“Thought wrong.” Cleo folded her arms across her black mesh sweater and jutted out her hip. The sudden movement caused the crown on her head to tip forward, but she caught it before it fell. Unfortunately, the same could not be said about her social status. “Fine,” she said with a defeated sigh. “I’ll listen.”
She hung up her royal jewels and followed her friends to Frankie’s house, all the while silently swearing it would be the very last time.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE GHOUL NEXT DOOR
RADs emerged from the starlit maze of trees and marveled at the sight of the Steins’ secret waterfall. Frankie welcomed each of them with a thanks-for-coming hug and offered those with blankets a seat on the mist-covered grass. Those without joined Melody on the stony ledge of the frothing pool. The tangy smell of dinner lingered on their clothes, and yet their eyes were full of hunger. But what were they craving? Change? Revenge? Their own MTV reality show? Melody flipped up the hood of her black sweatshirt and buried her hands in her sleeves. She’d know soon enough.
“Hey,” she said warmly to a girl with white cat-eye glasses, red zipper earrings, and a mess of blue hair. “I’m Melody.”
The girl emitted a groan that sort of sounded like Juliaaaa. Then she pulled a thick day planner from her tote and slowly, as if in a trance, crossed 8 PM MEETING off her three-page to-do list.
Others joined them on the ledge and whispered cautiously among themselves.
“Not bad for short notice, huh?” Jackson said, high-fiving Melody. His fingertips were smeared with green and yellow pastels. “And it was all your idea,” he shouted over the sound of the pounding water.
Several heads turned when he said that. Once they saw he was referring to Melody, they turned away and began whispering.
“It was not,” she insisted loudly. If this idea was a bust, she certainly didn’t need the RADs knowing who to blame.
“Was so.” He tossed back his floppy brown bangs. “What did you have for dessert tonight? Humble pie?”
Melody rolled her eyes at his corny grandpa humor “Ha-ha.” She reached for his hand and quickly changed the subject. “Looks like you’ve been drawing.”
“Just messing around.” He leaned back, dipped his fingertips in the rushing water, and dried them on his jeans. “While you and Frankie were getting organized, Brett and I were working on graphics ideas and titles.” He leaned close and whispered, “We’re thinking of calling it ‘The Ghoul Next Door.’ What do you think?”
I think you give me heart-shaped goose bumps when you talk in my ear.
“I love it.” Melody giggled.
“So does Ross.” Jackson beamed.
Melody’s insides inflated with joy. “Yesssss,” she meant to shout. But it sounded more like singing. Clear, pure, beautiful singing. It was a sound she hadn’t heard in years. Her elation was so uplifting that she leaned forward and hugged Jackson to keep from floating away.
“Get a tomb,” someone snarled in passing.
Cleo!
Flanked by her friends, the queen bee-otch trolled for seats with a reluctant shuffle. Julia stood and offered Cleo her spot on the ledge. Without hesitation, Cleo took it. One after another, three spaces opened up, and her friends claimed them. Had they paid these girls to warm the stone until they arrived? Or were they just that intimidating? Like Melody had to ask. She’d spent her whole life warming stone for the popular girls in Beverly Hills. But seats never seemed worth fighting for. Nothing did… until now.
Suddenly, the falls stopped falling, and the remaining water gurgled out like a high-speed bathtub. Silence—sharp and jarring—hit the group like a smack.
“Much better.” Frankie flashed a thumbs-up to her parents, who were standing at the back of the blanket-patched lawn with a remote control. They wanted to trust her. They said they did. But it was obvious from their tight grins and pained expressions that they weren’t quite there yet. And that they were going to hang around to see what happened.
“What I have to say cannot be shouted,” Frankie said softly.
Everyone scooted closer to hear.
“First, thanks for coming on such short notice.” She sat and began swinging her legs over the wet cliff. She was still wearing her flight suit and makeup, but her scarf was gone. With every kick, the moon found her delicate neck bolts and kissed them with its cool white light. “Last week I tried to show the normies at school how voltage we are, and, well, we all know how that turned out.”
Snickers swelled and then settled.
“But now, thanks to Melody, we have another chance.”
Oh no.
“The normie?” chirped a gecko-faced boy seated on a bamboo mat. “Not again!”
“She’s not a normie,” Jackson snapped.
Huh?
“She’s a NUDI!”
“Oh, I’m down with that,” chirped Gecko Boy. He slapped his buddy five and then twisted his hand to separate their sticky palms.
More snickers. Viktor and Viveka exchanged glances.
“It means Normies Uncool with Discriminating Idiots,” Billy said from somewhere. “And by the way, you’re acting like a discriminating idiot if you don’t give her a chance.”
Melody beamed a thank-you smile from one side of the lawn to the other so Billy would see it from wherever he was.
“Ka,” Cleo said, coughing quickly.
Clawdeen elbowed her with a surprised giggle.
After years of sitting down, Melody finally stood.
Dozens of eyes fixed on her. Glowing in the darkness like bulbs on a Christmas tree—some green, some red, most yellow. They watched her expectantly, waiting for her to move them to a place they had never been before. Just like the audiences that used to wait for her to sing. Only this time, instead of drawing on a voice that had once come so easily, Melody was forced to use the one that never had. She was stepping into the spotlight to defend herself—a role she had never imagined choosing. And yet there she was, front and center.
“I get why you don’t trust me,” she began, shaking. “And I guess if I were you, I’d have a hard time with it too. But I’m on your side. I thought I proved that when I took Billy to the hospital, but I guess it wasn’t enough. So I’ll keep trying.” The more she spoke up, the lighter her lungs felt. Her voice became clearer, smoother, and silkier. Like oil in an unused car engine, it just needed to be turned on and used.
“Why do you care so much?” asked Cleo, sounding bored.
“Because I know how it feels to surrender a seat to someone who thinks she’s better. I know how it feels to want ‘normal’ so badly you hide the qualities that make you special. Most of all, I know how it feels to change those things. And that’s the most degrading feeling.”
Julia, obviously moved by Melody’s admission, nodded in agreement but lowered her head so sleepily that her glasses slipped off and fell to the ground. Embarrassed, she bent down, one vertebra at a time, picked them up, and then slowly backed into the darkness.
“So, please, trust me,” Melody continued. “And when you stand up for yourselves, let me stand with you. So together we can—”
Everyone started applauding. Their shining eyes were moist with compassion; Melody’s were moist with relief. Was it really that easy?
Smiling at Jackson, she sat and exhaled fifteen years’ worth of angst into the starry sky.
Once the applause had faded, Frankie introduced the “voltage guy” who would help the RADs take their first steps toward standing. Brett Redding came out waving from the canopy of trees and was greeted with an audible gasp. He gasped back when he saw the illuminated eyes of his audience.
Frozen with awe, he addressed them from the back of the lawn. “Dude, this is so awesome,” he murmured.
They spun around to face him.
“So…” He clapped his hands together nervously. “Um, I have some great news.… Wait, I should probably introduce myself. My name is Brett Redding—oh, you probably know that, since we go t
o the same school. I’m the guy who accidentally ripped Frankie’s head off and then freaked, which you also probably know because it’s been all over the news.” He snickered.
They didn’t.
“Anyway, while I was in the hospital, one of the news guys gave me his card and, well, long story short, Melody, Jackson, and Frankie thought it would be a good idea if I made a documentary about you so people would see how cool you are, and Ross, the reporter, agreed. So he’s letting me direct it, and he’s going to put in on Channel Two during the Spotlight on Oregon week. Any questions?”
Hands shot up. It looked like a mass audition for a deodorant commercial.
“Um, yes, you with the sunglasses.”
“What’s up, Brett?”
“Oh, hey, Deuce, I couldn’t see you in the dark. What’s up, man?”
“I was just wondering why you want to do this. It’s not like you have anything to prove.”
“This film combines my two favorite things in the world, movies and mons—I mean, RADs.” He paused and looked up at Frankie. “And now that I’m getting to know you, I want to help.”
“Cool,” Deuce said, satisfied.
“That’s it?” Cleo sounded aghast. “You’re okay with that?”
“Yup,” Deuce answered flatly.
“What do we have to do to be in it?” asked someone else.
“Agree to be interviewed. Share photos, stories, hopes, dreams…” explained Brett.
“Sounds dangerous,” someone whispered.
“All of your faces will be blurred, so no one will know who you are. Your identities will be completely concealed. It’s a first step toward showing people that you’re harmless.”
“Hey, mate, will our relatives all over the world be able to see it?” asked Blue.
“It’s just airing locally for now. But I can burn copies for you if you want.”
“Ace!”
The questions kept coming. “Where will you film it?”
“My shed. It’s completely private.”
“What’s it gonna be called?”
“ ‘The Ghoul Next Door.’ ”
A burst of laughter said the crowd liked it.
“Will you do any audio-only interviews—you know, for those of us who don’t show up on film?” asked Lala.
“Sure! I’ll show other images while you’re talking.”
“Fang-tastic!”
“When does it air?”
“October fourteenth,” Brett said. “Oh, and if you’re going to be in the show, you have to be in the studio when it airs. They want you to answer questions from the viewers, live.”
“Then everyone will know who they are,” Viktor pointed out in his deep voice.
“I’ll make sure those shots are blurred too. And… we’ll get some security guards to keep the room private—no one will see you exit or enter.”
Cleo stood. “Let’s go,” she said to her friends.
No one moved.
“You heard him.” Cleo hitched her purse over her shoulder. “You have to be available on October fourteenth, and you’re not. So let’s go.”
The three girls exchanged glances.
“I said let’s go!” Cleo stomped. “This… whatever-it’s-called is the same time as our Tuh-een Vuh-ogue photo shoot,” she said, enunciating Teen Vogue in case the people in Portland couldn’t hear her. “And I promised the magazine editors we’d be professional, so we have to pass.”
The girls stood reluctantly.
“Wait!” Melody called, not wanting to lose the most dynamic girls in the group. “Can you change the date of your shoot?”
Cleo hate-squinted, crushing Melody between her fake lashes.
“Why don’t you change the date of your shoot?”
“We can’t. It has to air during the Spotlight on Oregon week. And since yours is only fashion, can’t you—”
“It’s not only fashion,” Cleo spat. “It’s about fashion and history. My history.”
“Well, this documentary is about your future,” Melody countered.
The RADs applauded again.
Cleo turned to face her detractors. “A future that none of you will have if you put it in the hands of normies!”
She whipped back around to find her friends seated again, their elbows linked in solidarity. Melody actually felt a little bad for Cleo, but she was thrilled the girls were going to do the documentary.
“Really?” Cleo sneered at them. Then, without another word, she marched past Brett and disappeared behind the trees, leaving behind a trail of amber-scented rage.
Again Melody inhaled its bittersweet smell, and she wondered if her attempts to fit in were uniting this group or tearing it apart.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
QUEEN TAKES GREEN
The final bell bwooped. It was over. She’d survived.
Day three of school without friends was just like day two, which was exactly like day one. Inconceivable! Social extinction wasn’t something Cleo had ever anticipated. What next? Clawdeen needing hair plugs? Lala buying steak knives? Blue summering in the Sahara? Now, faced with the unimaginable, she was forced to make the best of a bad situation and embrace the afterlife… or at least make everyone think she had.
Thank Geb for Deuce. He’d stuck to her like liquid resin. But after seventy-two hours of basketball recaps, sunglass shopping, gossip-free lunches, and noxious guy smells, Cleo was starting to unravel.
“My game starts in forty,” he said, holding the double doors open with the flat of his Varvatos high-tops. “Wanna grab a slice first?”
Cleo saw herself in the lenses of his brown Carrera aviators. An overcast October sky behind her… a lackluster black turtleneck… expressionless eyes. She sighed. Sports and slices—is that what her life had become?
All around her, Merstonites spilled from the mustard-colored building. Friends connecting like magnets, anxious to share the details of their afternoon before racing home to text. It was the loneliest part of her exile. The time she dreaded most.
“I don’t get it,” Cleo grumbled, just as she had for the past seventy-two hours. “Why would anyone choose teen rogue over Teen Vogue?”
“Their loss,” Deuce said absently, slapping a fellow baller five and promising to see him on the court in a few.
Cleo, pretending not to be irritated by the interruption, gripped Deuce’s elbow. Ready to begin a death-defying descent down the school’s front steps while teetering in three-inch python mules, she asked, “You think they’ll change their minds?”
“Can they?” he asked while nodding hello to another basketball buddy.
“They’d better. The shoot is thirteen days away.”
“Wait, I thought they bailed.”
“I haven’t exactly told the editors about the whole ‘bailed’ thing yet.”
“Nice.” Deuce lifted his palm for a high five. “Who said mummies don’t have guts?”
Cleo lowered his hand. “I thought they would have come crawling back by now.”
Just then, Clawdeen, Blue, and Lala hurried by, giggling and swinging their bags like it was the last day of classes. They could have swung them right into Cleo’s heart. It wouldn’t have broken any more.
“Maybe you should talk to them,” Deuce said after they had walked across the campus in silence.
“And say what?” Cleo dropped his elbow. “ ‘Sorry for giving you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to wear Aunt Nefertiti’s priceless collection’? Or ‘Will you ever forgive me for getting you into a top magazine’? How about ‘My bad for vouching that you’d be professional’!” she shouted, no longer caring whether Clawdeen’s keen hearing picked up every sarcasm-soaked word.
“Yeah.” Deuce adjusted his green-and-tan snowboarding hat. “Forget them. Let’s just grab a slice.”
Hurried footsteps closed in behind them.
“I think ve missed heem,” said a disappointed girl.
“I knew we should have split up,” slurred her friend. “What i
f Simona and Maddie found him first?”
“Vatever, ve’re the ones in drama club. Ve’ll nail this. Ah-ah-ahhhh!”
Cleo turned to see two ninth graders dressed in black unitards and capes. Their faces were pasty white, and their lips cherry red. If it hadn’t been for their wax fangs, one might have thought they’d walked face-first into a wet painting of the Canadian flag.
Instead of following Deuce to the crosswalk, Cleo stopped. “Excuse me. Why are you dressed like that?”
The blond—who had obviously sprayed her hair black, because there was a yellow patch in the back—removed her fangs and leaned close to whisper, “Haven’t you heard?” She smelled like aerosol and cherry-scented lip gloss.
Cleo lifted one eyebrow and shook her head.
“Brett Redding is casting for a reality show about monsters. It’s being picked up by the CW.”
“I heard Fox,” said the naturally dark-haired vannabe.
“But you’re not monsters,” Cleo said, searching the thinning campus for a possible explanation.
“Yes, ve are.” The vannabe vinked and then removed her fangs.
“It sounds like another practical joke,” Cleo said, pretending not to notice Deuce waving her over. “How’d you hear about this?”
“Why? You wanna try out?” Blond Patch asked suspiciously.
“Just don’t be a vampire,” the brunette stated.
“How ’bout a pretty witch?” the blond suggested. “We saw a ton of witchy stuff in the costume closet. The drama room should still be unlocked if you want to take a look.”
“Or an evil Barbie?” Natural Brown countered.
“Or the bogeyman.” Blond Patch laughed.
“Omigod, yes!” Her friend cracked up. “You can hang bok choy from your nose.”
“Bok choy? Why bok choy? That’s so random!”
“I love saying it. Bok choy, bok choy, bok choy.”
They cracked up.
Cleo glared. If her head could have spun any faster, she would have taken off like a helicopter. “How’d you hear about this show?”
Blond Patch reached inside her tan leather backpack and handed Cleo a crumpled flyer. “You know that girl in your grade… old-lady glasses and psycho tights… always trailing Brett’s ex, texting?”
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