Monster High 3: Where There's a Wolf, There's a Way Page 16

  Lala was gripping her now, trying to shake out a reaction the way she might dislodge a soda can that was stuck in a vending machine. “Deenie, say something.”

  But Clawdeen couldn’t speak. Words would bring tears. And nothing says you win like a mascara-smudged face and a salt-stained DVF knockoff.

  Harriet began pulling the photos off the canvas. Her fingernails had grown since they left the inn, making it harder for her to grip the gold tacks. But she kept at it, clearly needing something to claw at.

  The DJ declared Haylee the winner of the hair-whipping contest and then began playing the Glee cast version of “I’ll Stand By You” (even though Clawdeen had e-mailed him weeks ago to say no slow songs before ten o’clock). Everyone cleared the dance floor. One by one, friends came up to her offering sweaty, deodorant-scented hugs, birthday wishes, and outfit compliments.

  Clawdeen accepted them graciously but found it hard to move her mouth to smile. Her heart was too heavy. It weighed everything down.

  “Hey, where did everyone go?” asked DJ Duhman. “Come on, I want you back!”

  The ancient Jackson Five song came through the speakers with a burst, and everyone rushed onto the dance floor with a delighted scream.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Melody Carver, gray eyes wide with horror. “This is all my fault.”

  Her dress was covered in the most vibrant and luxurious feathers Clawdeen had ever seen. Yet their placement was way off—too many around the neck and not enough hanging from the hem—but it was nothing a DIY expert and her Singer couldn’t fix.

  “Omigod, did they put those on you?” Lala asked, concerned. “That is beyond not okay.”

  “No, they’re mine,” Melody said, and then kept babbling about some petition and Jackson and how she thought she could make things better for them. “My plan was to get everyone together and then use my power to persuade them to accept—”

  “Power?” Lala asked. “What power?”

  “My voice,” Melody whispered, pointing at her long neck. “I can make people do things….”

  “It’s true, don’t let the shoes fool you,” Cleo said, pointing to Melody’s black high-top Converse. “This girl has got it going on.”

  Pressure began to build behind Clawdeen’s fingertips.

  “Melody, go,” Cleo said, nudging the normie toward the group of track boys. “Make them apologize to Clawdeen.”

  “Yeah, right.” Clawdeen rolled her eyes, knowing how dedicated they were to humiliating her.

  Lala bit her thumbnail.

  “Go,” Cleo urged.

  Melody seemed to consider it for a moment. Then she rolled back her shoulders and marched toward them, semi-tied shoelaces dragging alongside her. She tapped Rory on the back. He turned around to face her. She whispered something in his ear and then did the same to Tucker, Nick, Trevor, and Darren. One by one, they approached Clawdeen and apologized for ruining her pictures. They apologized for the spitballs, the dirty drawings, the cafeteria collisions, and their overall bad behavior.

  Clawdeen stood before them dumbfounded. Melody definitely had a power.

  “Hey, when did you get here?” asked Colton, his beady eyes glinting mischief. He’d come from the dance floor.

  Clawdeen’s heart began to pump Red Bull instead of blood. The skin on the back of her neck tightened. He was the worst one of all.

  “Hey, guys,” he panted, wiping his sweaty forehead on the sleeve of his button-down. “The guest of honor has arrived!” And then, “Let’s have a round of a-claws for—”

  “Omigod, dude,” shouted Nick. “Look at her neck!”

  “She’s like a Chia Pet!”

  “She needs a Chia vet!”

  Clawdeen’s scalp cramped and then released. Auburn curls bounced and settled on her collarbone.

  The guys began reaching for their cell phones.

  “CNN is gonna be all over this!”

  “So is Animal Planet!”

  “Um, Mrs. Wolf,” Cleo called, slightly panicked. No one except Clawdeen’s family had ever witnessed her transition. Not even her best friends.

  Harriet turned away from the photos and gasped. But all Clawdeen could do was glare at the boys and growl. One swipe with her nails and she could scar them for life. One shove and they’d be lying on their backs in the middle of the dance floor. One roar and they’d be crying for their mommies, begging for a diaper change. Imagining it all brought levity back into Clawdeen’s heart. She grinned. It would be the last time they’d ever bother her, that was for sure.

  Lala grabbed Clawdeen by the arm. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “No, wait!” Clawdeen said, standing her ground. She was done with hiding. The Wolfs had spent generations avoiding public transitions—it was their greatest fear. But why? They could outrun, outfight, and out-eavesdrop any normie who stood in their way. Their metabolisms alone could bring Hollywood to its knees. Weren’t they the ones with all the power? Shouldn’t normies fear them?

  “Let’s go!” Harriet insisted, lifting her daughter by the waist and rushing her outside the tent. Lala and Cleo followed.

  “Put me down!” Clawdeen flailed, remembering how Clawd had carried her from Cleo’s house days earlier in the same humiliating way. “I said PUT! ME! DOWN!”

  She managed to wriggle free by the gold-wrapped elm tree.

  “Look!” Harriet held out a compact mirror.

  Lala and Cleo stood beside her, hemorrhaging nervous energy. But Clawdeen was strangely calm as she stared at her reflection for the second time that night. Only now her neck was wrapped in luxurious auburn fur. Her curls were touching the top of her dress’s built-in bra. And her nails were Rihanna-long. What’s not to love?

  “Come on, Deenie, you’ve made your big mistake. Can we go now?” Harriet urged, her eyes turning more orange than brown. She too would start transitioning soon.

  “Why, Mom? Everyone knows. What’s the point—?”

  “Hey!” called a chipper voice from the luminary path. Frankie Stein was speed-walking toward them, her arms already open for a hug. Brett and Heath were a few steps behind her. “Happy birthday! I’m so sorry we’re late. We were at the Lady Gaga concert, and then I had to stop off and touch up my makeup, and—” Her fingers sparked. She stopped walking, and her hug-arms fell to her sides. “Your fur!”

  “I know.” Clawdeen giggled. “It kind of just happened.”

  “These earrings would really pop now,” Cleo said, opening her palm.

  This time Clawdeen took them.

  Harriet folded her arms across her chest and sighed. It sounded like a soft growl.

  “Happy birthday,” said Brett shyly.

  “Yeah.” Heath waved. “Happy birthday.”

  Clawdeen, Lala, and Cleo exchanged a glance.

  Frankie took Brett’s hand. “It’s okay. He’s one of the good guys.”

  Lala smiled with relief, her ultrawhite fangs gleaming in the moonlight.

  All of a sudden, a series of familiar piercing beats filled the yard. Something that felt like a rocket shot straight up from her toes to her brain. The DJ was playing their song.

  “Ahhhh!” screamed Lala.

  “Ahhhh!” answered Clawdeen.

  “If you’re one of us then roll with us,” they rapped along with Ke$ha.

  Cleo’s cell phone rang. It was Deuce. She quickly answered, shouted “I’ll call you back,” and then hung up. Then she sang, “We runnin’ this town…”

  Frankie joined in. “You don’t wanna mess with us…”

  And before they knew what was happening, Clawdeen had grabbed her friends and run with them across her lawn to the dance floor. She was finally going to be like her European cousins and let it all hang out.

  Forcing her way through a giant mass of gyrating bodies, Clawdeen landed right in the middle, just in time for the chorus.

  They sang as loud as they could, their voices blending with the dozens of others around them. The track guys were documenting th
e scene with their cell phone cameras, and instead of hiding, the girls gave them exactly what they wanted. Lala smiled wide for their tiny lenses, Clawdeen twirled her fur, and Frankie wiped her makeup off on their uptight button-downs. Soon Brett was dancing beside her, helping to clear away the last bits of Silly Putty–colored goop from behind her ears. Haylee worked her way into their circle and wiggled up against Heath. A shot of fire rushed from his mouth, and everyone cheered. Harriet was among them. Frankie lifted her fingers above the crowd and sparked to the beat. The track boys made a circle around Clawdeen as she danced. They danced too.

  Songs melted into one another, and the party showed no signs of slowing down. The Wolf brothers arrived, thanks to a call from Harriet and strict orders to let their hair down. When all was said and done, DJ Duhman had logged three hours of overtime.

  Clawdeen promised her mother she’d clean out her life savings to cover the extra cost, and Harriet acquiesced. After all, six hundred dollars was a small price to pay for freedom.

  Life was normal again. Only everything had changed.

  Billy couldn’t imagine anything more depressing than riding back to Salem alone, invisible as usual. Every screech and hiss of the train would torture him, a cruel reminder that he hadn’t noticed those sounds earlier. How could he have? He’d been having too much fun.

  He’d considered asking Candace to pick him up, but Frankie had his phone. At least that’s what he told himself. In truth, he was too ashamed. How could he possibly explain surrender to a girl who had never lost?

  So after a speedy hair rinse, Billy ran like mad to sneak a ride home with Heath’s sister.

  Jammed in the backseat of Harmony’s Prius, pressed up against the cold window, he felt like an insect Mr. Stein might mash between glass slides and study under a microscope. Only worse. At least the insect would be dead and wouldn’t have to listen to Frankie giggle-kiss another guy.

  He wanted to hate her. Wished he could hate her. But by the time they got to Radcliffe Way, he loved her even more. And wanted to kill Brett a little less.

  He could tell that Frankie and Brett really cared about each other. They always had. Their time apart had been a casualty of war. Frankie’s interest in Billy was just a panacea for her pain, sparked by her mother’s advice to stick to her own kind. It was hard to hear but good to know.

  Billy also learned that Frankie considered him her best friend. And she insisted that Brett be okay with that relationship. Brett promised he was. He said he had always liked Billy, even though he knew the feelings weren’t exactly mutual.

  They are now.

  Harmony had dropped them off at Clawdeen’s, where for the last hour Frankie and Brett had been dancing and swapping sparks—sparks Billy and Frankie never had.

  He watched from the sidelines as his friends finally took a stand. United as a community, they were letting their freak flags fly. It was the end of an era and the beginning of a new one. Anything was possible, simply because no one could prove it wasn’t.

  Awash with hope, Billy couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss a girl who wanted to kiss him back. Would she be a normie or a RAD? Would she favor a spray tan or prefer his natural state? Would—

  Suddenly, “Invisible” by Ashlee Simpson began to play.

  He laughed. Candace had been mocking him with that song since the day they met. Leaving it on his voice mail, blasting it in her car, singing it when they walked down the street together and marveling at strangers’ reactions. He smiled, no longer ashamed.

  “What’s so funny?” Someone giggled.

  “Who is that?” he asked, looking around. Billy touched his hair. Did I miss a spot?

  Something hissed. Like a leaking tire or a can of hair spray. Seconds later a girl appeared beside him. Or rather, her face. She had pale ice-blue eyes and full lips. A tendril of violet hair butterfly-kissed her cheek.

  “I’m Spectra,” she said with a smile, then vanished. With another hiss, her hand appeared, extended. After they shook, it disappeared.

  “Can you see me?” Billy asked, and then, realizing, quickly covered his—

  “No!” She giggled again. “Don’t worry, I can only see a blob of heat. Unless I spray you. Then I can—”

  “No!” Billy stepped away from the voice. “No spray… at least nothing below the neck.”

  “Deal,” she said, unleashing a sugar cookie–scented mist over his face.

  “What is that stuff?”

  “Smells good, right?” she said, spraying her face again so he could see her smile. “So far I have thirty-three different scents. I—” She blushed and then faded. “Wow. You’re…”

  “What?”

  “… not ugly.”

  “Why? You thought I would be?”

  “I didn’t know what to think.”

  “You’ve been thinking about me?” he asked, grateful she couldn’t see his gigantic grin.

  “Only since that practical joke you pulled.”

  “When I dressed up like Frankie and went to see Brett in the hospital?”

  “No. When you tied Mr. Barnett’s shoelaces together.”

  Billy would have sparked if he could. “You mean in eighth grade?”

  “Yes.”

  “You wanna dance?” he asked.

  “I was hoping you’d finally ask,” she said. It sounded like she was smiling.

  The beginning of a new era indeed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE SHOCK EXCHANGE

  Frankie and Brett waved good-bye as another carload of guests drove up Radcliffe Way. The night air felt different against her makeup-free cheeks—like washing dishes with bare hands instead of wearing rubber gloves.

  “I still can’t believe they can see your real face,” Brett said, waving. He put his arm around her shoulders and began strolling down the block toward the cul-de-sac. “This had to have been the best night of your life.”

  “Why?” Frankie asked, swinging her amp bag. “Because we’re back together?”

  He chuckled. “Yup.”

  But Frankie knew Brett was referring to an evening that had started with a Lady Gaga concert and ended in an unprecedented dance party—one that had allowed the RADs to let loose in front of normies. It was all she’d ever wanted. And yet for some reason Frankie felt restless and unsatisfied. As if her good fortune was undeserved. Like a slacker teen who’d inherited a trust fund or a celebrity who’d found fame by starring on a reality show.

  Brett stopped walking. “What’s wrong?” he asked, searching her exposed face.

  “I can’t believe Billy missed it,” she said. She wished he could have been there. “I hope he’s okay.” What she really wanted to say was she hoped she hadn’t broken his heart. But it was obvious by the way Brett looked at her that he understood.

  “I know what it feels like to miss Frankie Stein.” He sighed, taking her hand. “And it’s not easy.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked, pulling away.

  “No, I guess not.” Brett chuckled. “What I mean is, you’re a good friend and he’s lucky to have you. He knows that. Anyway, no guy wants to be with a girl if she’s not into him. So you did him a favor. Really.”

  Frankie appreciated Brett’s trying to make her feel better, but the only thing that would relieve the ache in her heart space was the knowledge that her friend was okay. Besides, Billy-guilt was only half the problem.

  “Do you think I’m a failure?” she asked, wishing she was strong enough to hide her insecurities. But something about Brett made her feel safe. Maybe it was the color of his blue eyes; like denim, they held the promise of time.

  “A failure?”

  Frankie recalled the conversation she had overheard between her parents on the day she was born:

  “She’s so beautiful and full of potential, and it…” Her mother sniffed. “It just breaks my heart that she’ll have to live… you know… like us.”

  “What’s wrong with us?”
her father asked. Yet something in his voice suggested that he already knew.

  Viveka snickered. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Viv, things won’t be like this forever,” Viktor said. “Times will change. You’ll see.”

  “How? Who’s going to change them?”

  “I don’t know. Someone will… eventually.”

  “Well, I hope we’re around to see it,” she said, sighing.

  “I was supposed to be that person,” Frankie said, clenching her jaw to keep from crying. “I was supposed to change things for her. But every time I tried, I messed up.”

  Brett lifted her chin so their eyes met. “Tonight RADs and normies were together. Just like your mother wanted.”

  “Yeah, but I had nothing to do with it. It was all Clawdeen. I was too busy thinking about boys and concerts and fun and—”

  “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be thinking about?”

  Frankie considered the TV shows, movies, and books for girls her age. And he was right. Boys, music, and fun were a big part of them all. Changing the world single-handedly? Not so much.

  “Besides, don’t you think everything you’ve done helped make this possible? You were the spark that started it, Frankie.” He brushed a loose piece of hair off her face. “Tonight, while we were dancing, were you happy?” he asked, moonlight reflecting off his spiky black hair.

  Could he be any more mint?

  Frankie thought about wiping off her makeup to the beat of Ke$ha, ripping the sleeves of her shirt to Pink, snapping and zapping whitish-blue bolts from her fingertips, making out with her normie boyfriend, and melting a little more every time his hands skimmed her bolts. “It was the most voltage time I’ve ever had,” she said.

  “Then you did give your mother what she wanted,” he said.

  Frankie hopped up on her toes and kissed him. Her green face was pressed against his white one. Right in the middle of Radcliffe Way as car after car drove by.

  And the best part? Nobody seemed the least bit interested.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  JACKS-ON!