“Do you know what I do whenever I have a cold? Swallow loads of vitamin C, drink plenty of fluids, and—here is the most important part—only blow my nose with handkerchiefs. This will not only help you get better but also help you socially. Because if there is one thing that turns off potential friends, it’s booger-encrusted hands.”
“No time. You must listen. Bad thing here,” the troll grunted quietly.
“Is that your way of saying I have detention?”
“Bad thing here, ruin school,” the troll yammered on before looking around suspiciously.
“I don’t understand.”
“Happen before. Now bad thing here. You must listen. Stop bad thing.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand Trollish. I have no idea what you are trying to tell me.”
“Too late,” the elderly red-nosed creature whispered before ducking into a passing pack of trolls.
mr. Hackington, aka Mr. Hack, was perhaps the school’s most unpleasant-looking teacher, with his metal mask, oversized chin, and pointy, elf-like ears. He was a mad scientist who rather appropriately taught Mad Science in the Absolutely Deranged Scientist Laboratory, a room brimming with Bunsen burners, microscopes, and vials of potent potions. With a keen understanding of the recklessness that comes with being a teenager, Mr. Hack kept all treacherous liquids under lock and key.
“Botany—the study of plants—is one of my favorite sections, for it allows me to teach homeopathic zombification,” Mr. Hack explained before breaking into hysterical laughter. “Now then, does anyone know what Burnwidth Serum turns into when heated to one hundred degrees Fahrenheit?”
“Really hot Burnwidth Serum?” Henry Hunchback joked.
“Mr. Hack doesn’t like jokes,” Hoodude whispered while scribbling Frankie Stein’s name on the front of his notebook.
“That’s pathetic, Hunchback,” Mr. Hack replied harshly.
A trio of pumpkin heads at the back of the class sang quietly, “What serum? What serum? I wish I could hear him!”
“What about you, McFlytrap? You’re a plant. Surely you must know all about the derivatives of the Burnwidth Bush?”
“Um, um, um…” Venus mumbled, literally wilting under her teacher’s intent gaze.
“It turns into a zombification serum for coldblooded creatures,” said a quiet voice.
“You are correct, Clops,” Mr. Hack said excitedly before smashing a metal tray against the counter and laughing intensely. “I love hearing the right answer!”
“What a well-oiled mind that Cyclops must have! How else could he know such a thing?” Robecca wondered while looking over at the painfully shy boy.
“Maybe he was raised by botanists. Or perhaps he spends his free time reading Monsterpedia,” Rochelle hypothesized. “It’s impossible to say for sure.”
As Robecca continued to stare at Cy, Henry leaned over and patted the one-eyed boy on the back.
“Nice. It’s always good to have a roommate to cheat off! Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you—are you trying out for the Skulltimate Roller Maze team?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Cy said, squirming under Robecca’s gaze.
“But it’s the most fun you’ll ever have!”
At that exact moment, Robecca caught Cy’s one eye and smiled in a friendly manner, igniting a rush of adrenaline in the boy.
“Come on, what do you say?” Henry pressed.
“What? Okay, sure, whatever,” Cy babbled, unaware of what he was even agreeing to.
“Excellent! I think you’ll really like the team captain, Clawd Wolf. He’s a real howl.”
After Mad Science came Home Ick and finally Physical Deaducation. Much to Cy’s delight, Robecca too had decided to join the Skulltimate Roller Maze team. But then she was, after all, one of the founders of the game, back in the eighteenth century, before she was dismantled. Rochelle, while a very good Roller Maze player, decided to stay put with Venus in Graveyard Dancing. Both girls were quite keen to learn the mumba (the mummies’ take on the rumba).
Dimly lit, with countless pathways crafted of thick and prickly hedges, the maze was a vast space that seemed to trick the mind at every turn. The tall and neatly manicured bushes lulled newcomers into a false sense of safety, masking the enormity of the arena. Bats perched atop bars just below the ceiling acted as camera crew, documenting the players’ every move. And while most of the labyrinth was neatly maintained, Headmistress Bloodgood treated more than a few pockets like de facto storage units, filled with old desks and rusted contraptions. But then again, the maze was only used for practice; official games were played elsewhere.
Ever the daredevil, Robecca threw herself into Skulltimate Roller Maze training without so much as a second thought. Within minutes, she was buzzing through the dark green hedges, courtesy of her special rocket boots, occasionally even stopping to perform aerial stunts. Robecca’s ability to fly over the maze and rescue bewildered teammates made her an instant favorite.
Hours later, long after the bell had clanged to signal the end of Physical Deaducation, Robecca abruptly dashed out of the maze. With her rocket boots still smoking, she stormed into the main corridor, desperate to find someone with a watch or an iCoffin. Robecca had rather unfortunately left her iCoffin in one of her previous classes, but she hadn’t a clue which one. “Oh, please! Tell me, what time is it? I’m late!” Robecca exclaimed as she saw Frankie Stein and her werewolf friend Clawdeen Wolf making their way down the main hall.
“Hey, what’s the hurry?” Frankie asked sweetly as Clawdeen stepped back, away from Robecca.
“Sorry! You’re steaming, and I don’t want to get fur frizz. You understand, right?”
“Oh, of course! Fur frizz is the absolute flea’s sneeze! But tell me, do you know what time it is? I’m sure I’m late for something. I just can’t remember what!”
As Frankie looked at her watch, a small and quiet voice came as if out of nowhere. “Five PM.”
It was Cy Clops, and he was holding a terribly sour-faced Penny the penguin.
“I think you forgot someone in the maze,” he said shyly as he lowered Penny to the ground before quickly scurrying off.
“Dear me! Penny, I am so sorry!” Robecca babbled at her mechanical pet.
“Hey, the Frightingale Society is about to have its first meeting of the year, if you and your roomies are interested. It’s sort of like a sorority. We do all kinds of stuff together, everything from learning monster etiquette to getting manicures—or, in some cases, clawdicures,” Frankie said.
“Thank you, Frankie. That really does sound swell, but Rochelle and I wouldn’t want to join without Venus. And, well, let’s just say Venus and Cleo’s relationship could use a steam cleaning.”
“Oh, of course, the infamous sneeze,” Clawdeen said while nodding her head in recognition. “You know mummies—they can really hold a grudge.”
Rochelle sighed as she watched the two girls walk away. She couldn’t wait to start joining clubs at Monster High!
at lunch the following day, Monster High’s Creepateria was absolutely abuzz with stories of the amazing, stylish, supernaturally interesting Miss Flapper. Why, even Spectra Vondergeist, everyone’s favorite purple-haired ghost, was posting about the new teacher on her blog, Ghostly Gossip! It was as if the entire student body, both boys and girls, had developed an all-consuming crush on the newest member of the staff. Well, maybe not the entire school. Venus, Robecca, and Rochelle were far too focused on another member of the faculty to mind Miss Flapper.
“There is no point mincing words: Clearly an intervention is needed!” Rochelle exclaimed while tapping her fingers repeatedly on the wooden tabletop, dimpling the surface.
“An intervention for what?” Venus asked reasonably.
“For depression, of course! Regardez! He’s trying to drown himself in his soup!”
Venus rolled her eyes at Rochelle before realizing that Mr. D’eath was, in fact, trying to submerge his bony face in two inches of split pea so
up.
“Okay, let’s not overreact. He’s eating lunch with Miss Sue Nami. I think we can all agree that spending time with that woman would make anyone a little crazy,” Venus assessed.
“Just look at his clothes! Only a man with nothing to live for would go out in such an outfit. Plus, when he yawned earlier, I noticed his teeth were looking a bit gray. And everyone knows that once skeletons stop whitening their teeth, they’ve hit rock bottom.”
“Who told you that? Your dentist?” Venus asked incredulously.
“I bet gargoyles make wonderful dentists,” Robecca asserted earnestly.
“It’s true, we do. We don’t even have to use instruments; we can do it all with our pinkie fingers,” Rochelle said proudly before pausing to watch Miss Sue Nami.
The soggy woman, whose profile closely resembled an overstuffed trash can, awkwardly leaped out of her chair, arms flailing. Sitting for extended periods of time led to waterlogging and, on rare occasions, flooding. And so as a flabby-faced troll removed her tray from the table, Miss Sue Nami began aggressively shaking, moving every body part from her toes to her scalp. Unfortunately for Mr. D’eath, his lunch, and the troll, these motions created a heavy shower—not that Miss Sue Nami acknowledged it, let alone apologized for her behavior.
“Per paragraph 7.9 of the Gargoyle Code of Ethics: Once a gargoyle has decided to help, actions should be both focused and speedy,” Rochelle announced before throwing down her napkin and walking over to Mr. D’eath.
And while it was not the most graceful of walks, since Rochelle was rather heavy-footed when excited, it clearly conveyed the intensity she felt regarding the gloom-stricken man.
“Bonjour, Monsieur D’eath. My name is Rochelle Goyle, and I am a new student from Scaris.”
“Scaris? I’ve always wanted to go there—walk along the river, eat smelly cheese, maybe even wear a beret.”
“I’m not sure a beret would suit you, but I think you’d definitely enjoy our smelly cheese,” Rochelle said in her usual matter-of-fact manner.
“It doesn’t really matter. I’ll never make it to Scaris. I might as well add it to the list now,” Mr. D’eath said with a sigh.
“Pardonnez-moi? What list are you talking about?” Rochelle inquired.
“The regret list. It’s a comprehensive record of all the things I plan on regretting right before I die. I only hope my death isn’t too sudden—I’ve got a lot to go over.”
“I’m sorry if I am being impolite, but aren’t you already dead?”
“That is technically correct. But I’m talking about the death of my soul.”
“That is heavy, Monsieur D’eath.”
“I get that a lot,” he grumbled.
“Actually, so do I, but for different reasons,” Rochelle said, looking down at her slender yet weighty frame. “Monsieur D’eath, I was wondering if I might revamp your wardrobe, help you liven things up a bit. Not that there is anything wrong with your stained brown trousers and pilled brown sweater.”
“Students aren’t allowed to get involved in teachers’ personal lives.”
“And is that an actual rule or more of a suggestion?” Rochelle asked.
“It’s not technically a rule, just sort of an accepted thing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really should get back to wallowing in self-pity; I haven’t done nearly enough of it today.”
“I hold rules in very high regard and thus clearly delineate between actual rules and suggestions. And as this is not a real rule, we would not be doing anything wrong. Therefore, I insist we move forward.”
“Okay,” Mr. D’eath mumbled, “but we’ll have to stop if my pessimism starts rubbing off on you. After all, misery and youth do not belong together.”
“Clearly, there is much you do not understand about youth,” Rochelle mumbled to herself before holding out her small gray hand for Mr. D’eath to shake. “And please excuse the coldness of my skin. It comes with being carved from granite.”
“Please excuse my personality. It comes with being me.”
as night fell over Monster High, the bats awoke eager to hunt. After a full day’s rest, they wanted nothing more than to gorge themselves on insects and spiders. With perked ears and open mouths, they swooped through the halls, flapping ferociously.
On the second floor of the east wing, Monster High’s boarders prepared for bed. Blanche and Rose Van Sangre, true to their gypsy roots, pulled the sheets off their beds and set up camp under a pine tree on the back lawn. The pumpkin heads, exhausted from an active day of singing and gossiping, were already fast asleep, with their bullfrogs snoring beside them. Three-Headed Freddie was nodding off while reading three different editions of the New Yuck Times bestselling book Crisis in the Middle Beast. Hoodude was, as usual, looking at pictures of Frankie Stein and fiddling with his pins. Henry Hunchback lay in bed dissecting Miss Sylphia Flapper’s exquisite beauty while Cy reminisced about a certain steam-inclined young girl.
“Today really was the absolute bee’s knees! I honestly can’t remember a better day. Well, except for the part where I forgot Penny,” Robecca said as she looked at the pajama-clad penguin sleeping next to her. “Thank heavens she doesn’t hold a grudge!”
“Actually, I’m quite sure she does. I think that’s why she always looks so grumpy,” Rochelle interrupted. “Or maybe I just think she’s grumpy because compared to Roux, everyone’s grumpy!”
“Ouch, Chewy! Watch the fingers,” Venus squealed. “By the way, I don’t know if I mentioned this already, but I wouldn’t leave any jewelry lying out. Chewy has been known to swallow an earring or two. But don’t worry—all very inexpensive stuff. He seems to prefer gold-plated. I guess it’s easier to digest.”
“Speaking of eating, I heard the trolls are vegetarians! So no need to worry about them devouring us for tardiness,” Robecca said, stifling a yawn.
“I had a seriously weird encounter with that troll yesterday in Dr. Clamdestine’s class.”
“I still can’t believe he didn’t give you detention,” Robecca added.
“He was freaking out about something, but I couldn’t understand a single word he said,” Venus remarked as she replayed the meeting in her mind.
“Well, they are quite elderly trolls. Or perhaps they’re not up to date on their rabies vaccinations; incoherent babbling is a very common sign of infection. I will definitely have to look into this,” Rochelle said firmly before turning over to sleep.
The sun had barely risen, when Robecca bolted straight out of bed like a madwoman. Steam puffed from both her ears and her nose, instantly frizzing her hair, as she darted back and forth across the room. Tucked tightly under her left arm was a still-slumbering, pajama-clad Penny.
“Good golly, Miss Molly! What time is it? What have I missed? Where’s Penny?” Robecca babbled, her brain clearly still half asleep.
“Robecca! Qu’est-ce que tu fais? It’s six thirty in the morning!”
“Deary me! I woke up absolutely sure I had slept through half the day.”
“You haven’t even slept through half the morning, so why don’t you go back to bed?” Venus said groggily from beneath the shreds of her organic-cotton mummy gauze sleep mask.
“Now, why in the name of the mouse’s house would I do that? Then I’d definitely be late. This way I might actually be on time for a change. I think I’ll take Penny out for an early-morning gear grease and then meet you guys at the Creepateria in an hour.”
The second the door slammed shut, Rochelle’s intuition told her she wouldn’t see Robecca again for ages. For no matter how much time Robecca had, it would never be enough. She simply wasn’t wired for punctuality. Why, if Rochelle weren’t a levelheaded gargoyle, she might have wondered if being late was Robecca’s destiny. Was it possible that Robecca’s life was supposed to unfold an hour or two later than scheduled?
True to form, two hours later Robecca had missed both breakfast and the morning assembly. Standing at the front of the Vampitheater and scanning the crowd
for her missing roommate, Rochelle spotted a familiar miserable face.
“Bonjour, Monsieur D’eath.”
“Rochelle,” he mumbled while keeping his eyes glued to the floor.
“Did you get the Abnerzombie and Witch catalog I left on your desk? I thought you might enjoy seeing some of the latest fashions.”
“I enjoyed getting a gift,” Mr. D’eath said with a sigh. “I’ve never gotten one before.”
Rochelle was shaking her head sadly when a nearby kerfuffle grabbed her attention. While exiting the Creepateria, Deuce Gorgon had tumbled atop a pimpled troll, sending both of them straight to the ground. Without thinking or even knowing what she was doing, Rochelle dropped her bag and dashed frantically to Deuce.
“Deuce! Boo la la! Are you okay?” Rochelle inquired with genuine affection.
“Yeah, I think I’m fine,” Deuce said with a smile before lifting his head and looking straight into Rochelle’s eyes.
“You have such beautiful green eyes. They are absolutely fangtastique,” Rochelle babbled from her fog of infatuation. “They even match the snakes on your head.”
“My glasses!” Deuce screeched. He covered his eyes and began feeling around the floor.
“They’re right here,” Rochelle said as she placed them in Deuce’s hand.
“I’m pretty lucky you were the first person I saw. Turning people into stone is not very popular around here.”
“I think I’m the lucky one—to have seen your eyes, that is,” Rochelle prattled. “I’m quite sure you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. If I were you, I would just stare in the mirror all day.”
Venus suddenly threw her arm around Rochelle and inserted herself into the fast-declining conversation about Deuce’s beauty.
“Hey, Deuce, Rochelle just had a root canal, so she has no idea what she’s saying. Earlier today she asked my pet plant to marry her.”
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