The Ghoul Next Door Page 6

  Melody gulped. Suddenly, breathing felt like sipping pudding through a straw.

  Cleo grinned like a Cheshire cat. All she had to do was plant the seed, stand back, and watch their hate grow.

  It’s not like that, Melody wanted to shout back. Bekka turned on me too! I’m more like you than you know. Don’t look at my symmetrical face. Look in my eyes! I know what it feels like to be judged! But her voice—the one that used to sing in recitals and star in musicals before she got asthma—was gone. It was curled up in a fetal position at the bottom of her throat, afraid to come out. Afraid of getting teased and bullied all over again. Afraid of ruining her last chance to start over.

  “Melody is on our side,” Jackson declared.

  “Get her out of here!” shouted Bigfoot.

  “No,” said one of the J.Crew brothers. “Make her stay. We need to keep an eye on her.”

  “How about an eyetooth?” said a different brother, licking his chops.

  His friends howled with laughter.

  Melody gripped Jackson’s arm to steady herself. He turned on his fan and cooled his face.

  “Stop!” Frankie sparked. “Melody is not the enemy, okay? Bekka is.”

  “Then they’re working together!”

  “We’re not!” insisted Melody, lips quivering.

  “Prove it!”

  “Yeah! Prove it!”

  Frankie clapped her hands once. “Guys, it doesn’t matter because—”

  “I can prove it,” Jackson interrupted.

  “How?”

  “Because Bekka is after me too,” he said.

  Melody gasped. Is he trying to save me or get me killed? Once they knew Bekka had found the clip of Jackson on her phone, they would string her up to the carousel and play that creepy music until her head exploded.

  “Ka,” snapped Cleo. “What do you have to do with this?”

  “Bekka found a video of me turning into D.J. She’s going to play it on the news if Mel—” He paused, suddenly realizing where this was heading. “If I don’t tell her where Frankie is hiding.”

  “How did she get it?” Cleo pressed.

  “How’d she get it?” he stammered. “Um…”

  Omigod. Omigod. Omigod. I need to be brave. I need to come clean. I can’t be afraid. I have to tell them. I’m going to…

  “My phone,” blurted Jackson. “I dropped it at the dance, and Bekka found it.”

  Melody’s shoulders relaxed back into their sockets. Did he really just do that for me? She squeezed her thanks to Jackson. You’re welcome, he squeezed back.

  “Fine. Case closed. Moving on.” Cleo said. “Time to get back to our normal lives.”

  “How are we supposed to do that?” Billy asked. “There’s a massive monster hunt going on out there.”

  Cleo exhaled sharply. Her bangs did the wave and then settled. “I dunno. Frankie, can’t your father take you apart and then put you back together when this whole thing blows over?”

  Her friends snickered into their palms.

  “And what about me?” Jackson asked, fanning his face. “Who’s gonna take me apart?”

  Nice one! Melody thought, squeezing his hand.

  “I’ll ask my staff if they can preserve you for a few years,” Cleo suggested with a what-could-be-easier-than-that? shrug.

  Her friends giggled again. Melody wanted to grab the beakers off the steel countertop and hurl them at their heads.

  “No wonder you’re the queen of de-Nile,” Jackson scoffed.

  Yes! Melody squeezed again.

  Everyone cracked up.

  Cleo fingered her gold hoop earrings with royal indifference.

  “Guys!” Frankie finally interrupted. “It doesn’t matter! None of this matters. Because I’m going to turn myself in.”

  There was an audible gasp.

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Do your parents know?”

  “Can I have your makeup?”

  “It’s suicide!”

  “It’s for the best. The police want me, not you,” she explained like a true heroine. If it weren’t for her sparking fingertips, no one would have known how nervous she was. “Bekka won’t stop until she can pay me back for making out with Brett, so—”

  “Woo-hoo,” whisper-cheered the pretty girl with the furry scarf. “Go, Fran-kay!”

  Cleo’s friends began silently applauding Frankie and her lethal kiss. In a much-needed moment of levity, she stood on the operating table and curtsied.

  “Stop!” Cleo shouted. “Nobody move! Hissette is gone!”

  Everyone turned away from Frankie.

  “My bracelet! The snake. She’s loose!”

  A frantic search began.

  “Maybe this is a good time to get out of here,” Melody muttered amid the chaos. Jackson nodded and reached for the window.

  “Bail up on the ankle biter!” shouted the Australian, pointing at an aquarium and the snake that was slithering up the side of the tank.

  Frankie jumped off the operating table. “Get it before it eats the Glitterati!”

  “It is a she,” Cleo hissed, running toward the snake.

  Deuce hurried toward Hissette, cupped his hands, and grabbed her.

  “Eyes closed, everyone!” Deuce announced.

  Frankie quickly scooped up the five glittering rodents from their cage and kissed the tops of their heads.

  Melody and Jackson forgot all about the window and did what they were told.

  “It’s safe. You can open them now,” Deuce said.

  He slipped the snake back up Cleo’s arm while her friends looked on in envy. She kissed him sweetly on the cheek.

  “That was a live snake?” Melody whispered to Jackson.

  “Uh-huh,” he grunted.

  “And now it’s made of stone?” she whispered again.

  “Yep. I’m pretty sure Deuce did that with his eyes,” Jackson mumbled behind his hand.

  Melody nodded, finally understanding why Deuce had freaked out when she took off his sunglasses at the dance.

  “Hey, Frankie, now do you understand?” Cleo called out so everyone could hear.

  “Huh?”

  “Inviting a normie here is like asking my snake to hang out with your mice.”

  “They’re rats,” Frankie insisted.

  Cleo stomped her foot and pointed at Melody. “Well, so is she!”

  Just then the lights snapped on. In a panic, everyone hurried out the window and raced for home without exchanging a single good-bye.

  Running hand in hand with Jackson through the soggy, dark ravine, Melody should have been leaping over fallen logs and skipping over puddles. After all, Frankie was going to turn herself in! Bekka would destroy the video of Jackson! No more “tick… tick … tick” messages! It was over.

  Still, her limbs were so heavy she could barely keep up. As in her dreams, where she was running but not moving, she couldn’t seem to get ahead. Too weird for Beverly Hills. Too normal for Salem. Too weird for normies. Too normal for RADs.

  Melody wanted to stop running. She wanted to collapse into a heap of slick leaves and stare up at the moonless sky. To allow the clouds to cover her until she disappeared. To surrender her dreams to the wind. But every time she dragged behind, Jackson pulled her forward, forcing her to keep going.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A WINDOW OF

  OPPORTUNITY

  Frankie woke up with her face pressed against the glass of the Glitterati’s cage. Not because they needed comforting. The threat of Hissette had worn off the moment Deuce zapped her back to stone. And the booming thunderstorm had stopped shortly after the power came back. So the glittery rats slept peacefully, packed together like sprinkle-covered doughnuts in a see-through takeout box. This time it was Frankie who needed comforting. Turning herself in meant she might never see her parents again. She’d never go to prom or college. She’d never drive a car or fly on an airplane. She’d never be the CEO of Sephora or vacation in the Bahamas. And worst of a
ll, she would never have a stitch-melting kiss with D.J. like the one she’d had with Brett.

  Yes, the decision to confess was a tad on the impulsive side. Driven by the overwhelming gratitude she felt when her friends sneaked over to show their support. But if they could risk their lives for her, shouldn’t she risk hers for them? Especially since this monster hunt was her fault in the first place. And double especially since her risk would call off the cops and give the RADs their freedom again. That is, if they considered hiding their skin, fangs, fur, scales, snakes, sweat, and invisibility to be “freedom.” Because Frankie certainly did not.

  “You want irony?” she grumbled, returning the Glitterati’s cage to the steel table beside her bed. “I was fighting for freedom. And now I have less than I started with. And it’s only going to get worse.”

  Their pink noses twitched.

  “Thanks.” Frankie tried to smile. “I love you too.”

  “Who are you talking to?” her father asked, entering without knocking. It seemed as though “right to privacy” had been added to the growing list of things taken away from Frankie, right after eye contact, social interaction, parental interaction, a cell phone, high school, TV, music, a voltage wardrobe, Internet, bedroom accessories, vanilla-scented candles, and fresh air.

  Frankie hid her new iPhone under her blankets. “The rats,” she said. “It’s been pretty lonely in here, you know.”

  Viktor didn’t respond. Instead, he shuffled across the linoleum in his worn UGG slippers and white lab coat and gathered his tools.

  “What are you doing?” Frankie asked. Had Cleo’s suggestion about taking her apart until this whole thing blew over somehow seeped through the walls and into his subconscious while he was charging?

  “Building a family dog,” he said, plunking his tools down on the operating table.

  Frankie quickly scooped up her blankets (and the contraband iPhone) and dumped them in the far corner by the window. It was sunny outside. There was hope.

  “Voltage! I’ll help,” she offered.

  “That’s okay,” he said to the pile of metal gadgets on the operating table. “I’d rather work alone today.” He flicked on the Cyclops light, refusing to lift his heavy lids and look at her.

  “I could dye the fur or something,” she pressed. “How about pink with green hearts? How mint would that be?”

  Viktor sighed loudly and then ran his hand through his hair.

  “Dad,” Frankie pleaded, tugging the coarse white sleeve of his lab coat. “Look at me.”

  Viveka entered with a steaming mug of coffee for her husband. “Your father needs to work alone today.” Barefoot and wrapped in a black chenille robe, she looked like she had the flu. Her radiant skin had dulled. Her violet eyes were red. Her black hair was frizzy. She set the mug down gently beside her husband. Longing for a reminder of life as it was, Frankie leaned toward Viveka and inhaled, desperate for a whiff of her mother’s gardenia body oil. But the sweet smell was gone.

  “Why does he need to work alone?”

  “Because tinkering helps relieve his stress,” her mother explained, still looking down.

  “Stress that I caused, right?”

  Just like Viktor, Viveka’s tired eyes searched the lab… the table… the tools… willing to land on anything but Frankie.

  “Right?”

  They looked down.

  “Right?” She sparked. Her anguish echoed off the bare walls. Still her parents remained silent. “Just say something! Tell me how mad you are! Tell me how much trouble I caused! Tell me you don’t love me anymore! Just. Say. Something!”

  Fear and frustration fused and then twisted inside her to form a double helix of rage. It spiraled to the core of her being and shook her foundation. Unable to control herself any longer, Frankie swiped her arm across Viktor’s tools, knocking them to the floor in a hailstorm of clattering noise.

  Viktor stared. Viveka rubbed her forehead. Frankie sobbed.

  Viveka finally looked her daughter in the eye. “How could you possibly think we don’t love you, Frankie? We feel this way because we love you.”

  The much-needed connection sent a zip of energy through Frankie’s core.

  “There’s just a lot at stake and…” She placed her hand on Viktor’s. “We’re scientists, and since there’s no science to keeping you safe, we feel like we’re in over our heads and—”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” Frankie said, smiling bravely. She picked up the scattered tools and piled them in front of her father. “I’m going to turn myself in.”

  “Absolutely not!” Viktor boomed, smashing his fist on the table. The pile rattled.

  “Frankie, darling, what are you trying to prove?” Viveka asked, her icy eyes melting to water.

  “I’m not trying to prove anything, Mom,” Frankie insisted, gearing up for another speech on her quest for change and freedom. But she stopped herself for fear of sounding like Buffy in season seven. The once-cool slayer could have bored vampires to death with her self-righteous lectures. It was enough to make Frankie turn the DVDs into nail polish coasters. “I just want to do what’s right.”

  “Your decision is noble,” Viktor said, placing his palms on the table and looking at Frankie. “But if you really want to do the right thing, you’ll stop and think before you act. Not just about yourself or your mission but about the people you could hurt along the way.”

  “That’s just it,” Frankie insisted. “Turning myself in would help everyone. It would put an end to this whole thing.”

  “But it wouldn’t help you. It would put you in serious danger,” Viktor said. “And that would hurt us.”

  This time Frankie looked away.

  “I filled your brain with fifteen years of knowledge,” Viktor continued. “What you do with it is up to you. But please, make safe choices. Turning yourself in may be noble, but it’s not safe.”

  Viveka nodded in agreement. “How about we give your father some space to tinker? I bet by the time the dog is built, he’ll—”

  The frosted window blew open and then slammed shut.

  “Mind if I interrupt?” asked a boy’s voice.

  “Billy?”

  “Yeah,” he answered shyly.

  “Billy Phaidin?” Viktor asked, obviously acquainted with him from the RAD meetings.

  “Yeah, um, hi, Mr. and Mrs. Stein.” Billy picked up one of Frankie’s sheets from the heap by the window and wrapped it around himself. “I’m over here.” A burrito-like figure shuffled toward them. “I know it’s wrong to sneak into someone’s home. And I want you to know I would never do anything creepy or pervy.”

  Frankie giggled.

  “I just didn’t want to draw attention to the house by ringing the bell and having you open the door to some invisible guy. But I had to speak to you,” Billy explained. “All of you.”

  Viktor raised his thick eyebrows and glared expectantly.

  “I know how to keep Frankie from turning herself in,” Billy said.

  Uh-oh.

  “How did you know she was going to turn herself in?” Viveka asked.

  “Um, I…”

  “He must have come in through the window just as I was telling you,” Frankie blurted.

  “It’s true,” Billy said. “I kinda had a hard time wriggling in, so I was listening for a while. I gained a few pounds over the summer, especially in my thighs. You may not have noticed because this sheet is so slimming, but—”

  Viktor scratched the back of his head. “Well, if you just heard us now, how did you come up with—”

  “So, what’s your plan?” Frankie asked quickly, shutting down the interrogation.

  “Paint me green and dress me in a cute little outfit so everyone thinks I’m Frankie. I’ll turn myself in, wash off the paint, and ditch the clothes. Then I’ll be invisible again, and I can escape.”

  Frankie beamed. “You think my outfits are cute?”

  “Frankie!” Viveka snapped. “This i
s serious.”

  Viktor folded his arms across his lab coat. “If the police think Frankie has escaped, won’t they keep looking for her?”

  “Not if I leave a bunch of bolts and seams behind too. They’ll think she gave up and took herself apart,” Billy said. “Then all Frankie has to do is get rid of the hairstreaks, wear her makeup, dress like a man again, and go back to Merston. The normies won’t have a clue she’s the one who made out with—I mean… according to them, Frankie Stein is just another normie-skinned student. Not the mysterious green monster who lost her head at the dance.”

  “Hmm.” Viktor considered Billy’s explanation.

  Viveka sighed. “I don’t know. What would your parents think? Everyone is already blaming us for exposing their kids to danger. It’s not responsible.”

  “It’s okay. They’re cool with it. I already—”

  Frankie elbowed the sheet burrito.

  “I mean, you’re right,” Billy backpedaled. “I’ll definitely get their permission first. But for the record, my dad let me sneak into the KFC kitchen to find out what the seven secret spices are. And my mom once had me shadow the treasurer of the PTA to see if she was stealing funds. So they’re cool with this kind of thing if it’s for a good cause.”

  “You would do all this for us?” Viveka asked.

  “On one condition,” Billy said.

  “What?” Viktor asked.

  “Let Frankie fight.”

  Frankie smiled. She knew exactly what he meant.

  “Excuse me?”

  Billy stepped closer to her parents.

  “Frankie wants to change things. And she is the only person I’ve ever met who is brave enough to do it,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for someone like her for a long time. We all have. Let her do it.”

  “This is a war that can’t be won,” Viktor said. “Trust me. Everyone has tried at one point or another. And we’ve all lost.”

  “With all due respect, sir, our parents have lost. We haven’t,” Billy said. “But we’ve grown up hearing your generation’s horror stories, so we’re afraid to take a stand. Until now. Until Frankie. At least let her try.”

  Viktor and Viveka sighed. Had they been holding a white flag of surrender, the force of their breath would have blown it away.