Monster High

by Lisi Harrison

  “That car looks like a moving Benetton ad.”

  “Or a pileup on Rodeo Drive.” Candace snapped a picture with her iPhone and e-mailed it to her friends back home. They responded instantly with a shot of what they were doing. It must have involved the mall because Candace picked up her pace once they turned onto Staghorn Road and began asking anyone under the age of fifty where the cool people hung out.

  The answer was unanimous: the Riverfront. But it wouldn’t be hopping for a few more hours.

  After a leisurely latte stop and several pauses to peer into clothing stores (deemed “unshoppable” by Candace), it was finally pushing noon. With the help of Beau’s map and the kindness of strangers, the girls navigated their way through the sleepy town and arrived at the Riverfront—fully caffeinated and ready to announce their presence to the cool people of Salem.

  “This is it?” Candace stopped short, as if she had hit a pane of glass. “This is the epicenter of Northwest chic?” she shouted at the snow cone cart, the children’s playground, and the brick building that housed a carousel.

  “Mmmmmm, I smell movie theater lobby,” Melody announced, sniffing the air scented with popcorn and hot dogs.

  “You can take the nose out of Smellody,” Candace cracked, “but you can’t take Smellody out of the nose.”

  “Very funny.” Melody rolled her eyes.

  “No, actually, it’s not!” Candace huffed. “None of this is very funny at all. In fact, it’s a total nightmare. Listen!” She pointed at the carousel. Manic organ music—a must for horror movie sound tracks and psycho clown scenes—mocked them with its menacingly playful lilt.

  “The only person over the age of eight and under the age of forty is that dude over there.” Candace pointed at a lone boy on a wooden bench. “And I think he’s crying.”

  His shoulders were hunched, and his head hung over a sketch pad. He lifted his eyes for quick glimpses of the spinning carousel, then went right back to scribbling.

  Melody’s armpits prickled with sweat, her body recognizing him before her brain did. “Let’s get out of here,” she said, tugging Candace’s thin arm.

  But it was too late. Her sister’s lips curled with delight, and her platforms held firm to the gum-spotted pavement. “Is that—”

  “No! Let’s just go,” Melody insisted, tugging harder. “I think I saw a Bloomingdale’s back there. Come on.”

  “It is!” Candace dragged Melody toward the boy. Beaming, she called out, “Hey, neighbor!”

  He lifted his head and then smacked a chunk of wavy brown hair away from his face. Melody’s stomach lurched. He was even cuter up close.

  Thick black glasses surrounded his crackling hazel eyes, making them look like framed photos of lightning in a dark sky. He had the geek-chic look of a disguised superhero.

  “You remember my sister from the window, don’t you?” Candace asked with a trace of revenge, as if it were Melody’s fault the Riverfront was a bust.

  “Um, hey… I’m… Melody,” she managed, cheeks burning.

  “Jackson.” He lowered his eyes.

  Candace pinched his white crew-neck tee. “We almost didn’t recognize you with your shirt on.”

  Jackson smiled nervously; his eyes fixed uncomfortably on his drawing.

  “You’re kinda curdy,” Candace cooed, as if her contraction for cute-nerdy was actual English. “Any chance you have an older brother with good vision… or contacts?” she pressed.

  “Nope.” Jackson’s clear, pale skin reddened. “Just me.”

  Melody pressed her arms against her body to hide the pit sweat. “What are you drawing?” she asked. It wasn’t the most exciting question, but it was better than anything Candace was going to say.

  Jackson consulted his sketch pad as if seeing it for the first time. “It’s just the carousel. You know, while it’s moving.”

  Melody examined the blur of pastels. Inside the smudged rainbow were subtle outlines of horses and children. It had a gauzy, elusive quality to it—like the haunting memory of a dream, appearing and disappearing in fractured flashes throughout the day. “That’s really good,” she said, meaning it. “Have you been doing it long?”

  Jackson shrugged. “’Bout a half hour. I’m just waiting for my mom. She had a meeting around here, so…”

  Melody giggled. “No, I meant have you been drawing long. You know, as a hobby.”

  “Oh.” Jackson ran a hand through his hair. The choppy layers fell right back into place like cards being shuffled. “Yeah, you know, a few years.”

  “Nice.” Melody nodded.

  “Yeah.” Jackson nodded back.

  “Cool.” Melody nodded again.

  “Thanks.” Jackson nodded back.

  “Sure.” Melody nodded.

  The organ music blaring from the carousel suddenly sounded louder. Like it was trying to save them from their monosyllabic bobble-heading by offering a distraction.

  “So, uh, where are you from?” Jackson asked Candace, eyeing her out-of-state outfit.

  “Beverly Hills,” she said, like it should have been obvious.

  “We moved here because of my asthma,” Melody announced.

  “Real sexy, Mel.” Candace sighed, giving up.

  “Well, it’s true.”

  Jackson’s tight features unwound into a comfortable smile. It was as if Melody’s admission had asked his confidence to dance. And it had said yes.

  “So, um, have you heard of Merston High?” she asked, her words providing the necessary music.

  “Yeah.” He slid over, silently offering half the bench. “I go there.”

  Melody sat down, her arms still pressed against her sides in case she was downwind. “What grade?”

  Candace stood above them, texting.

  “Starting tenth.”

  “Same.” Melody smiled more than she needed to.

  “Really?” Jackson smiled back. Or, rather, his smile was still there from before.

  Melody nodded. “So, what are the people like? Are they cool?”

  Jackson lowered his eyes and then shrugged. His smile faded. The music had stopped. Their dance was over. The oily smell of his pastels lingered like a crush’s cologne.

  “What?” Melody asked sadly, her heart thumping a woeful dirge.

  “The people are fine, I guess. It’s just that my mom’s the science teacher and she’s pretty strict, so I’m not exactly on anyone’s speed dial.”

  “You can be on mine,” Melody offered sweetly.

  “Really?” Jackson asked, his forehead starting to glow with sweat.

  Melody nodded, her heart now thumping a livelier beat. She felt surprisingly comfortable with this stranger. Maybe because he wasn’t simply looking at her face; he was looking through it. And he didn’t stop just because she wore sweaty road trip clothes and told curdy boys she had asthma.

  “Okay.” He studied her face one last time and then scribbled his cell number on his sketch with a red pastel. “Here.” He tore the sheet from the pad, handed it to her, and then quickly wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “I better go.”

  “Okay,” Melody stood when he stood, lifted by the strength of their connection.

  “See you around.” He waved awkwardly, turned toward the whirling carousel, and hurried away.

  “Nicely played.” Candace dropped her phone in her metallic bag. “Curdy boys are great practice. Now let’s go find something to eat.” She quickly scanned the park. “There’s got to be something around here that won’t give us salmonella.”

  Melody followed Candace over the meandering walkways, grinning at the red phone number. Asking for it was one thing. Working up the nerve to call would be quite another. Still, she had it. He had given it to her. Willingly. Thereby permitting her to replay the details of their conversation in her head as many times as she wanted without wondering whether the attraction was one-sided.

  And so she would.

  “How about a hot dog bun and a Diet Coke?” Candace su
ggested.

  “I’ll pass.” Melody grinned at the beautiful cloud-covered sky. She was no longer feeling the least bit empty.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NOTHING IS AS IT SEAMS

  Viveka knocked on the door to Frankie’s Fab. “Let’s go! We’re going to be late!”

  “Coming!” Frankie called in reply, just as she had the previous four times. But what she really wanted to say was “You can’t rush perfection.” Because the outfit she was modeling for the Glitterati was indeed perfection. Or it would be, as soon as she chose a pair of sunglasses.

  “Do you like the white?” she put on some oversize plastic frames, then struck a hand-on-hip chin-jut pose. “Or the green?” An erupted volcano of clothing covered the floor, making it hard for her to walk and spin for the white lab rats, especially in metallic pink super-wedges. But the rats could grasp the idea without all the pomp and circumstance. After all, they had been collaborating for the last three hours. And they’d done a pretty fine job so far. Scratching once for yes and twice for no, they had nominated her black-and-white striped tank with the floral mini. Mixing patterns was very current.

  “White or green?” Frankie asked again.

  Three rats lay curled in an exhausted heap. The remaining two, however, scratched once for white. A solid choice, because the green wasn’t exactly popping against her skin, and blending in was the last thing she wanted to do on her first day of normie school.

  She pulled her black hair up in a high-swinging ponytail, glossed her full lips, and rubbed a magazine sample of Estée Lauder Sensuous perfume over her neck bolts. Because, as the ad copy said, “every woman wears it her way.”

  “Wish me luck, Glitterati!” She kissed the glass cage, leaving behind a shiny pink lip print.

  The remaining two rats collapsed in the heap of fur and sparkles.

  “Ready!” Frankie announced.

  Her parents were standing at the stainless-steel island in the kitchen, alternating bites of the same bagel and speed-drinking their coffee—something they did to practice being normal. Because, like Frankie, they charged and didn’t need to eat.

  The L-shaped home, with its sharp edges and minimalist’s penchant for white, had the electricity smell of burned toast and the ammonia smell of efficiency. The morning light approached the frosted windows, searching for a way inside.

  Everything was as it had always been, yet at the same time it was all so different. Alive. Cheerful. Charged. Because, for the first time in her life, Frankie was allowed to leave the house.

  “You’re not going anywhere dressed like that!” Viktor slammed his white coffee mug on the open newspaper.

  “Frankie, where’s the pantsuit?” Viveka marched over to her daughter. Her mother’s makeup, gray turtleneck sweater dress, black leggings, and over-the-knee boots took on a whole new meaning now that Frankie knew the truth.

  “Why aren’t you wearing your Fierce & Flawless?” Viktor boomed.

  “Go green!” Frankie preached, just like the magazines. “That’s one of the biggest messages of our time. Besides, I’m proud of who I am and how you made me. And if people don’t like me because I’m not a normie, then that’s their problem, not mine.”

  “You are not leaving the house like that.” Viktor held firm. “Not with your seams and bolts hanging out.”

  “Dad!” Sparks flew from Frankie’s fingertips. “Pantsuits are where fabric goes to die.” She stomped her wedge on the white carpet. Unfortunately, the dense shag muffled her frustration and failed to express her urgency.

  “Your father is right,” Viveka insisted.

  Frankie glared at her cookie dough–colored parents breathing to the condescending rhythm of their mutual obstinacy.

  “Go,” Viktor demanded, “before we’re all late.”

  Frankie stomped off to her bedroom. She emerged seconds later wearing a brown scarf and leather wrist cuffs, but only because Teen Vogue had endorsed them as must-have accessories for fall. She smirked. “There. The seams and bolts are covered. Can we go now?”

  Viveka and Viktor exchanged a glance and then made their way to the side door that connected to the garage. Frankie followed behind in her totally voltage outfit and victory grin. She was on the fast track to fabulous.

  Beepboop. The doors to the black Volvo SUV unlocked.

  “Let’s take MUTT!” she suggested, cherishing an implanted memory of a family drive to Silver Falls and wanting to experience it for real.

  “I think we should take something less conspicuous,” Viktor insisted.

  “But, Dad, DIY is so popular,” Frankie explained. “And MUTT is DIY car-sonified. Everyone at school will love it.”

  “Car-sonified is not a word, Frankie!” her father said sternly. “And we’re through negotiating.”

  The ride to school was endlessly boring. The trees, cars, homes, and even normies that she saw outside the tinted windows looked no different in real life than they did in her simulated memories. The big thrill was going to be breathing fresh air. But open windows were strictly forbidden because she wasn’t coated in Fierce & Flawless. So breathing would have to wait.

  After a two-hour drive, the black Volvo finally arrived at Mount Hood High. Frankie couldn’t believe there wasn’t a closer school, but she didn’t dare say a word. Her parents were already irritated, and she worried that another disagreement might land her back at home.

  Barely bothering to look at the regal mountain in the background or the red and yellow leaves that drifted aimlessly from the trees, Frankie stepped out of the car and took her first real sniff of air. Crisp, cool, and free of formaldehyde, it smelled like spring water in a bowl of soil. She took off her white sunglasses and lifted her green face to the sky. Unfiltered sun hugged and warmed her skin. Her eyes teared from the glare. Or was it the joy?

  It didn’t matter that Frankie had no idea where to go. Or that she had never ventured away from her parents before. They had filled her with so much knowledge and confidence, she had no doubt she would find her way. And she’d enjoy trying.

  It was odd to see the campus bare, with so few cars in the parking lot. She was tempted to ask her parents where everyone was, but she decided against it. Why make them think she wasn’t ready?

  “Are you sure you don’t want makeup?” Viveka asked, her head poking out the passenger-side window.

  “Positive,” Frankie assured her. The sun on her arms felt more energizing than Carmen Electra. “See you after school.” She smiled, air-kissing them good-bye before they had empty-nest meltdowns. “Good luck with your first day back at work.”

  “Thanks,” they answered, together, of course.

  Frankie strolled toward the main doors, sniffing the air like she was at an all-you-can-breathe buffet. She could feel their eyes tracking her across the empty parking lot, but she refused to look back. From this moment on, it was all about moving forward.

  She climbed eleven wide steps to the double doors, enjoying the aching sensation real-life exercise was bringing to her legs. Feeling it was so different from simply knowing about it.

  After a quick pause to catch her breath, Frankie reached for the handle of the door and—

  “Oof!” The door smacked her in the cheek. Bolts sparking, she covered her throbbing face with her hand and lowered her head.

  “Oh no! Are you okay?” asked a gaggle of girls in varying tones. They had crowded around her like the New York City skyline. A medley of perfumes chased away Frankie’s fresh air and left behind a fruit-scented bout of nausea.

  “It was a total accident,” said one of them, stroking Frankie’s high ponytail. “We didn’t see you. Can you see?”

  The friendly gesture bathed Frankie in more warmth than the sun. Normies were nice! “I’m okay.” She smiled and looked up. “It was more shocking than painful, you know?”

  “What the Shrek… is that?” A blond in a yellow-and-green cheerleader outfit backed away.

  “Either you’re majorly carsick or your skin i
s… green,” another blond noted.

  “Is this a joke?” asked another one, backing away just in case.

  “No, it really is mint.” She smiled humbly and extended her arm for a friendly shake. Her cuff slid forward, revealing a row of wrist seams, but Frankie didn’t really care. This is who she was. Bolts and all. “I’m new here. My name is Frankie and I’m from—”

  “The Build-A-Bear Workshop?” one of them asked, slowly moving away.

  “Monster!” yelled the only brunette. She pulled a cell phone out of her bra, dialed 911, and ran into the school.

  “Ahhhhhhh!” the others screamed, wiggling their limbs as though they were covered in bugs.

  “I told you it was bad luck to practice on a Sunday!” one of them sobbed.

  The girls darted back through the doors and jammed chairs against them with floor-scraping urgency.

  Sunday?

  Sirens wailed in the distance. The black Volvo skidded to a halt at the bottom of the steps, and Viktor jumped out.

  “Hurry!” Viveka called from the open window.

  Mind blank and body frozen, Frankie watched her father run toward her. “Let’s get out of here!” he shouted.

  The sirens were getting closer.

  “I wanted to teach you a lesson,” he mumbled, lifting his daughter and carrying her to safety. “But I never should have let it go this far.”

  Frankie burst into tears as her father sped out of the parking lot and turned, tires screeching onto Balsam Avenue. The Volvo merged with traffic just as a slew of police cars pulled up and surrounded the school.

  “Just in time,” Viveka uttered softly, and tears began to roll down her face.

  Viktor’s attention lay solely on the road ahead. His squint was unwavering, and his thin lips were sealed shut. There was no need for an I-told-you-so lecture. Or even an apology from Frankie. It was clear what had happened and obvious what each one of them could have done differently. Only one question remained: What now?