Monster High 4: Back and Deader Than Ever Page 5

  Maybe it was just the eighty-five-degree sun warming her shoulders. Or the leisurely way Brett’s ripped jeans crinkled as he strolled, as if he had nowhere else to be but exactly where he was. It could have been the window displays popping with bright summer separates like an all-you-can-afford buffet. But it was probably just the continued thrill of being in public in her birthday skin, without that pore-clogging makeup she used to wear. No bolt-hiding turtlenecks. No fear. Even though it was her twenty-seventh trip to this particular mall since she came out of hiding, it still felt too mint to be true.

  A couple of college girls sharing an extra-large fro-yo dripping Cocoa Puffs and gummy bears smile-nodded as Frankie passed.

  “Cute shoes,” one of them said.

  “Thanks!” Beaming, Frankie grinned down at her cork wedges. She always got compliments when she wore them with her periwinkle floral romper. They made her legs look extra long.

  “How crazy is that?” Brett tossed the waxed paper from his pretzel into the trash.

  “Why? My shoes are cute.”

  Brett snickered. “No. It’s crazy that people don’t even notice the color of your skin anymore. They just see… you.”

  Just then a boy with a pierced nose and tattoo sleeves whizzed by on his skateboard. He turned and glanced back at Frankie.

  “Spoke too soon.” She giggled. “I think he’s a little freaked,” she said, stopping to check the silver peep-toe combat boots in the window of the Steve Madden store.

  Brett put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Ummm… I think he just thinks you’re hot.” He squeezed tighter, as if claiming her for himself. Just in case there was ever any doubt. Which there wasn’t.

  She squeezed him back. “Awwww… that is so sweet!” He leaned in and kissed her.

  Frankie sparked until the moment he pulled away. The skateboarder had been staring. Frankie tried to console him with her friendliest wave, but he rolled away disappointed. Did he really just see me for me? Had they come that far? Was it—?

  “Look!” she said, yanking Brett toward a pink-and-black awning. “There’s a sale at Betsey Johnson!”

  “What’s up, Franks?” asked a glam-goth salesgirl. Her black-lined lips lifted in a welcoming smile.

  “Just browsing.”

  “Ten percent off on anything in the store,” the goth offered, tugging on her black lace scarf—one of six dangling around her neck.

  “You having a sale?” Brett asked, obviously trying to show he could hold his own in a shopping situation.

  “It’s a Stein special.”

  “Awwwww.” Frankie hugged her. She smelled like cherry perfume.

  “You’re a celebrity here,” he said, as they wandered toward the accessories rack. Bolt earrings and leather cuffs with stitches sewn in were available in an array of unapologetic colors.

  “It’s not just me,” she said, trying on an auburn faux-fur hair band. “It’s all the RADs.”

  Outside, a crowd was gathering around a street performer. A mime was sweating off his makeup as he tossed three oranges in the air. Frankie pulled Brett toward the spectacle.

  But Brett stopped under a shorn fig tree, desperate to keep his distance.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, hating to miss a second of the show.

  He pointed to his T-shirt: It was emblazoned with a cartoon of a mime tied to a train track and inches away from being crushed by a speeding locomotive.

  “That’s not him, is it?”

  Brett laughed. “No, but—”

  Frankie stood on her tippy-toes, gave him a quick kiss, and dragged him toward the front of the crowd. The instant the mime saw Brett’s shirt, he made a show of wiping invisible tears from his eyes and then ran off.

  “Told ya,” Brett said as he and Frankie burst into hysterics and took cover behind a bronze dolphin.

  She pressed her cheek into his muscular chest. “Summer is going to be so voltage,” she said, looking in the window of Nike. He smoothed her black hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ears. “I was thinking we could take up tennis,” she said.

  Jutting his chin forward like a rich upper-cruster, he said, “Oh, Fritzy, I was just thinking the same thing. Your club or mine?”

  Frankie giggled. “I’m serious.”

  “Why?”

  “Name one sport that has cuter outfits,” she said, imagining herself in the yellow pleated mini and matching sports bra in the store display.

  “Skinny-dipping?” he tried.

  She smacked him on the arm.

  Holding hands, they strolled past a cart with canvas totes and stickers and posters imploring them to protect Mother Earth. Frankie picked up a button that said LOL LIVE OUT LOUD.

  “I can’t believe Saturday’s almost over,” she whined. Monday meant school. And school meant dealing with Cleo and the Balance Board. A wispy cloud blocked the sun, and Frankie’s mood darkened even more.

  Cleo’s little prank still stung. “Why would Cleo stuff that ballot box with my name? I thought we were friends. I saw her standing by the table, but I never thought she’d…” Never thought she’d what? Doom a friend to sitting in a stuffy room, making posters and organizing bake sales? Cleo is capable of anything, especially when someone outfriends her by nine whole people.

  Brett reached into the pocket of his ink-stained jeans. He gave the peasant-skirted hippie chick behind the cart some bills and handed Frankie the button she’d been eyeing. Frankie smiled her thanks and pinned the button to the strap of her sandal.

  Brett twirled his skull ring. “You’ll be great with all that board stuff. You love getting involved.”

  “That was before.”

  “Before what?” Brett asked, serious. “This?” He gestured to a group of girls sifting through their shopping bags, gushing over one another’s purchases. “There’s more to life than clothes. You made a difference.”

  Suddenly irritated, Frankie pulled her hand away. “I tried to make a difference. Been there, botched that. I freaked everyone out and made all the RADs go into hiding. Clawdeen’s the one who changed everyone’s mind. I thought it would be me, but it wasn’t. Maybe I was built for other things. Like just being a normal teenager and having fun.”

  “You opened everyone’s mind way before Clawdeen’s party. They wouldn’t have taken off their disguises if you hadn’t been there, reminding them that they could.” Brett paused to control his rising voice. “I dunno, I think the Balance Board might be fun… maybe. You could raise money for those portable amp stations you’re always talking about. We can build a monster museum, which I will curate, of course….”

  Frankie couldn’t help smiling. There was a time when that would have sounded like fun—working with a group to make things better. But times change. And so did she.

  She sighed and then walked into H&M. A wave of air-conditioning sent a shiver up her back.

  “Hey there! Need help finding anything?” asked a girl with a red mohawk and a unibrow.

  “Just browsing,” Brett joked.

  Frankie smacked him for being mean. Then she giggled.

  Unibrow began refolding cargo shorts.

  “I’ll never have time to see you if I’m on that board,” Frankie whined.

  “What if I do it with you?” Brett offered.

  She looked at him. He was still leaning against the mirrored column and still smiling.

  “You can’t. You weren’t picked.”

  “I’ll say I was.”

  “But you weren’t.”

  Brett put his hands on his hips. “Then I’ll lie.”

  Frankie wasn’t sure if she should shock him or kiss him. “But—”

  “But what?” he asked, flipping through a rack of polka-dot skirts. “Are you really going to stop me from helping our school?”

  “What about all the people who didn’t get on the board? It’s not fair.”

  “They don’t care,” Brett insisted. “They were just looking for one last application booster b
efore the summer break.”

  “How do you know?” Frankie asked, suddenly offended by his cynicism. Didn’t anyone want to do the right thing just to do it? Not that she really cared.

  “Because that’s the reason I applied,” he confessed while folding a crumpled pink sweater.

  Frankie giggle-gasped. “You what?”

  “Heath and I did it together on a dare. Kind of like a Russian roulette thing, but with boring after-school programs instead of bullets. Turns out we both got picked.” He pointed a finger gun at his head and fired. “Pow.”

  Frankie cracked up right there in the middle of the summer sweater section. “When were you going to tell me?”

  “I wasn’t.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I was going to surprise you.”

  Frankie felt electrified all over again. Maybe Brett was right. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. At the very least, it would give them more time to hang out.

  “It’ll be fun,” he said, coaxing her toward the exit.

  “Really?” Frankie beamed.

  Brett shrugged. “Anything’s better than tennis.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  ROCK BLOCKED

  Melody closed her eyes behind her black drugstore sunglasses. She curled her toes in the grass and reached for Jackson’s hand. The sun on her face and the burble of the river lulled her like her mother’s white-noise sleep machine. Every muscle in her body felt as if it were made of butter, melting into the turquoise-and-brown-striped blanket. In her half-asleep state, she heard a musical jingle over the tinny tune of the Riverfront carousel. The tinkling sound grew louder and faster. Her nostrils were filled with… a musty, slightly rank odor? Jackson! Ew!

  She decided to go with it. If love was blind, it should be oblivious to bad smells, too, right?

  Oof! A weight like an anvil crash-landed on her relaxed abs. A hot tongue swiped drool across her cheek. Blind and oblivious, maybe, but impervious to pain?

  “Jackson!”

  “What?” he asked lazily.

  “Ahhhhh!” she yelled, bolting up. A damp yellow Lab stole another lick.

  “No, Sadie!” called a plump blond woman in a white tracksuit. She held a frayed leash as she panted across the grass.

  “You thought that was me?” asked Jackson, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun.

  “If the breath fits…” Melody joked.

  Jackson pulled the dog toward him. “Funny, ’cause if I closed my eyes, I’d swear these hairy legs were yours.”

  Melody threw back her head and laughed as Sadie sucked up their lunch scraps like a DustBuster.

  “I’m so sorry! She gets so excited when she sees picnics.” The woman tugged on the leash, and Sadie trotted off.

  “No problem!” they called after her.

  “Looking good, Carver,” Jackson said, pointing to Melody’s white V-neck, which was spotted with muddy paw prints. Turkey and brownies were smeared into their Mexican wool blanket.

  “Feeling good, Jekyll.” She smiled, making fish lips and striking a pose.

  They giggled. Jackson pushed his floppy brown bangs off his forehead. He picked a yellow dandelion from the grass and tucked it behind Melody’s ear. She smiled her thanks and flopped onto her back. A gold-tipped feather drifted from her hair and landed beside them. It was a perfect day. But most days spent with Jackson were.

  “Remember when we met?” she asked, rolling onto her side to face him. “You were sitting on that bench over there.”

  His hazel eyes searched the sky. “Nope, not really.”

  She smacked his leg with a half-eaten drumstick.

  “Of course I remember.” He sat up halfway. Not an inch of belly fat folded over the top of his ink-stained jeans when he pulled her toward him. “Candace was wearing that crazy silver jumpsuity thing. She looked like a total alien, and you were so… pretty.”

  “Your abs are so chimichanga,” she said, inches away from his lips.

  “Huh?”

  “Hot and slightly disturbing,” she answered, borrowing one of Candace’s pickup lines. It felt like trying on a stranger’s wet bathing suit. “Seriously. How do you even get them like that?”

  Jackson sat upright. Melody fell on her side.

  He blushed. “When did you start noticing abs? You’re not turning into one of those girls, are you?”

  “What girls?” Melody asked, even though she knew. He was talking about the superficial set who skipped school to shop, compared bodies in the three-way mirrors, and then complained about their thighs over latte lunches. Jackson couldn’t tolerate them. To him, Melody was more grounded than a busted airplane. Dependable and wise, she was the last person to abandon her morals and beliefs for something fleeting and trendy. He liked it that way. And she liked that he did.

  Jackson picked up his blue-and-white portable hand fan and turned it on. His eyes shut behind his black-framed geek-chic glasses. Melody pushed the fan closer to his slightly sweaty face. When he started to perspire, his corrupt DNA triggered the emergence of D.J., his super-fun but highly irresponsible alter ego. And she didn’t want anyone or anything to ruin their day.

  “Do you love me because I’m… normal?” she asked, not quite sure how she wanted him to answer.

  He opened his eyes and smiled. “Um, I would hardly call you normal.” He plucked a feather from her hair and blew it into the breeze.

  “Siren thing aside, I’m boringly predictable. And you’re… not. It’s like, the minute you sweat, you change into D.J. So maybe you like me because I’m the opposite of that. I never change.”

  “Wait. You’re the one who got up onstage the other night and sang to a bunch of strangers, and I’m the unpredictable one?” Jackson pulled her back down. His short-sleeved plaid button-down smelled like pine-scented deodorant. “You’re not dating D.J., are you?”

  She giggled, but in a way he was right. Melody was used to thinking she was predictable because, compared to her sister, she always had been. But her performance the other night was just the opposite of predictable. In fact, it was the most spontaneous thing she’d done in years.

  “There are a million reasons why we work.” He reached for her Tupperware and popped open the lid. “One of them is your brownies.” A chocolate crumb landed on the pearly top button of his shirt. She wiped it away. Whatever the reason, he was right—they were a great team.

  Melody rolled onto her back and grabbed his hand. As her mind drifted back to Corrigan’s, the earthy scent of the sunny afternoon was replaced by sour bar smell… the heat of the spotlight… the rush of energy she got from standing on the stage, her voice soaring, the crowd cheering…. Melody sat up and took a sip from her bottle of water. “What are we going to do this summer? That’s the real question.”

  Jackson pushed his bangs off his face. “Actually…” He searched inside his backpack while Melody watched a family in a yellow kayak float past. They seemed so peaceful and satisfied—emotions she had yet to feel in her own life. Not that she wasn’t happy with Jackson; she was. But there was a vibration just below the surface of her skin. A restless hum. A tune that moved her, but never to that place that brought her peace. Until the night before. Until she sang.

  A glossy brochure appeared in front of her face. The cover featured kids on a wooden stage surrounded by lush forest. “Camp Crescendo!”

  “Huh?”

  Jackson grinned. “The camp needs counselors.”

  “But it’s, like, the best performing-arts camp in the country. I’m sure there’s a waiting list a mile long for jobs.”

  Jackson leaned back on his elbows. “There is. But my mom knows the staff director. You and I have interviews next Thursday after school—you for musical theater, me for art. Imagine, two months at a sleepaway camp. No school, no parents, no tragic Applebee’s uniform.”

  And so she did…. Dawn hikes to mist-covered peaks. Midnight swims. Holding hands under a blanket during campfire sing-alongs. Crickets, stars, musical theater. If she had to get a summer
job—which she did—this was a more-than-decent option. “It’s great!” She leaned toward him for a thank-you kiss when—ping!

  Melody pulled back to check her phone.

  TO: Melody

  June 4, 2:57 PM

  CANDACE: @ SHANE’S DORM. GRUNGE GODDESS AUDITIONING LEAD SINGER. SIGNED U UP. NEXT THURS. 3:30 @ SHERWOOD SUITE #503. BEST SISTER EVER OUT!

  Melody shaded the screen and read it again. And again. And again… She jumped to her feet and hopped barefoot in the grass. “Yessssss!”

  “What?” Jackson asked, standing up and hopping too.

  “GrungeGoddessisauditioningnewsingersandCandacegotmeonthelist! I have an audition next week!”

  He high-fived her. “Maybe you can you do something about that name.”

  Melody froze. Did he really just say that?

  “Sorry… it’s great news. It really is,” he said, snickering.

  Icicles formed inside Melody where warm syrupy love had flowed only moments earlier. She dumped the brownies into the trash. “Way to rock block.”

  “Not the brownies!” Jackson screeched.

  “You’re next if you don’t watch it,” she said, only half-joking.

  “I just can’t get over the name. It’s so… dorky.”

  “You would know,” she said, pointing at his misbuttoned shirt.

  “I’m just kidding,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m really happy for you. Maybe now I’ll get to see you perform.” Jackson cranked his fan up to high. He held it in front of his face with one hand and squeezed her bare calf with the other.

  Melody lowered the fan so she could see his eyes. “Does this mean you’ll come to the audition?”

  “Depends.”

  Melody waited.

  “I want a new batch of brownies by sundown.”

  “Deal,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Deal,” he said, shaking it. “When is the audition?”

  She reread the text. “Thursday at three thirty.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  Another rock block.