Monster High 4: Back and Deader Than Ever (23 page)

“Melly!” called a familiar voice. Candace ran stiffly toward
Melody in her turquoise Prada wedges. Dressed in a striped romper with bright summer beads swaying around her neck, she looked like an escaped mannequin attempting to move for the first time. “You can get a ride home with Jackson, right?” She closed her fist around the car keys, making it clear that this wasn’t so much a question as a situation update.

Melody’s chest tightened, missing the days when she could have answered yes. “Where are you going?”

Candace paused to let the passing students fall out of eavesdropping range. “Shane and I want to grab a bite before our Greek Mythology lecture.”

Seriously?
“Candace, how can you have a lecture? You don’t even go to that college.”

“Have you seen the size of those classes? There are, like, three hundred people in them. The professor has no clue. Shane and I text the whole time. It’s the cutest. So, you’re good for a ride?”

“Yeah, I’ll figure it out.”

“Wait,” Candace said, twirling coral beads around her finger. “Are you still giving Jackson the silent treatment because he left you outside the Pigeon Hole?”

If only it were that simple. “He’s waiting for me to prove my love.”

“And you don’t love him anymore,” Candace concluded like a seasoned therapist. “It happens.”

“No,” Melody said, finally able to see past her anger. Or was it her ego? “I
do
. It’s just that…” What was it, exactly?
I don’t want to sacrifice my dreams for his? I don’t want him to want me to? I hate missing him?
“I think the only proof he’ll accept is me walking away from this tour and—”

Candace gasped. “An ultimatum? Did he give you an ultimatum?”

“Not in so many words, but—”

Candace slapped a locker. It echoed through the near-empty hall. “No one gives a Carver girl one of those,” she said, like it was an STD. She slid her red Wayfarers on. “Well then, if he wants you to prove your love, go ahead. Prove your love.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, prove your love for that hot roadie, Granite. That guy is a fuh-ox.”

Melody giggled.

“When Jackson busts you, say, ‘Ohhhh, you meant prove my love for
you
. Ooops, sor-reeee!’ ”

Jackson was above games, and so was Melody. But it was funny to consider. Or maybe it was just funny that she was in the position to make one guy jealous with another. Not ha-ha funny. More like,
Who would have thought?

Bwoop
.
Bwoop
.

“I gotta go,” Candace said with the urgency of an outlaw. “You’ll be okay getting home?”

Melody nodded. “Enjoy the lecture.” She turned on the toe of her black Converse, headed toward another of Mr. Chan’s lessons on how World War II applies to social media. While checking her texts—maybe Jackson missed her too—Melody slammed into him.

“Hey!” he blurted. And then, as if remembering their situation, he stiffened.

He was with Lala and two coffee-coated strangers. One was a model-tall stick of a woman in a buttery-yellow leather tank and
black leather pants. Her patent stilettos were studded with tiny silver spikes. Beside her was a blond marshmallow of a guy in a tight white tracksuit. They were one square of chocolate and a graham cracker away from a s’more. As Jackson pretended to be fascinated with something in the distance, Lala pulled Melody forward. “Mel, I’d like you to meet Brigitte T’eau and Dickie Dally.”

The marshmallow was Dickie Dally? Athlete? Figurehead? Playboy? This MVP was F-A-T. “Hey,” Melody managed, and then tried to make a move toward history class.

But Lala’s cold hand yanked her back. “Melody is the lead singer of Leadfeather. She’ll be a big part of the T’eau Dally Talented music department once she gets back from her tour.”

Jackson made a closed-mouth sneezing sound. Melody’s stomach clenched.

Brigitte pursed her plum-stained lips. “
Magnifique
,” she purred. “
J’aime vos plumes
,” she added while fingering the feathers in Melody’s hair. Melody stood still and repressed the urge to shrug her off.

“Someone likes to hunt,” Dickie said with a phlegmy chortle.

“And that someone just so happens to be Jackson’s girlfriend!” Lala smiled brightly.

Melody gasped. “Actually—”

“Ha! That’s my boy!” Dickie elbowed Jackson in the ribs. Jackson dropped his phone. Melody dropped her jaw.

“So tell me, Jake,” said Marshmallow, “does this early bird get the worm? Ha!”

Ew!

“Foul!” snapped Brigitte.

“Pun intended!” Dickie shouted, delighted. “Get it? Bird? Fowl?”

It was clear from Brigitte’s
I-smell-sour-milk
face that she didn’t.

“We’re on a break,” Jackson said.

Melody stared at him. That was like piling on deodorant and calling it a shower. “I’d say it’s more like a break
up
.”

“Good to know,” Jackson said, swiping a finger across his iPhone. “Mind if we take five while I update my status on Facebook?”

“Ha! Does this mean you’re single?” Dickie asked Melody.

Brigitte
tsk-tsk
ed and patted Melody’s shoulder.

“I guess it does,” she said to Jackson.

“Don’t act so surprised. It was your idea.”

“Which part? Leaving me outside a bar in the middle of the night or making me feel guilty for following my dream?”

“Only you can make you feel guilty,” Jackson said smugly.

“And only you would say something that pretentious,” Melody fired back.

Lala’s dark eyes were wide with horror. “How ’bout we move along and finish the tour, Jackson?”

“Sounds great,” he barked, and then took off down the hall. Lala and Brigitte hurried to catch him. Dickie shoulder-checked Melody into the wall. “Call me when you graduate college.” He winked and then
swish-swish
ed away in all his nylon glory.

Frothing with anger, Melody couldn’t imagine sitting still for a Chan lecture. Instead, she hurried to her locker and opened it just so she could kick it shut again. And then she did it again. And again. And—

Ping.

Melody fumbled to fish her phone from the pocket of her cutoffs. Finally, an apology.

TO:
Melody

June 22, 10:17 AM

GRANITE:
MEET ME ON THE ROOF.

TO:
Granite

June 22, 10:17 AM

MELODY:
LOVE TO.

The metal security door had slammed shut behind her. A warm wind whipped her ponytail and sent feathers scattering across the concrete roof. Did Jackson seriously think this was her fault?

“Hey, you,” called Granite, leaning against the humming air-conditioning unit.

Melody hurried toward him, grateful for the distraction.

“Look,” he said, taking her hand and walking her to the edge. His dark gray pocket tee brought out the green in his stone-colored eyes. Her heart began to speed again. “Everything looks so different up here.” He pointed his sinewy forearm toward the Riverfront. The carousel spun in a slow circle like a music box. Behind it, the Willamette River ran smooth as a hot caramel stream.

“It’s like a model city,” she said as people scurried down Main Street like Guatemalan worry dolls. She tried to imagine what
they might be stressing about. Boyfriends? Jobs? Family? The little things seemed less important from this perspective. “I can’t believe I’ve never been up here before.”

“Gargoyles always have a penthouse view. But you”—he turned to face her—“you’ve wasted so much time trapped in this box.” He gestured to the building beneath their feet. “Once you go high, you begin to realize that nothing can hold you down.”

“Well, there is gravity,” she joked.

He rolled his eyes playfully and then took her hand. “You have hundreds of choices. Millions of options. You just have to step outside and look around.”

This time Melody allowed herself to look deep into Granite’s eyes. Maybe he was right. She
did
feel stuck lately—between school and Leadfeather, Camp Crescendo and the tour, Jackson and Gra—

He hooked his index finger through her belt loop and tugged her closer. She tucked her hair behind her ears. He ran a finger down her cheek and lifted her chin. His eyes reflected the summer sun like pebbles in a clear mountain stream. He leaned closer. Melody did not.

I don’t do things like this. Candace does. I don’t play games. I don’t hook up on rooftops. Ultimatums don’t lead to make-outs. Love does. And I don’t love Granite. I love Jackson.
…

But I
like
Granite. I like him a lot. We both share a passion for music and have lived most of our lives on the fringes, surrounded by the action but rarely a part of it. He
is
hot. I have wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Jackson has updated his status to single and
… And somehow they found each other.

Granite’s kiss was strong and assured, passionate and consuming. Honking horns from the traffic below riffed with her thumping heart, creating what she’d come to think of as “their song.” She and Jackson were officially done. She was moving on. This kiss was good. Really good. Tingly, curl-your-toes satisfying. But it was different….

Making out with Granite was like tossing back a hot espresso. With Jackson it was more like sipping a white chocolate mocha. By a fireplace. Under a soft blanket and—

Bam!

The metal door slammed again. Melody instinctively pulled back and opened her eyes. Jackson, Lala, Brigitte, and Dickie were standing by the open door.

“Looks like this bird has flown the nest,” Dickie announced.

Lala covered her mouth with both hands. Brigitte flashed Melody a French thumbs-up.

Jackson powered up his hand fan and turned away. “Over here is where we’ll put the T’eau Dally High observation deck,” he said, leading them to the north edge of the building, taking the warmth of the day with him.

Granite brushed the hair off her face and smiled. “Looks like everyone’s moved on.” He pulled her in for another kiss.

Once again, she wasn’t sure if she should let him.

And then she kissed him back.

Bite by bite
,
Lala told herself as she led her guests down
from the rooftop. Sadly, the only three words that could calm her now would be “Congratulations, you won.” But Dickie would fit into Brigitte’s faux-leather pants before that ever happened. Frankie, their spokesmodel, wasn’t answering her texts, the gym looked like an abandoned construction site, and Jackson and Melody were more drama than daytime TV. Oh, and then there was the whole
bumping-into-the-clients-and-spilling-hot-coffee-all-over-them
incident. And the
none-of-this-would-have-happened-if-you-didn’t-show-up-a-day-early fiasco
. The only thing left to do now was hope that her father hadn’t moved the Merston yearbook out of her success space. Assuming fang shui even worked.

“No, really,” Jackson told Brigitte, his voice vibrating against the whirring blades of his hand fan. “I’m fine. It was time to move on anyway. We were drifting.”

Dickie smacked him on the back. “Ha! Spoken like a true player.”

Jackson tried to flash a winning smile. It looked like he was holding in barf.

What’s more shocking?
Lala wondered. The fact that the iconic Dickie Dally turned out to be a waddling, carb-loaded perv? Or that he and Brigitte were still there?

Once they reached the first floor, Brigitte placed her slender arm around Jackson’s shoulder. “In Paris, kissing eez like talking. Eez not, how you say… eh… biggie.”

“Good to know,” Jackson mumbled. And then to Lala, “Now where?”

She fired off a quick text to Clawd asking how everything was going in the gym. He was heading to football practice but assured her that all was well, so she decided to make it her next stop. Besides, they had been everywhere else.

“Ready to check out the gym,” Lala said, trying to bring the focus back to the contest. Not that she didn’t feel sorry for Jackson, but there would be plenty of time for moping when this was over. Especially if she couldn’t find… Frankie!