Monster High 4: Back and Deader Than Ever (24 page)

Finally!

She was running toward them, chasing Cleo down the empty hall. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she was dressed in a—

“Is that green, uh, person wearing a robe?” Dickie asked, his usual bravado dialed down.

“She needs deep condition for zee hairs,” Brigitte said, patting her own smooth strands.

Lala was too stunned to respond. Homegirl looked homeless.

“I told you,” Cleo shouted, whipping the shoes back at Frankie.
“I don’t want them! They’re rashy!” The T’eau Dallys smashed into a locker. What the fang was going on? This was like watching fashion week on mute.

“What eez
rashy
?” Brigitte asked Dickie.

“Time out!” Dickie made a T with his hands. “Did anyone see her throw those?”

The floor seemed to shift beneath Lala’s feet. With any luck, it would open up and swallow her, making it impossible to see her father’s face when he laughed at her colossal failure.

Cleo stormed by. “Stop!” Dickie commanded.

Be nice, Cleo. Be nice.

“ ’Scuse me?” the royal said.

If Lala had a white flag of surrender, she would have started to wave it.

“You’ve got quite an arm for a little lady.”

Cleo scanned his stained white shirt with disgust and then stared at his third-trimester belly. “And you’ve got quite a—”

“So!” Lala interjected. “I’d like you to meet—”

Brigitte clutched Frankie’s chin and turned it one way and the other.
“Qui a fabriqué vos accessoirs?”
Brigitte pinched the bolts and pulled. “Who makes?”

“Owie!” Frankie swatted the woman’s hand away with an audible smack. “That hurts.”

“Who eez Zat Hurts? An American designer?” Brigitte asked.

Frankie ran back to retrieve the boots. She stuffed them into Cleo’s bag while Dickie was telling her about his grandma Marion, who could pitch a no-hitter while making chutney.

Cleo pulled the boots back out of her bag. “I
said
—”

“Wait!” Frankie leaned forward and whispered something in
her ear. The more she said, the bigger Cleo’s smile grew. Her shoulders rolled back, and her chest puffed out.

What is going on?

Lala glared at Jackson, hoping for some insight. He shrugged like someone who couldn’t possibly care less.

“Frankie,” Lala said, “can I talk to you by the water fountain for a minute?”

“Sure.” Frankie smiled.

“What’s going on?” Lala hissed. “I’ve been trying to find you all afternoon! Where’s Brett? Why do you look like this? And why are you giving Cleo the shoes? No, wait, why are you
throwing
them?”

Frankie’s eyes watered. “I didn’t win. It was a miscount. Cleo and Deuce are the real winners.”

“What?!”

Dickie and Brigitte turned.

Lala lowered her voice. “What are you talking about?”

“High Dam! They pinch!” Cleo shouted, teetering through the hall like someone who’d peed her pants. She had the designer shoes on her feet. “It’s like they have teeth.”

Just as she was about to fall, Dickie lunged forward and caught her. She swatted his arm like a Nile fly. “Who the
ka
are you, anyway?”

Lala lowered herself to the ground. That way when it opened up, she’d be that much closer to gone.

“Ha!” Dickie’s booming voice echoed. He pointed to the
TOE DALLY HIGH GYM
sign. “Betcha one of those zombies did that.”
He slapped his knee. “Gotta use those guys in a helmet commercial. Like, wear a Dally helmet or you might end up brain dead.”

Good thing Ghoulia wasn’t there. It was also a good thing that he hadn’t ruled Merston out. It was a great sign. (Much better than the one he was laughing at.)

But the instant Lala saw the progress, or lack thereof, she began to panic again. Jackson’s mural was covered by a splattered drop cloth. Overturned cans of paint flowed toward them like serpents’ tongues.

“As soon as Jackson gets back with Deuce, he’ll unveil the new T’eau Dally High school crest,” Lala said, eager to share something positive. Because Cleo’s announcement that she had to go wrap her blisters in linen wasn’t quite cutting it. Luckily, Dickie thought she was joking, and Brigitte was struggling through the language barrier. At least the catwalk looked complete. Thank gawd for Clawd.

“In just a few minutes, our It Couple will walk across this stage and model—”
Oh no!
Lala could see the crack in the board. It was still there. Running right down the middle of the plywood.

“Deenie?” Lala called, struggling to sound calm.

Clawdeen scrambled out, barefoot, from under the bleachers. She was wearing the crooked T’eau Dally shorts. And a gray zip-up hoodie that said T’EAU on the left side. Her auburn hair, overgrown and wild, made her look like a wilted sunflower.

Brigitte raised a dark eyebrow and pursed her lips.
“Mon dieu!”
She charged toward Clawdeen like a lion to a gazelle. Clawdeen froze.

“She’s fixing it,” Lala tried, but it was too late. Brigitte’s hands were reaching for Clawdeen’s neck.

“Eeez zat real fur?”

Clawdeen nodded, shrinking back.

“What is with French chicks and body hair?” Dickie asked, thumbing through his text messages.

Brigitte stepped forward and tugged.
“Ils sont tellement doux.”
She tugged again. “You grow on your skin,
n’est-ce pas
? Like wild bist.”

“Clawdeen is a werewolf,” Lala said proudly. “I told you about her in my letter. Deenie, this is Brigitte T’eau, from—”

“Isn’t she supposed to be here tomorrow?”

“Yes, they showed up a day early and are making my life miserable,” Lala whispered in a way that only Clawdeen and her super ears could hear. “Please just go with this. It’s our only chance.”

Clawdeen rolled her yellow-brown eyes in a
you-owe-me
sort of way.

Lala nodded.
I promise.

Brigitte pulled nail clippers from her bag and snipped off a sample as Clawdeen whimpered. “Weel do a whole weenter boots line with theez furs. We call them Outer Were, like Werewolf,
non
?”

“
Non
,” Clawdeen growled. It was a good thing her overprotective brothers weren’t around to hear this.

“Um, actually, Ms. T’eau, real fur isn’t popular here,” Lala said.

Brigitte threw back her head and laughed.
“Mais, non!”

“Same thing with leather. But your faux looks T’eau-tally awesome.” She tried softening the blow by referencing Brigitte’s fake-leather tank and leather pants.

“Faux?”
Brigitte gasped. “Deez is not faux! I say
non
to faux.”

Lala and Clawdeen exchanged a glance. “But your shoes. The new co-design. The straps are synthetic, right?”

“Synthetic? Ha!” Dickie said, dropping his phone back in its holster. “Our shoes are made from kangaroo.”

What?!

“Real kangaroo?”

“Just zee
bébé
,” Brigitte said. “How you say,
jolie
?”

“Joey,” Dickie corrected her.

Lala’s pulse began to hop. They had to be joking.

“Touch,” he said, offering his tan wallet. “One hundred percent joey hide. Soft and durable. My 2015 line of jockstraps will be made of the stuff. A wonder for down under. Ha! How’s that for a slogan?”

Cleo appeared before them, flanked by Blue and Frankie, who were helping her stay upright in the shoes. “Nothing a little oil and linen can’t fix,” she said. “By the time they get here tomorrow, I’ll be shooting hoops in these bear traps.” Lala took that moment to make the introductions. Cleo’s tanned skin blanched when she realized what she had been saying. Frankie sparked. Blue kept mouthing
what?
in search of an explanation.

“Ha! Bear traps,” Dickie swatted Brigitte on the arm like a teammate. “Hear that? That could be next. Sandals made of bear. You know, they hibernate during the winter.”

“We can put bolts on zee sides, like claws,” Brigitte riffed. “And what are zees?” she asked, rubbing her finger along Frankie’s wrist seams. “Zay are zo silky.”

“Real bear?” Frankie asked, hiding her hands in the pockets of her robe.

“
Mais oui
,” Brigitte said proudly. “Just like zee kangaroo.”

“Kangaroo?” Blue asked, eyeing Lala. “Is this sheila fair dinkum?”

Lala nodded, her insides churning as though she’d just eaten lamb.

“Nothing but the best,” boasted Dickie. He pointed at Cleo’s feet. “Those shoes right there were tested on monkeys.”

“Monkeys?” Clawdeen barked.

“Two dozen,” he announced. “We ran ’em on treadmills for three hours. That joey didn’t even so much as crack.”

“Joey!” Blue said, her eyes filling with tears.

“
Ka!
” Cleo said, kicking off the shoes.

“Don’t hurt it,” Blue said, running to retrieve them.

Brigitte smiled, thinking Blue loved the line. “Perhaps zee scaly one should be our model.”

“Her?” Cleo gasped, grabbing the shoes.

“Take ’em, mate,” Blue said. “S’not enough moolah in lucky country to get me in those.”

All fears of her father’s
I-told-you-so
faded to the back of Lala’s reeling mind. Pushed aside by images of high-heeled monkeys on treadmills. Skinned roos. Plucked bolts. Wolf-fur boots.

The girls looked at Lala, silently urging her to do something. She was about to ask if it was too late to change the shoe design, when Deuce appeared with Jackson and Heath.

He kissed Cleo hello and asked, “What’s with that thing on your foot? Did you have surgery or something?”

“No, but I’ll need it if I have to wear these shoes for one more second.”

“Tell me who makes your skin cleaning and I should forget I heard zat,” Brigitte said.

“Why, so you can turn me into a handbag?”

“Ha!” Dickie laughed.

Cleo looked at her boyfriend, hoping he’d punch Dickie and defend her honor. But instead he held out his hand and said, “Mr. Dally, I love your basketball gear.”

To which Dickie responded, “And I love your taste in broads.” Deuce dropped his hand in shock.

“How about we unveil the mural?” Jackson said, leading the group toward the giant drop cloth. Jackson grabbed one corner and waited while Heath took a final sip from his forty-two-ounce Super Big Gulp and grabbed another corner.

“It’s not quite done,” Jackson explained. “But you’ll get the idea.”

“One… two… three!” Heath said. They tugged the giant cloth. It snapped and billowed and then
brraaaaap!
Heath’s Big Gulp became a big burp. An enormous fireball shot through the air and landed directly in the middle of the billowing sheet, immediately engulfing the fabric in flickering orange flames.

“Ahhhhh!” screamed Jackson, fearing the heat. He threw the sheet onto the plywood stage. Seconds later it began to burn. Crackling embers popped and soared throughout the gym, setting fire to the river of paint that snaked along the floor.

Wooop-wooop-wooop
. The fire alarm began to ring. Sprinklers lowered from the ceiling, spraying frigid water across the gym. Blue began dancing in the mist while everyone else fanned away the smoke and searched for the exit.

Frankie began sparking. “Code green!”

“
Zut alors, mes cheveux!
” Brigitte shouted. “It frizzez in zee rain.”

“Maybe we can make a loofah out of it,” Lala said.

“Pardonnez-moi?”

“Yeah, we can turn your hair into a loofah and use your bony arms as coffee stirrers,” she shouted, no longer fearing her father’s disapproval.
Who cares about college applications?
She had thousands of years ahead of her. She’d do something worth touting eventually. Right now she wanted to stand up for what she believed in. Like animal safety. Like the rights of RADs. Like herself. It might not serve Merston High, but there was more to life than school, especially when life was forever.

Fire trucks wailed in the distance. Hurried feet rushed down the hallway as classes emptied and students ran for the parking lot. Haylee appeared through the smoke, blasting her emergency fire extinguisher like an Uzi.

The lights in the gym flickered. Heath bolted for the exit. Shivering, Lala lifted her face to the cold water, inviting it to wash away the sticky, dirty feeling that had been plaguing her like a bad case of dysentery all afternoon.

The red emergency-lighting system kicked in, bathing the gym in a devilish glow. Just in time to illuminate Dickie as he body-slammed into Deuce, knocking the Gorgon’s sunglasses to the floor. He covered his eyes. “My glasses! Somebody, get my glasses!”

Crunch!

Dickie’s white tennis shoe crash-landed on the frames. Deuce’s eyes popped open. Dickie began to slip.

“Ahhh—” His scream was cut short. A round stone sculpture appeared on the floor in his place.

Deuce covered his eyes again. “Get me out of here!”

“I’ve got you,” Lala said, racing to his side. “I can see in the dark, don’t worry.”

“Can you lead me out of here?” he asked.

“On one condition,” Lala said.

“What?” He coughed.

“Open your eyes.”