Monster High

by Lisi Harrison

  “Everyone ready?” Lala cranked up the volume on the stereo. The Black Eyed Peas blared through the speakers.

  “I gotta feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night…”

  “Ready!” they shouted.

  Lala stepped on the gas and tore out of the Steins’ cul-de-sac with a screech.

  “I gotta feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good, good night…”

  The girls fell back in their seats and burst out laughing.

  “Oh, your parents are gonna love that.” Blue bounced to the pulsating beat.

  “Whatever.” Frankie shrugged. She didn’t want to think about her parents. She didn’t want to think about green skin or normies or how her bolts were itching from her morning charge. She just wanted to experience a day at the spa with girlfriends. Not through an implanted memory or a Netflix rental. She wanted to breathe it. Live it. Smell it. Feel it. And remember it forever.

  “Hey, La.” Claudine leaned forward. “Any chance you can turn down the heat? My turkey jerky is melting to gravy back here.”

  Frankie smiled. It was stifling.

  “Maybe you should take off your scarf,” she suggested, trying to show them she wasn’t too shy to jump right in.

  “Ahhhhhh,” Blue hollered. “No, she didn’t!”

  Everyone burst out laughing except Claudine, who glared at Frankie with her yellowish eyes and growled a soft warning that seemed to say “Watch it, new girl.”

  “Sorry,” Frankie muttered, wishing she could take back whatever it was that Claudine found so offensive. “I was just trying to help.” She pinched the wool on her sleeping bag of a sweater. “I’m superhot in this turtleneck, so I was just thinking maybe you were—” Cleo’s gold platform wedge slammed into her shin. “Ouch!” She sparked.

  Cleo and Claudine exchanged a quick glance.

  Frankie quickly sat on her hands to smother the surge. “Why’dja kick me?”

  “I was trying to stop you from embarrassing yourself even more,” Cleo explained.

  “Huh?” Frankie said, leaning forward to rub her throbbing leg.

  “Cleo would know.” Lala snapped off the stereo.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You have a lot of experience with embarrassing yourself, that’s all,” Lala said, stopping at a red light.

  The squeaking windshield wipers were the only sound in the car.

  “Care to explain?” Cleo asked, like someone who already understood.

  Lala’s dark eyes found Cleo in the rearview mirror. “It means you were making out with my crush in public all week.”

  Frankie wanted to know who they were talking about but decided it would be best not to ask. There was no telling who she might offend next.

  “Do you seriously think I was kissing him for me?” Cleo asked, sounding genuinely hurt.

  “Um, yeah!” Lala countered.

  The light turned green.

  “Go.” Blue nudged Lala gently.

  She stepped lightly on the gas and coasted through the soggy intersection, her dark lashes blinking back tears.

  “La, I was doing it for you.” Cleo rested a hand on her friend’s pink-cashmere-clad shoulder. “He was hanging out with that new girl, Melodork, and… well…”

  “What?” Lala sniffed. “She’s prettier than me?”

  “No!” Blue, Claudine, and Cleo shouted. Most people probably would argue that Melody was prettier, letting her classic good looks trump Lala’s out-there style. But under Lala’s girly-Goth fashion, buried deep behind her dark eyeliner-smudged eyes, lay a hushed confidence. Wise beyond her years, Lala was an old soul with youthful charm. It was an intriguing combination that made Frankie believe anything was possible.

  “La, you have so much more to offer than Melodork,” Cleo practically spat.

  “It’s true.” Claudine stuck a piece of turkey jerky into her mouth.

  “But she was moving in on him,” Cleo insisted, “and if someone didn’t break them up fast, you would have lost him for the second year in a row.”

  Frankie eyed Cleo with newfound respect. Beautiful, loyal, and selfless, she gave normies a good name.

  “D.J. knows I’m with Deuce,” Cleo continued. “He knows a kiss from me doesn’t mean anything. But Melodork doesn’t. And she’s—”

  “Prettier than me.” Lala sighed.

  “She’s not prettier!” the girls insisted.

  “How do you think I feel?” Cleo sighed. “Melodork went public on Deuce to pay me back and…” Her voice trailed off.

  “He didn’t like it,” Claudine insisted, as if it weren’t the first time they’d had this conversation. “He was in shock, that’s all.”

  “I know, I know.” Cleo dabbed the corner of her eye with her blue T-shirt and sniffled back everything else she had been trying to keep inside.

  “Okay, fine, I believe you.” Lala surrendered. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m over him. Did you see how sweaty he was after that kiss? I could practically see my reflection in his forehead.”

  “You wish,” Blue teased.

  They all laughed.

  Frankie, suddenly feeling like an intruder, looked out the rain-streaked window. She made eye contact with a gaunt, stubble-faced man in a white Kia whose finger was working overtime to liberate something stubborn from his nose. Fortunately, Lala made a left turn before he had a chance to reveal it.

  “We’re here,” she announced, sounding more upbeat. She stopped the SUV under a white awning and gave her keys to the valet.

  “I would never do anything to hurt you. We have to stick together,” Cleo pulled Lala in for a hug.

  “I know.” Lala hugged her back. “I’m sorry.”

  Frankie smiled with her entire body. She felt lucky to be included in their close-knit group, and silently promised never to let them down.

  They pushed through the gold-and-glass revolving door and stepped into something that could pass for a normie womb. Dimly lit, cozy, and filled with the sounds of trickling water and muffled voices.

  “Hi, Sapphire,” Lala whispered sweetly, presenting her membership card to a blissed-out brunette behind the candle-topped desk.

  “Good afternoon, miss,” Sapphire swiped the card gently before returning it. “Will you be steaming with us today?”

  “Yup.” Lala opened a book of green guest passes and tore off four. “Blue is going to soak in the salt baths, Cleo is getting the Pamper Package, Claudine needs a wax.…”

  They giggled.

  “Enough!” Claudine barked.

  “And this is Frankie,” Lala said. “She’s going to use the tanning bed.”

  “Hey.” Frankie grinned, her eyes wandering to the jars in the glass case behind Sapphire’s head while her hand reached for her wallet.

  “Do those creams really work?” she asked, pointing to the line called NoScar.

  “Guaranteed to dramatically reduce the visibility of scars in one hundred days,” Sapphire said proudly. “Believe it or not, the active ingredient is rodent whiskers.”

  “How much is it?” Frankie asked, scraping her fingernail along the raised digits of her father’s Visa card.

  “Eleven hundred for members, thirteen hundred for guests.”

  “Oh.” Frankie dropped the card back into her tote. Maybe the Glitterati will hook me up.

  “Don’t worry,” Lala assured her. “The tanning will totally help.”

  “Cool.” Frankie nodded like that was a suitable plan B, even though she highly doubted it.

  After punching a few keys on her computer, Sapphire handed Lala several locker keys. “Namaste,” she cooed, a brown ponytail flopping over her head as she bowed.

  Inside the locker room, women padded across the cream-colored rug, wearing nothing but the spa’s plush complimentary robes and the glow of total relaxation. Some were blow-drying their hair while others gossiped about their Pilates instructor’s sudden weight gain. But most seemed happy to wander freely and let their normie parts
dangle.

  Frankie felt the sudden urge to spark. “Are we supposed to walk around naked?”

  The girls giggled at her naïveté.

  “Haven’t you ever been to a spa before?” Cleo asked, her eyes no longer flooded with sadness. Instead, they glinted with keen suspicion.

  “No,” Frankie admitted.

  Cleo raised a curious eyebrow. Frankie chose to ignore it.

  “Here,” Lala said, handing each girl a key. With a single twist, Frankie’s dark-wood locker popped open. Inside were the plush robe and padded slippers she was expected to wear during her visit. “Voltage!” she said, marveling at her discovery. But her relief quickly changed to panic once she took a closer look at the robe.

  Hitting just below the knees and missing a turtleneck, it was sure to expose her seams and bolts, something not even Fierce & Flawless could conceal.

  Cleo and Lala began to undress while casually talking about the September Semi.

  “Obviously, I’m going with Deuce,” Cleo said, all traces of Melody insecurity gone.

  “I need to find a new crush,” Lala cinched her robe and then rubbed her arms to stave off a chill that didn’t exist. “Who do you want to go with?” she asked Claudine.

  “Moot.” Claudine grabbed her robe and padded toward the bathroom stalls. “Like my brothers would ever let a guy take me to a dance,” she called over her shoulder.

  “They’re really overprotective,” Blue explained, spraying the complimentary Evian facial mist inside her black rain boots. “I’m completely crushless, so I’ll be Claudine’s date.” She shrugged, like it was no biggie. “What about you, Frankie?”

  “I dunno.” She sat on the bench and hugged the robe like a pillow. “I still think that Brett guy is cute.”

  “Good luck getting him away from Bekka.” Cleo gathered her silky black hair into a high pony and pinky-dabbed Smith’s Rosebud Salve on her lips. “She’s got more grip than Krazy Glue.”

  “More cling than Saran wrap,” Lala added.

  “More hold than Final Net.” Cleo giggled.

  “More possession than The Exorcist,” Lala managed.

  “More clench than butt cheeks,” Blue chimed in.

  “More competition than American Idol.” Frankie stuck out her chest and showed them her diva booty roll.

  The girls burst out laughing.

  “Nice!” Blue lifted her purple-gloved hand.

  Frankie slapped it without a single spark.

  “I hate to be a downer.…” Claudine shuffled back into the conversation wearing her slippers and robe. Yet for some reason she refused to take off her fur stole—something Frankie wouldn’t dare comment on again. “But that girl will destroy you if she catches you with Brett.”

  “I’m not worried.” Frankie tossed back her hair. “I’ve seen all the teen movies, and the nice girl always gets the boy in the end.”

  “Yeah, but this is real life.” Cleo rubbed the side of her face as though she’d been struck by a phantom blow. “And Bekka doesn’t mess around. She jaw-decked me after I kissed Brett during a game of spin the bottle.”

  “Really? Isn’t that the whole point of the game?” Frankie asked, secretly wondering what it was like to kiss Brett’s RAD-loving lips.

  “Yeah, well, the bottle didn’t exactly land on Cleo,” Lala explained with a wry smirk.

  “And Deuce was in Greece.…” A wicked flicker danced behind Cleo’s eyes. “But still… she didn’t have to punch!”

  “Ugh!” Blue scratched her shins. “I have to soak before I hit bone.” She fastened her robe and then made a break for the frosted-glass door marked SALT BATHS. Her gloves and rain boots were still on.

  Two women dressed in pink uniforms appeared, clipboards in hand.

  “Ms. Wolf,” said an older blond, smiling, “I’m Theresa, your wax technician.”

  “Wait? Where’s Anya?” Claudine asked, her yellow eyes darting in panic.

  “Wellness seminar,” Theresa stated, and then splayed an arm, pointing Claudine down the hall toward the treatment rooms. “Shall we?”

  Claudine stood, pinched the top of her robe closed, and followed Theresa down the hall. She looked back at the girls and crossed her eyes, letting them know she was less than pleased with the sub.

  “Ready, Cleo?” asked the second woman, over the drone of hair dryers. She held out a bowl of red grapes.

  “Thanks, Blythe.” Cleo accepted the grapes and then waved good-bye, lowering one finger at a time.

  “The tanning bed is in room thirteen,” Lala explained, her teeth chattering. “Read the operating instructions before you get naked. It’s cold in there. I’m going to steam.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Frankie smiled, grateful that she didn’t have to undress in front of them.

  Room 13 smelled like normie sweat and sunshine. It was absolutely toasty inside. Maybe Lala has circulation issues, Frankie thought, locking the door and fortifying it with a chair. A curved bed that looked more like the love child of a Hummer and a coffin lay waiting. A small vinyl pillow and a folded towel rested neatly on its sanitized glass mattress.

  After reading the instructions, Frankie’s suspicions were confirmed. Fifteen minutes on the bed would not solve her problems. It wouldn’t make Brett like her. And it would not turn her skin white. Nothing would. But it might bring back that electrifying buzz she’d felt while standing with her bare face beneath the sun at Mount Hood High. That charge from the sun was bigger than anything Carmen Electra ever gave her, and its warmth had hummed all the way down to her ankle seams. And if it wasn’t all that, so what? At the very least, her fifteen minutes would be something to add to her small but growing collection of real-life experiences.

  Giddy with anticipation and grateful for the privacy, Frankie wiggled out of her turtleneck sweater and whipped it into the corner. Minutes later she was resting her head on the vinyl pillow wearing nothing but the seams and bolts her dad had given her, a coat of Fierce & Flawless, and silver protective eye stickers.

  Feeling for the wall behind her head, Frankie located the power button and pressed. With a single amplified clack, rows of fluorescent bulbs snapped on. She lowered the roof and wiggled her way to ultimate comfort.

  Ahhhhhhhhhh. There it is… the buzz… just as she remembered.

  Unlike a home charge, which streamed the electricity through her bolts, this penetrated every inch of her skin. It was the difference between a drink of water and a bath. And it felt absolutely voltage.

  Visions of herself in a string bikini, frolicking on a secluded beach with Brett, filled Frankie’s imagination. Warmed by nature’s heat lamp, her bolts, seams, and rock-solid green abs would wake his inner poet and inspire him to write. Fine sand would warm the spaces between her toes, and their late-night bonfire would crackle and spark in the darkness. They would snuggle, share stories of their painful double lives, and find solace in the other’s embrace.

  Ahhhhhhhh…

  These visions seemed so real, so possible, that she could practically smell them. Smoldering marshmallows left to blacken while their lips expressed love… smoke pirouetting all around them… the burned-cardboard stink of singed hair…

  AHHHHHHHHHH!

  “Oh no!” Frankie shot upright, whacking her forehead on the glass roof of the tanning bed. She ripped the stickers off her eyes and saw ribbons of smoke rising from her ankle seams. Her bolts were spraying like sparklers.

  “Oh no oh no ohnoohnoohnoohnohnohnohnoooo!” Shaky and confused, she pressed the yellow button on the wall, hoping to cut the power, but that just tacked on another ten minutes to her session.

  “Stop! Stop!” She smacked the smoldering seams, but panic made her spark even more.

  Frankie reached for the black cord in the wall and yanked. But it held tight. She tried again. And again…

  Sparks were shooting everywhere. All of a sudden, a flash of electricity shot from her hand, snaked along the cord, and slithered into the outlet.

  Pop! />
  The room went completely black.

  “What happened to the lights?” someone shouted in panic from the room next door. It sounded like Cleo.

  Several other voices—some amused, most agitated—fused in a chorus of dismay and mild anxiety. Through the crack under the door, Frankie saw flickering candlelight, and she heard hurried footsteps pass by the room.

  “Is something burning?” asked a concerned female.

  Paying little mind to her stinky seams, Frankie speed-dressed, then slipped into the dark hallway. After following the red EXIT signs to the back door, she raced out into the pouring rain without a single word to anyone.

  Outside, steam billowed around her sparking body like some cheap dry-ice effect in a B horror movie. But she refused to cry. After all, she’d gotten her day at the spa. She breathed it. Lived it. Smelled it. Felt it. And (unfortunately) she would remember it forever.

  Frankie’s cell rang. It was Blue. Then Lala. Then Blue. Then Lala. She let the calls go to voice mail.

  After a soaking six-mile walk, Frankie turned onto Radcliffe Way. Her limbs were loose and her energy, zapped. Still, she refused to cry. She had to save her stamina for the inevitable lecture she would get from her parents. You went where? You did what to their power? What if someone saw you? What were you thinking, walking so far on such a low charge? Do you know how dangerous that was? Not just for you but for all the RADs! Frankie, how many times…

  Just then a green BMW SUV sped by, its tires parting a puddle that rose up like the Red Sea. One wave smacked the passenger-side door. The other wave drenched Frankie.

  This time she cried.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “EYES ON THE PRIZE,

  ESPECIALLY WITH GUYS”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to camp with us?” Glory shouted over the deafening moan of an inflating air mattress. “It stopped raining. And the fresh air will be good for your lungs.”