Monster High 4: Back and Deader Than Ever (20 page)

“When will kids realize parents live to embarrass them?” her father fired back.

Melody had wanted to hide her head in Nine’s bass drum when Beau dipped Glory at the end of “Ironic,” but humiliation was a small price to pay for their blessing. And it was clear from their sweaty hugs that she had it.

“Let’s celebrate!” Glory said. “Baskins?”

Melody scanned the congested area for Jackson. Where was he?

“Negatory,” Beau said, wagging a finger. “Dairy is not good for the old pipes. Number one cause of phlegm. I heard Barbra Streisand hasn’t had so much as a taste in forty years.”

Glory pulled out her iPad, ready to verify. “Lemme check. I think that was Celine.”

“That’s okay,” Melody said. “We have a band meeting now, anyway. I’ll be home in an hour.”

“How exciting,” Glory said, a peacock feather stuck in her lip gloss. “A set list review?”

“No, Granite has a surprise for us. Actually, I’m supposed to meet him now, so…”

After another sweaty hug, Melody began moving through the crowd toward the side door. Along the way, she sent Jackson a text letting him know she’d be in the alley and telling him to join her as soon as he could.

After a single pump of the handle, Melody was enveloped by the humid steam cloud blasting from an air vent. It felt like the
bathroom after a Candace shower, only instead of vanilla, it smelled of Merston on lasagna day.

“Hey!” Melody bellowed at the sight of Jackson. He was seated on a rusty paint can beside Cici, Nine, and Granite. “I was looking for you.”

“I’m hardly surprised,” Jackson said with a confident smirk. His plaid button-down was open halfway to the waist, and his dark hair flopped over his forehead. He looked more relaxed.

“Welcome to the spa,” Cici groaned. “May we offer you a complimentary barf bag?” She kicked a mud-soaked KFC bag toward the Dumpster.

Nine-Point-Five laughed.

“Sorry we’re slumming,” Granite said, tossing Melody a pink Gatorade. “I thought we’d need a little privacy.”

Were Jackson and Granite really hanging out? “So you guys know each other?”

“We’ve been bros ever since the second set,” Jackson said, throwing his arm around Granite’s brawny shoulder. “This guy knows more about music than I do.”

“Not true. He’s the one who told me that Soundgarden was named after that statue in Seattle,” Granite said.

“But you actually saw—”

“Okay, you two need to stop,” Cici joked, her tiara tilting like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Nine slapped her a high four-point-five. “Wait, is that the big news?” she asked Granite. “Are you two getting married?”

“We can hold the ceremony at the Hard Rock,” Cici teased.

Melody laughed, but for an entirely different reason. Jackson
had a boy crush on the guy he’d accused her of liking.
Hey, Alanis, isn’t
that
ironic
?

Jackson reached out his hand and pulled her down toward him. “I’m a sucker for a hot lead singer,” he said before kissing her with the force of someone who had just returned from war.

Granite turned away.

Jackson didn’t smell like the usual waxy pastel crayons. More musty. And a little bit sharp. But he obviously wasn’t holding any grudges. So she embraced his new scent; she probably didn’t smell so great either.

“OmigodOmigodOmigodOmigod!” Sage burst through the door waving her cell phone. In true Marilyn form, her silver bubble dress rose up from the steam, but unlike the pinup, her legs were covered in red-and-black-striped tights. “I. Just. Got. A. Voice. Mail. From. LEW SNYDER! Hewantstorepusonasummer tourwherewecanfollowallthefestivals!”

Granite smacked his thighs. “And there goes the surprise.”

Jackson stood. “The concert promoter?”

Sage bobbled her head.

Cici jumped, the swaying fringes on her knee-high moccasins reminding Melody of a hula skirt. “Shut
up
!”

Nine-Point-Five pressed her drumsticks up against her strawberry-soda pink lips. “Us? As in Leadfeather?”

Sage nodded again.

They grabbed hands and started pogo-ing like twelve-year-olds at a Miley Cyrus concert. Jackson joined in.

Melody looked into Granite’s gray eyes.
Really?

He nodded.
Yes.

The corners of his mouth twitched toward a smile, but he
restrained himself. The conversation with Lew was their secret. Just like that moment of hand-holding.

“Ha!” Melody said, marveling at the power in her voice.

Sage readjusted the blue hair band in her freshly dyed white hair. “He said he already cleared it with our manager and—”

“Manager?” Nine asked.

Granite waved shyly. “Surprise again.”

The girls rushed Granite, pulling him onto their pogo. Melody wanted to join them but took Jackson’s hand instead. If he hadn’t already realized this would crush their summer plans, he was about to.
Why did I tell Lew Snyder to book a summer tour? We could have done some local gigs instead. Or something, anything, that wouldn’t break Jackson’s heart?

Sage grabbed her hand. “Aren’t you excited?”

Melody nodded toward Jackson, letting her know that this was more complicated than it seemed. But Jackson didn’t act heartbroken at all. Instead, he was watching the celebration with an amused look on his face. He probably assumed she was going to say no. Because that’s what any responsible, caring, considerate girlfriend would do.
Right
?

“What does he have to do with this?” Sage asked.

So much for nuance.

“It’s just that we have these summer plans and—”

“What plans?” Jackson asked, his eyes darker than usual. And then to Granite he added, “Girls just love having commitments.”

Granite nodded as if to say he knew exactly what Jackson was talking about.

At least someone did. The Jackson that Melody knew was pumped for Camp Crescendo. Like,
planning-hikes-and-buying-
matching-Patagonia-fleeces
pumped. Maybe he was trying to act cool in front of the band?

“Forget plans. What could possibly be better than a summer tour?” Jackson asked, with his hands up in the air.

Melody’s insides swirled. “Really?”

“When Lew Snyder calls, you answer,” Jackson said.

“Woooo-hooooo!” cheered her bandmates.

“Now let’s go celebrate!” He hooked his arm around Melody’s neck and kissed her cheek. “Man, you’re smokin’ hot.”

She giggled.

“Union Tap is playing at the Pigeon Hole,” he announced. “You guys want to go?”

The others agreed Melody and Jackson should have some alone time and sent the pair off with a group hug and a Gatorade toast to the summer of rock and roll.

Beyond the steaming alley, the night air was cool, and the breeze on Melody’s forehead felt like a much-needed ice-cream headache. A crescent moon shone, lighting their stroll down Liberty Street.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this tour?” she asked, now that they were alone.

Jackson shivered and pulled her closer.

“Hello?” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Jackson?” Melody grabbed his cold hand. She wanted to make sure he understood how much this meant to her. How much he meant to her. “Thank you for being so supportive.”

“Sure.” He smiled politely, as if they had just met. “You really were great tonight.”

“Is that why you’re okay with this? Because you believe in me?” she asked, stopping outside the Pigeon Hole. She wasn’t particularly into seeing live music. She had just
been
the live music and had that heavy feeling that follows a long cry. Besides, she needed to get home. But if Jackson was so eager to support her interests, she would make every effort to support his. He must have studied up on her favorite bands to know that fact about Soundgarden….
Wait a second
….

He shivered again and buttoned up his shirt. “I told you, Melly, I’m okay with you being in this band.”

Melody stiffened. “What about the tour?”

“What tour?”

Melody’s heart began to sprint. Her mouth dried. She grabbed Jackson’s hands in hers. “Where are we going right now?”

He looked at the fogged window of the bar. Glanced up at the swinging wood sign. “The Pigeon Hole?” he read.

Melody’s heart dropped toward her pink Chucks. “Where’s your fan?”

Jackson shrugged. “That oaf Granite stepped on it. I knew that guy had it in for me.”

He shut his hazel eyes, as if closing them might make it all go away. If only…

He sighed. “D.J. was here, wasn’t he?”

Melody nodded. Her eyes stung with disappointment. How could she have missed the signs?

“What happened?”

Melody sighed. “Leadfeather got booked on a summer tour. You were happy for me. You told me to do it.”

He dropped her hand and shook his head. “You mean D.J. did.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Melody snapped back.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “How long have you known me, Melody? Didn’t you suspect that maybe, possibly, asking me loaded questions in a superhot bar was a little, oh, I don’t know, problematic?”

Fury hardened the tears behind Melody’s eyes. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I was a little busy in there.”

Jackson dug his car keys out of his pocket and made a fist around them. “Actually, I had noticed. You’ve been too busy for anything that doesn’t have to do with this band.”

Ugh!
“This band,” she practically spat, “happens to be a dream come true for me.”

“Well, I would never want to come between you and your dreams,” he shouted. And then, “Good luck on your tour.” He turned to leave.

“What about us?” she called.

He stopped. His expression had melted to sadness. “What about us?”

“Is that it?”

“Do you want it to be?”

A couple, arm in arm, teetered by, giggle-talking the way only people in love can do. Melody wanted to trip them. “No.”

“Then prove it,” he said, and walked away.

Bwoop. Bwoop.

The homeroom bell rang. Not that Frankie needed a reminder to get to class. She’d been sitting in that wooden seat for eleven minutes, staring at motivational posters of vistas and rainbows until they blurred. Waiting. Sparking.

Principal Weeks was about to announce the winner of the T’eau Dally vote. And Frankie didn’t want to miss it. Not because she had any chance of winning. Cleo’s purchase of Haylee and Heath’s campaign speech had guaranteed that. But because she didn’t want to look like a sore loser. Feeling like one was painful enough.

“Good luck,” said Clawdeen and Blue when they came in. Others communicated their well wishes with closemouthed smiles, prolonged glances, or encouraging pats on the back. But there was a mournful quality behind their gestures. A
sorry-for-your-loss
kind of thing.

“Stop tugging!” Brett said, sitting at the desk beside her. “We haven’t lost yet.”

Yet.

An orange tee and khaki shorts slipped into the seat behind her. “You excited, Stein?” Billy asked.

“Totally,” Frankie managed, despite the orb of depression in the back of her throat. She eked out a weak smile to prove her enthusiasm.

She would congratulate Cleo and Deuce on their win and carry on as if being named the T’eau Dally It Couple wasn’t the ultimate way to kick off the summer. Like free footwear for life was nothing to get charged up about. As though professional photographs of her and Brett wouldn’t be cherished by their kids. She would follow her parents’ advice and accept defeat like a winner…. Defeat… de-feat… da feet… the feet… the feet that won’t wear T’eau Dally shoes… “Stop!”

“Stop what?” Brett asked, gripping her forearm. Grounding her.

“Um…” Frankie said to his hand. “I meant, stop, where did you get that voltage blue nail polish?”

He released his hold. “You bought it for me.”

Oops.
“And don’t you forget it.”

“Don’t you,” he teased.

“Don’t you,” she teased back.

“Don’t you.”

“Don’t—”

The classroom door opened with a bang. Cleo stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other swaying languidly at her side. Any more chill and it would have fallen from her purple-and-gold maxidress like an icicle and shattered on the linoleum. Even Cleo’s outfit was relaxed.