Monster High

by Lisi Harrison

  “Yeeeeeeah!” Brett began waving his chair around and hollering like a wild warrior.

  The other normies did too. Frankie couldn’t blame them. They had inherited this fear from their parents. But if they were taught to be afraid, couldn’t they be taught not to be?

  Lala, Cleo, Blue, and Clawdeen avoided each other’s eyes and halfheartedly performed the absurd exercise, just like Ms. J.

  More than anything, Frankie wished she could do the same. Cast her beliefs aside for the greater good. Make a mockery of her life instead of celebrating it. Hide with pride…

  But it was impossible. Simply thinking about it filled her heart space with bricks. It was one thing for RADs to try to fit in. Acting afraid of themselves was quite another. Because fear leads to more fear, as was demonstrated by the horror movies that had started all of this. Until fear was gone, nothing would change.

  Reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo…

  Frankie released her chair. It landed with the sound of blatant refusal. Melody, the other new girl, did the same.

  “Pick them up, girls. Let’s go!” Ms. J ordered, as if clueless to the mini-rebellion.

  “But I’m not afraid,” Frankie said without sparking.

  Brett stopped roaring and examined Frankie with renewed interest. His black jagged hair poked out in all directions, but his denim-blue eyes were fixed directly on her.

  “Well, you should be,” Ms. J threatened.

  “Cool,” Brett whispered.

  Frankie turned toward him. “Huh?”

  He pointed to her neck. A snap of electricity zipped up her spine. All that poking and jabbing had loosened Lala’s scarf. Her bolts were sticking out!

  “Love the piercings,” he whispered, then opened his mouth and flashed his silver tongue stud.

  “Cool.” Frankie giggled.

  Finally, the siren stopped.

  “Please take your seats.” Principal Weeks’s pinched voice came over the PA system. “Rest assured that this was only a drill. But we want to be prepared in the event of another sighting,” he said.

  Frankie rolled her eyes. If they only knew their dangerous “monster” was acing science.

  “Now, guys and ghouls…” He snickered at his lame joke. “The faculty here at Merston High wants to show these colossal creatures that we’re not afraid.”

  Everyone woo-hooed in agreement.

  “So this year’s theme for the September Semi is… MONSTER MASH!” He paused, giving the students more time to cheer.

  “A gift certificate for a dinner cruise on the Willamette Queen will be awarded to the couple with the creepiest costume, so get your tickets before they’re all sold owww-oooooooooooot! Mwwwahh ahhh ahhhh ahhhhhhhh!” He signed off with his best howl-at-the-moon-maniacal-laughter impression. A clap of thunder sound effect followed.

  Frankie tugged her seams from embarrassment.

  “I’m Frankenstein!” Brett called out.

  “I’ll be your lovely bride,” Bekka gushed. She grabbed his arm and glared at Frankie. Her eagle eyes hadn’t missed the moment between them.

  More than anything, Frankie wanted to tell them they’d be going as her grandparents. And that the real lovely bride’s wedding gown was in her garage. And that Grammy Frankenstein danced barefoot that night because her shoes rubbed her seams. And that Grandpa made all the men put their suit jackets on the floor so she wouldn’t get her feet dirty. But apparently that story was too frightening to share.

  Slumped in her chair, Frankie folded her arms across her itchy blazer. She glared at Ms. J, sending invisible rays of shame to the one woman she had hoped would save them from all of this. But Ms. J avoided Frankie’s eyes, choosing to sift through a stack of handouts instead.

  Bwooop. Bwoooop.

  Class was finally over.

  “Frankie, please stay behind,” Ms. J said, still fussing with her papers.

  Instead of wishing her luck, the RADs quickly gathered their books and hurried out, while the normies took their time, exchanging costume ideas and whispering about their ideal dates.

  Once the room had emptied, Frankie approached Ms. J’s desk.

  The teacher removed her glasses and slammed them on the wooden desk. “What do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea how risky your behavior is?”

  Frankie sparked.

  Ms. J exhaled. “Listen,” she said, putting her glasses back on, “I know that you’re new here. I understand your frustration and your desire to change things. And you’re not alone. Every one of your friends has felt it. I have too. And we’ve all tried. But eventually we each realized that it’s much easier, and a lot safer, to go with the flow.”

  “But—”

  “You don’t think I want to march up to”—she pointed at the speaker that had broadcast Principal Weeks’s announcement—“and tell him that his silly desk dance is unnecessary? Or that it’s more humiliating than the YouTube clip of Tom Cruise on Oprah?”

  “But—”

  “Because I do. I want to say all of those things and dozens more.” Her jaw tensed. “But I can’t. I have a son to protect. And as a single mother I have to put his needs before mine.”

  “But saying those things would help him,” Frankie finally said. “It would change things, and he could have a better life than he has now.”

  “That’s true. The kind of change you’re talking about would make his life better.” Ms. J rested her chin on her elbows. “But that’s not the change we’d get. We would have to leave Salem and start all over again somewhere else. Coming out would take us right back to the 1930s, Frankie.”

  “Um, I think the monster drill has already accomplished that.”

  “Not even close,” Ms. J said. “People lost everything back then; some even lost their lives.”

  Ms. J gently retied Frankie’s pink scarf so it lay snug against her bolts. “Someday things will be different. But for now I need you—we all need you—to lie low and play the game.” She smiled kindly. “Can you do that?”

  Frankie sighed.

  “Please?”

  “Okay.”

  “Thank you.” Ms. J smiled. Her teeth looked extra white against her matte red lipstick.

  Without another word, Frankie gathered her books and left.

  Merging with the foot traffic in the hall and hearing how excited everyone was to dress like RADs, she couldn’t help thinking that maybe her generation was more open than her parents’. Sure, the girls at Mount Hood High had freaked when they saw her, but that was understandable. They had never seen anyone with mint-green skin before. It was a natural reaction.

  But what if they went to her Facebook page? Read her profile? Watched videos of her and the Glitterati dancing to Lady Gaga? Learned about her Brett crush? And friended her friends? Would they react differently? Frankie asked herself these questions over and over again on her way to her second-period class, and each time she arrived at the same conclusion: She had started all of this. And she would end it.

  Frankie would keep her promise to Ms. J and play the game.

  But she would follow her own set of rules.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TENDER LOVING SCARE

  It was a tomato-soup-and-macaroni kind of night.

  Light, the color of muddy snow, was fading. Little by little, as if controlled by a dimmer switch, it begged its pardon from the ravine behind Jackson’s house. The fading sky could fool the eye into thinking a twiggy tree was a frail old man.

  The rain stopped after school, but it was still “treeing”—a local term for excess water being blown from the leaves. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a local term for how bone-chilling it was. According to Brett, these were the ideal conditions for shooting his film The Monster Hunt Chronicles. But according to Bekka, he was seven minutes late.

  “I hope he’s okay.” Bekka sat on a fallen tree trunk. She was wrapped with Haylee in one of the ThermaFoil blankets Melody had borrowed from Beau. Made of some kind of heat-trapping sil
ver foil and lined in fleece, they were supposed to warm mountain climbers on the snowiest of summits. But with Jackson snuggling beside her, Melody decided the blanket was redundant.

  At first, Melody had tried to decline the offer to be in what she secretly referred to as The Brett Witch Project, because she had study plans with Jackson. Although he didn’t know it, they had a movie of their own to shoot. It was called Girl… Interrupted. And take two of Saturday night’s kissing scene was top priority.

  But Jackson had been standing by Melody’s locker when Bekka asked, and he offered his property as a location. After years of neglect, the ravine was overgrown and wild. And coyotes—or were they wolves?—began howling after dark. Bekka agreed it would be perfect and immediately texted Brett.

  “You don’t think he’s hanging out with that new girl, do you?” Bekka pulled the ThermaFoil so tight that she and Haylee looked like a metallic sushi roll.

  “Who?” Melody asked, catching a tropical whiff of her Kai perfume. It was trapped under her ThermaFoil blending with the odor of the oily crayon pastels left on Jackson’s hands. Combined, it smelled like first love.

  “Frankie Stein,” Haylee answered.

  “You know, the one with all the makeup?” Bekka said.

  “Why would Brett be hanging out with her?” Jackson asked, adorably willing to participate in their catty conversation.

  “I dunno.” Bekka pulled a loose bobby pin from the side of her wavy bob and slid it back in. “But you should have seen her flirting with him in science today. I’m surprised your mom didn’t mention it.”

  Jackson scoffed. “My mom hasn’t mentioned much of anything lately. Other than how ‘stressed out’ she is about something she is too ‘stressed out’ to discuss.”

  Every time he said “stressed out,” Jackson freed his arms of the ThermaFoil to make air quotes.

  “Don’t do that.” Melody giggled, wrapping him back up. “You’re letting all the cold air in.”

  “Sorry.” He snuggled back under and smiled at her, longer than a regular boy-buddy would. Even though random wisps of hair had gone AWOL from her already messy ponytail, and she was marinating in her sixth-period gym sweats, Melody felt beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with symmetry.

  “I wonder if it had anything to do with that bizarre monster drill,” she said with a disbelieving giggle. “I mean, what was that?”

  “It was a little weird, but hey”—Bekka shrugged—“if it keeps us safe, I’m all for it.”

  “Safe from what, exactly?” Melody asked, wondering how the primitive chair dance could ward off anything stronger than a fart. “Assuming these monsters really exist, it’s not like they’ve ever hurt anyone, right? Who knows? Maybe they’re nice.”

  “Why are you taking their side?” Bekka released her grip on the ThermaFoil and leaned closer to Melody.

  She wanted to say, “Being judged on appearances is something I know a lot about, okay, Bekka? The monster’s side is my side too.” Instead, she shrugged and mumbled, “I dunno, something to do, I guess.”

  Bekka responded with an illuminated grin. She jumped up so suddenly that Haylee almost toppled onto the wet leaves. “Sorry,” she said absently, ripping the blanket off her friend. “You made it!” she called to the flashlight-wielding Brett.

  “ ’Course I did,” Brett called, tromping toward her. His mega-tread hiking boots crunched over dead leaves with monster-truck force. Dressed in a black fedora and a red-and-brown-striped sweater, he was either paying tribute to Freddy Krueger or he was Freddy Krueger. Brett’s horror homey, Heath, lagged behind, carrying two cameras and the sound gear.

  “Hey, Heath.” Haylee waved the way most people would clean a window.

  “Hey, Hay.” The pin-thin redhead snickered at his own wordplay and then dropped the gear by her feet.

  Wearing gold leggings under a satin-and-tulle slip dress, Haylee had obviously dressed up for the occasion. She proved it by choosing to shiver rather than wear her salmon-colored puffy jacket.

  Heath, however, had not, opting for ripped baggy jeans and a gigantic black hoodie.

  “Cool location, dude.” Brett knocked fists with Jackson. “Man, if this was my place, I’d camp out here every night.”

  “Wouldn’t you be scared?” Bekka hurried to his side and enveloped him in the ThermaFoil.

  “That’s the whole point, baby. I’m addicted to the smell of my own fear-omones,” Brett said, then kissed her as though they were alone.

  Haylee and Heath showed a sudden interest in the cameras. Melody looked away uncomfortably.

  Watching a make-out, while wrapped in a blanket with the guy she wanted to make out with, made her feel exposed. Obvious. Transparent. Like her thoughts were flashing before his eyes.

  Finally Brett attempted to pull away without the consent of Bekka’s lips. The confusion created a sloppy bite-a-juicy-peach sound. Everyone cringed.

  “All right, people,” Brett announced, scanning the perimeter. “We’re losing light. Heath, Jackson, come with me. We need branches so I can jimmy a tripod. I want the big camera locked down for the dismemberment sequence.”

  Heath collected their gear.

  “S-sure. Okay.” Jackson wiggled out of the ThermaFoil and followed the other boys into the thick woods.

  Haylee raced for her puffy jacket, zipped it up, and joined the others on the tree trunk.

  “Jackson is so much cooler than I thought,” Bekka whispered.

  “He’s nice,” Melody said casually, trying not to gush.

  “So you’re buying his whole blackout excuse?” Bekka pressed. “You don’t think he knew he was hooking up with Cleo?”

  Haylee pulled her phone from her pocket and began typing.

  “Not everyone is as jealous as you,” Melody snapped. Not because she thought Bekka was wrong. She was afraid Bekka might be right. “I believe him.”

  “Good.” Bekka stood, making the fringe on her vintage suede jacket swing. She peered through clearings between the trees and cupped her ear.

  “What are you listening to?” Melody asked, her heart revving. “What is it? Do you hear something?”

  “No.” Bekka sighed, then scurried back to the trunk. “Okay, here’s the deal,” she whispered, leaning in to her friends. “Brett isn’t getting tripod sticks. He’s going to try and scare you.”

  Haylee’s thumbs scuttled across her slide-out keyboard.

  “Stop typing!” Bekka insisted. “This is serious.”

  Haylee lifted her head and pushed her glasses up on her nose.

  “Why does he want to scare us?” Melody asked.

  “He wants genuine reaction shots for his movie. So don’t be scared, but act terrified.”

  The night air turned crisp, illustrating their words with puffs of vapor that resembled conversation bubbles.

  “Why are you telling us?” Melody asked, genuinely confused.

  Bekka looked at Haylee, allowing her the privilege of answering.

  “Friends first.”

  “Even before Brett?” Melody asked Bekka.

  “Always,” Bekka said. Her lively freckled face was dead serious.

  “Wow,” Melody said in surprise. They were really friends. Hearing it helped her feel it. And feeling it was like sinking deeper into a warm bath.

  All of a sudden a twig snapped in the distance.

  Bekka winked at her friends. They giggled into their palms.

  More footsteps crunching over leaves.

  Then silence.

  “Thank you!” Melody mouthed to her friend. Without the warning she might have pooped her sweats.

  Bekka said, “You’re welcome,” with another wink and then sprang into actress mode. “Do you hear something?” she asked a little too loudly.

  “Yeah,” Haylee whimpered.

  “I’m sure it’s just the wind, you guys. Relax,” Melody tried.

  Another twig snapped.

  “Oh my god! I hear it!” Melody blurted, trying not to
laugh.

  Something that sounded like Darth Vader on a treadmill followed.

  “You guys, I’m freaking!” Haylee squealed.

  “Brett!” Bekka called.

  “Jackson!” Melody shouted.

  More silence. And then…

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Wearing a hockey mask and a bloodstained T-shirt and swinging a plastic machete, Brett charged from the bushes. Heath followed behind, shooting the action with a digital camera.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” the girls shouted, then jumped into each other’s arms.

  Brett circled them, brandishing his machete. “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo. What to slice first? A finger or a toe?”

  “Help!” Haylee cried. Either she was a gifted actress, or Bekka’s warning had failed to sink in.

  “Somebody help!” Melody panicked, but only because Haylee was.

  “Brett!” Bekka called again.

  “Annnnnnd cut!” Brett shouted, removing his mask. “We got it.”

  “That was you?” Melody cried, embarrassed by her own bad acting.

  “I thought the camera would have given me away but I guess you wimps were too freaked out to notice.” He bumped fists with Heath and then pulled Bekka in for a celebratory hug.

  “Jerk!” Haylee shoved Heath playfully.

  “Crybaby.” He shoved back, then put her in a headlock and knuckled her head.

  She laugh-smacked his legs, begging him to stop. But she probably hoped he wouldn’t.

  “Hey, where’s Jackson?” Melody asked.

  “Oh, he said he wasn’t feeling well,” Brett said dismissively.

  “Where did he go?”

  “I think back up to his house,” Brett said, moving in for another bite of juicy peach.

  “Be right back,” Melody announced to no one in particular. With nothing but a ThermaFoil blanket and the promise of true love’s kiss, she hurried off to find Jackson.

  “Jackson?” she called, into the thick brush. “Jack-sunnn!”

  What if he’d had a blackout? What if he’d had a blackout and fallen? What if he’d had a blackout and fallen on Cleo’s lips? Melody slapped poking twigs and sharp-edged leaves aside. Trying not to acknowledge that she was alone in a ravine where there might be a—