Monster High 4: Back and Deader Than Ever (12 page)

“Howzit with the boomer being back?” Blue stretched out her webbed fingers and pinched a piece of
unagi
with her chopsticks.

Lala grinned, hoping the fake fang flash conveyed more confidence than she actually felt. Leave it to Blue to remember to ask about the “amazing” father-daughter relationship Lala had been blabbing about all week. How they had spent hours bonding by the fire, rising and shining for early-morning hikes, cooking vegan meals together… Because how could she actually admit that her father had been home for two weeks and they’d barely even talked? That her pets were terrified of him? That he had no idea about the T’eau Dally contest?

Thankfully, she never had to. Arcade Fire’s “Wake Up” faded just in time for the entire table to hear Jackson whine, “Come on, Melly, you’ve been on that thing all day!”

“I promised Sage I’d send her the name of a bootleg.”

Jackson took a bite of his turkey on rye. Melody sent her text.

“Speaking of bootleg, have you seen the new Mother jeans?” Cleo asked. “They are a perfect mix of flare and skinny. I’m sending Ram out for a pair after school if anyone wants to place an order.”

Clawdeen raised her hand.

“Speaking of perfect mix,” Spectra said, “I think Billy and I should try out for the T’eau Dally thing. We’re the perfect combination of beautiful and gorgeous.”

Everyone cracked up.

Cleo flicked her on the arm. “Dumb and dumber is more like it.”

Billy unscrewed the top on Cleo’s chili powder shaker. As usual, she reached for the spice and shook. A hailstorm of red powder coated her tabbouleh.

“
Ka
, Billy!” She pinched the eye of Horus amulet around her neck and waved it in the air. She snapped the lids back onto the glass containers of her Middle Eastern feast and dropped them into her linen tote. “Come on, D.”

Deuce shrugged and popped the last bite of his pepperoni pizza into his mouth. He stood, stretched, and grabbed his empty tray, following Cleo as she marched out.

“I’m so over her acting like she’s better than the rest of us,” Billy said.

“Go easy on her,” Frankie said. “She’s just upset because her twin sister, Nefra, is leaving Salem for Alexandria.”

“Twin?” Lala asked. “They’re not twins.”

“Yeah, Nefra is older than Cleo,” Spectra said. “And where did you hear she was moving? She lives in Cairo.”

“You told me that,” Frankie said pointedly.

“Me?” Spectra gasped.

Ping.

Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.

Ping. Ping.

Like kernels in a microwave, text alerts popped throughout the cafeteria. Clawdeen, Blue, Melody, Jackson, Frankie, Heath, Lala, Clawd, Billy, and Spectra all reached for their phones in unison.

Haylee looked up from her planner.

Brett laughed. “What’s that? Like a secret RAD code or something?”

No one responded. The RADs were too busy reading the message that glowed from their screens.

TO:
ALL

June 14, 12:34 PM

MR. D:
MANDATORY MTG 7 PM FRI AT THE CLEARING. RADS ONLY.

Jackson was the first to ask. “What’s going on, Lala?”

“Why so mysterious?” asked Heath.

Billy’s phone waved in the air. “What’s happening?”

Brett and Haylee glanced at each other in a
no fair!
sort of way.

“Why the clearing?” wondered Clawd.

“Why does it have to be Friday?” complained Melody.

Lala’s cheeks burned. She had no idea, but she wasn’t about to let on. Not after she’d been bragging all week about how close she and her dad were getting.

She made a zipping motion across her lips in an
of-course-I-know-but-I-can’t-tell-you
kind of way.

Clawdeen groaned. “Oh. Come. On! You have to tell us! You can’t keep us waiting until Friday.”

Lala accidentally locked eyes with Melody.
Great. All I need is
for Melody to force me to admit I don’t know what’s going on.
Lala quickly looked away.

Blue leaned across the table and grabbed an apple slice from Lala’s tray. “It’s got to be about the T’eau Dally thing. Right, La?”

Lala tried her best to look coy. Not that she really knew what coy looked like.

“I bet the ol’ boomer is gonna throw some ace congratulations barbie for Lala,” Blue said.

Lala dug her fangs into her bottom lip. The pain distracted her from the torture.

“I know something,” Spectra whispered, sending a cool, lilac-scented breeze across the table. Everyone leaned closer to the Pac-Man shirt. “I heard that Mr. D is resigning as our superior. He’s holding the meeting to announce the new leader. As soon as he’s done, a helicopter will whisk him away to Majorca.”

“Who’s the new superior?” asked Heath.

“You have a
superior
?” asked Haylee.

Frankie crinkled her brows. “Where’s Majorca?”

Lala’s legs began to itch. She wanted to race home and beg her father for the truth. What if her dad was going to take her with him, as a surprise? But what if the surprise was that he
wasn’t
?

Bwoop. Bwoop. Bwoop.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and the end of Spectra’s story.

“Whoops!” She pushed back from the table and got to her feet. Grabbing Billy’s old gray messenger bag, she made kissy noises. “Gotta scoot! Don’t want to be late for my English test.”

Everyone turned to face Lala. She felt the tofu fingers rise up in
her belly and gather in the back of her throat. “I can’t say anything,” she managed. “He trusted me to keep the secret.”

“Come on,” they urged.

Lala squirmed uncomfortably.

Clawd elbow-nudged her. His yellow-brown eyes were intense and focused. “You don’t have to tell anyone anything. You’re great at keeping secrets. That’s one of the things I…” He stopped himself in case anyone was listening, but squeezed her hand under the table.

Clawd was right. She was good at keeping secrets. If only she had one to keep.

TUESDAY, JUNE 14

Bwoop. Bwoop.

School’s out. It’s T’eau time!

Frankie kissed her flyers for luck and forced an ear-grazing smile. Smiling, she’d read, prompts the secretion of serotonin, nature’s happy chemical. And it was crucial she project joy and confidence, especially under such misty skies. She needed to win the heart spaces (and votes!) of her fellow Merstonites. If she didn’t, someone else (Cleo! Haylee!) would.

The main doors parted with a slam, and the student tsunami surged. Frankie seratonin-smiled a stitch wider than usual and called, “You won’t regret a vote for Frankie and Brett!” She handed her first green flyer to a freshman in glasses. He blushed and then swallowed, his skinny Adam’s apple bobbing like a fishing lure. She offered her second flyer to a senior with black clip-on bangs. The girl waved Frankie away like a bad smell. “I’m a de Nile–phile,” she announced, flashing the charm on her necklace.

A gift from Cleo, the magic amulet was supposed to bring good fortune to anyone who wore it—if the wearer voted for her and Deuce. Every girl who passed seemed to be wearing one. Stars for fame, coins for wealth, hearts for love… So far, Cleo’s charms were doing a great job making Frankie disappear. She hoped Brett was having more luck by the football field.

“STEIN AND REDDING GO TOGETHER LIKE DOGS AND SHEDDING!” she called into the nonresponsive crowd. Classmates hurried by, refusing to make eye contact with her.
Is this how the perfume-sample sprayers at Saks feel? It’s only a piece of paper, people!

Desperate to spread the word, Frankie accidentally passed a flyer to Haylee, who wadded it up and tossed it into the trash.

“Thank you for not littering,” Frankie managed in her kindest voice. Because the It Couple weren’t just models; they were role models.

“Thank you for killing trees!” Haylee shouted.

Her supporters applauded as if she’d just finished her inaugural address.

Address?

A dress!

That’s it!

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 15

If Frankie wanted to look like the ambassador of fusion, she would have to dress like the ambassador of fusion. No more black jeggings and off-the-shoulder shirts. That was expected
like the 9:07
AM
train to Snoozerville. From now on, she would have Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup style: two different tastes blended. Only hers would be sporty and sassy, just like the T’eau Dally brand.

In the first-floor bathroom, Frankie studied her reflection: pink super high-top Chucks, rainbow-striped thigh-high socks, a
Black Swan
–inspired black tutu skirt, a form-flattering Merston football jersey (thanks to Clawdeen’s DIY sewing skills and Clawd’s generous donation), and a cropped denim blazer. Her hair was tied in dozens of fist-sized knots with colorful shoelaces, and her makeup was runway-ready.
Poor Lala
, she thought. Frankie couldn’t imagine a life without mirrors. Color blindness would be bad enough. But couture blindness? It deserved a handicapped parking spot and an annual fund-raiser.

Frankie kissed the mirror, leaving behind a pink pucker, and any last bits of insecurity left over from the day before. She and Brett had a contest to win.

Brett was leaning against a poster-covered wall, waiting for Frankie, when she came out into the hallway. He was wearing the new robin’s-egg blue oxford she’d bought for him. It was the last thing anyone would expect to see with his worn black motorcycle jacket and hiking boots. Yes, he too was fusing like a light box, mashing like sweet potatoes, blending like a smoothie.

“There’s my peanut butter cup,” he joked.

Frankie beamed. Haylee’s platform was full of substance, Cleo’s full of ancient spells. But Stein and Redding had the image down. This was a print campaign, for bolt’s sake. What else was there?

A gaggle of passing girls slowed to check their outfits.

“T’eau-Dally representing Merston’s mix!” Frankie told them.

Once the girls were gone, Brett muttered, “You don’t think we’re going to win this just because we look like Elton John, do you?”

“Brett, image is everything. Look at the Real Housewives of OC, DC, and NYC. They’re famous because of their voltage clothes and their fancy houses.”

Brett rolled his eyes. “And the fact that they try to claw one another’s eyes out.”

Frankie groaned in frustration. “All I’m saying is that this is like a game.”

“Um, look.” Brett pointed to the hand-lettered papyrus banner that stretched from one side of the sophomores’ lockers to the other like a beige ecofriendly rainbow.

Frankie groaned. “And it looks like the game just changed.”