in the Allergy-Free Zone of the Merston High cafeteria with her three best friends, Cleo bit off the chocolate point of the pyramid in celebration of a different kind of restoration: the restoration of her regularly scheduled life. The one in which Clawdeen, Lala, and Blue focused on her like a high-performance zoom lens. The one in which newbies (Frankie!) and normies (Melody!) weren’t
making headlines. The one in which there was cell service in the palace. And dates with D on Saturday nights. The one in which she’d announce her Teen Vogue shoot, and her friends would sweat envy for days. The one that she was about to get back.
So far nothing pointed to the contrary. The cafeteria was filling up with hungry normies en route to their usual tables in the Peanut-Free, Gluten-Free, Lactose-Free, and new Fat-Free food zones. As usual, girls passed Cleo and her friends with a sideways glance to check their fashion-forward outfits. If Deuce wasn’t around—and he wasn’t on Mondays because of basketball practice—guys would do the same. They’d bop their heads to the lunchtime playlist, which today began with “I Made It (Cash Money Heroes)” by Kevin Rudolf. The lyrics couldn’t have been more appropriate.
I’ve known it all my life
I made it, I made it!
Cleo chewed the rich pyramid-shaped cake to the triumphant beat that signaled her return. And with calculated patience, she flipped through photos on her iPhone, waiting for someone to ask the inevitable question.
“My Sweet Sixteen invites went out today,” Clawdeen announced, biting her double bacon burger. “I kissed each envelope with MAC Girl About Town lipstick before I dropped it into the mailbox, which is why I was late for math this morning.” She paused, obviously hoping for a reaction. Cleo refused—she hadn’t been the center of attention in days, and it was starting to dull the shine on her hair.
Finally Lala leaned closer and peeked at the screen with her deep brown eyes. “Hey!” She flicked a dab of chocolate icing off the pyramid with her cold finger. It landed on Cleo’s black mesh sweater and fell onto her pink-and-gray tie-dyed leggings. “What are you looking at?”
“Um, my stained pants!”
“Seriously, Sheila, whatever’s on that celly must be ace, ’cause you haven’t even noticed Lala’s smudged eyeliner,” Blue said, playfully tapping her gray-gloved fingers against her cheek.
“Nice. Make fun of the blind girl.” Lala tossed salt on Blue’s dry skin.
“You’re not blind,” Blue pointed out. “You just can’t see your reflection.”
“That’s a good thing.” Clawdeen twisted an amber curl around her long finger.
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