Monster High 4: Back and Deader Than Ever (25 page)

“Sadie Warlock… Su-Chin Weinstein… Brandon White…”
Principal Weeks’s voice was amplified across the campus. One by one, he called the graduates to the outdoor stage to receive their diplomas. The closer he got to the end of the alphabet, the closer the Merston senior class was to freedom. And the closer Frankie was to showtime.

“He’s on
W
,” Frankie announced to her team. “We’ve got no
X
s, four
Y
s, and one
Z
. We’re at T minus five. I’m taking my final walk-through.”

The members of the Balance Board stood proudly by their posts, awaiting inspection. But a quick glance was all Frankie needed. It was perfect.

What had once been a quaint school courtyard was now a work of art. As if sculpted over centuries, the maple trees, the brick walls, and the cobblestone pavers were coated in smooth white stone. The creeping ivy was stone. The tulips were stone. And the round garden tables were stone. While escaping the fire,
Deuce (with a little encouragement from Lala) had transformed the entire school into what looked like a scene from
The Flintstones
. (Well, okay, Deuce started it, but a formidable decor maven was called in to finish the job—namely, Deuce’s mom. But she let him take the credit.)

Lockers were impossible to open. Backpacks too dense to lift. And instead of “Pomp and Circumstance,” graduates walked to the tune of jackhammers and bulldozers. There was something about students fighting to move past the old beliefs, only to get thrown back into the Stone Age, that struck Frankie as funny… or poetic… or was it ironic? Maybe it was existential? Whatever it was, it was mint, and worth pointing out.

So when Haylee called last night at 11:46
PM
, crying because she couldn’t make her “We Are the World” theme work in a rock garden, Frankie sparked into action. She wanted something that summed up the year. Something that said life is not black and white. Sometimes it’s green. She wanted to work with what she had been given, not fight to change it. She wanted to accept. Because wasn’t that what the past year had been all about?

And so “Stoned High: A Graphite Novel” was created. Written with sidewalk chalk on every tree, brick, and boulder in the courtyard, the colorful illustrations and graffiti-like text documented the most memorable moments of the year. Ghoulia was in charge of chalk. Jackson illustrated. Brett, Heath, and Irish Emmy were shooting video, and Haylee would greet the guests and guide them to the buffet table. The task was beneath her, but Haylee clearly needed a break from the pressure, and so did her blotchy complexion.

“And, finally, Moan’ica Yelps,” said Principal Weeks.

“Y a y y y,” Ghoulia groaned for her older sister.

An orchestra of jackhammers blasted as the graduates tossed their caps in the air. And then, black gowns soaring behind them, they descended on the luncheon like a colony of bats.

“Here they come!” Frankie called.

“Thank you,” Haylee said, her beige glasses misting.

“For what?”

“You saved me.” Haylee looked around. “You saved the luncheon. And it looks sooo—” She paused to blow her nose.

Frankie put her hand on Haylee’s shoulder pad. “I know what it feels like to have an entire school blame you for things. And I wouldn’t wish that on—” She paused. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Haylee nodded.

“Why did you give Cleo your speech?”

Haylee pressed the tissue to her nose. “She gave me this.” She lifted the blue eye charm on her necklace.

“The Eye of Horus?” Frankie could hardly contain her shock. Maybe Haylee wasn’t so smart after all. “You can get those in every gift shop east of Hungary.”

Haylee giggled. “She said it’s a twenty-twenty amulet, you know, to help my vision.”

Frankie gasped. “And you
believed
her?”

Haylee giggled. “ ’Course not. But I’ve been taking glassblowing classes after school. Heath and I want to make vases this summer and sell them at art festivals. The most expensive part is the furnace, and Heath can do that, so… Anyway, with school, and glassblowing, and the luncheon, and my dog-walking business, the contest was just too much. I needed an excuse to quit.”
She lifted her glasses and pinched the moistening corners of her eyes. “Sorry. I think I’m just really burned out.”

Frankie pulled her in for a hug. “It’s okay.”

“Are we going to stay in touch next year?” Haylee sniffled.

“Of course,” Frankie said. “I’m going to need you to watch Brett for me.”

“And you’ll watch Heath at Radcliffe?”

Frankie made an X across her ivory eyelet maxidress. “Cross my bolts and hope to fry.”

“Here they come.” Haylee smiled. “I’d better go greet.”

Frankie waved good-bye and then snapped one last picture of the courtyard. Vibrant and sentimental, the chalk drawings told a story of triumph. The story began with an image of Brett screaming at the Monster Mash dance as he held Frankie’s fallen head in his hands. In the middle it showed Frankie interviewing RADs for the “Ghoul Next Door” video. At the end was Mrs. Foose’s rainbow. It was a story, Frankie finally realized, that couldn’t have been told without her. Because in the sky, above the rainbow, was a green star. That star was Frankie.

A floating stone tulip stopped in front of Frankie. “This was your idea?”

“Why does everyone sound so surprised?” she asked, no longer taking it as a compliment.

“It’s just so…” Billy struggled to find a word that wouldn’t offend her.

“Voltage?”

“Yeah, voltage.” He handed her the tulip.

“What’s this for?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Switching the ballot boxes because you thought I couldn’t win? Or not thinking I could come up with a cool luncheon theme?”

“Both.”

Frankie took the flower and twirled it between her fingers. “How’d you know I wouldn’t win?”

“Because, my dear”—Billy gripped her shoulders—“your speech sucked.”

Frankie burst out laughing and pulled her invisible friend in for a hug. It could not have looked normal.

“Either that’s InvisiBilly or you’re in one crazy game of freeze tag,” said Candace Carver. She was the only graduate who’d belted her gown and had her initials—
CC
—sewn onto the back to look like the Chanel logo. “Great luncheon, by the way.”

“Where’s Melody?” Frankie asked.

“She took off after the ceremony. Something about the band or Jackson. I dunno. Listening to her can be dangerous. Anyway, B, my parents just surprised me with a first-class ticket. Coach class out!”

“Where are you going?” Frankie asked.

“I’m going to France for the summer to observe street fashion. Billy and Spectra are coming with me, since, you know, they can fly for free.”

Frankie sparked. She looked at Billy.
Thanks for telling me
.

“I was gonna say something,” he said, seeing Frankie’s fireworks. “But you weren’t exactly taking my calls the last few days.”

“Since when do you bother calling?” Frankie teased, hugging him again.

“Candace? Is that you?” asked a dark-haired babe in a tweed blazer as he pushed his way toward them.

Can’s green eyes widened. Frankie had never seen a normie look so shocked.

“Shane?” She finger-fluffed her curls. “Um, what are you doing here?”

Shane crossed his arms. “My sister Mindy just graduated.”

Candace twirled a blond curl. “You’re Mindy’s
brother
?”

Shane lifted an eyebrow and nodded. “And you’re in high school.”

Candace lifted her glass of lemonade and winked. “College now.”

Shane knocked the glass from her hand and stormed away.

Hundreds of eyes turned to see how Candace Carver would react to being dumped. Not that she noticed. She was too busy scanning her iPhone for her France to-do list. “Number one,” she read. “Cut all ties with American boys.” She swiped the screen and tapped Delete. “Shane
out
.”

Frankie pulled off her plum gladiator sandals and sat on a stone bush. She wiggled her green toes and waited for Brett to finish packing up the sound equipment.

Principal Weeks walked toward her, arm extended.

“Wonderful job, Miss Stein!” he said, shaking her hand. “I hope you’re planning on running for the council next year.”

Frankie sighed. “I think so. But it looks like I’ll be doing it at Radcliffe.”

The principal’s narrow shoulders slumped at least four inches. “Ah, Radcliffe. The dagger in the heart of my career.” He loosened his tie, which said
Happy Graduation
in nine different languages.

Frankie sniffed. “I thought
we
were the dagger.”

“The students?”

“No, the RADs.”

Weeks’s sharp blue eyes met hers. “I’ve always known this community was special. But I had to respect the wishes of your parents and keep things quiet. Nothing has thrilled me more than seeing you kids come together and stand up for what’s right.” He pulled a red bandanna out of his wrinkled beige suit pocket and dabbed his beading forehead. “And now you’ll all be gone….”

Frankie’s heart space caved in a little. She couldn’t imagine it either. “What’s going to happen to this place?”

“Trailers,” he said, looking at the rubble piles that dotted the campus like giant anthills. “Until we rebuild. But we will. We’re survivors. Just like you.” He smiled. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll change your mind and stay.”

“I love Merston and all.” Frankie stood and patted his rounded shoulder. “But trailer classrooms? So not mint.”

“Leopard tank. Middle closet between the zebra leggings
and cheetah mini. Stat!” Candace instructed.

Melody slid the mirrored doors to the right. “The large or the small?”

Candace whipped off her white cat-eye sunglasses and glared.
What do you think?

“Small it is.”

Candace snatched it up, rolled it into the size of a Tic Tac, and stuffed it into the army-green duffel.

Melody peeked out at the white cottage across the street. Jackson’s window was open. His curtains swayed. Melody’s heart jumped. Had he skipped the Camp Crescendo orientation to see her off? The curtains swayed again.
Just the wind
.

“We’re working here!” Candace snapped her fingers. “Black jeggings. Zippers at the ankles. In the pants closet, skinny side.”

Melody tucked the pants next to the denim vest. Something winked at her from the bottom of the bag. “A sequin bustier?”

Candace was standing in front of her mirror, contemplating a black fedora. “When sequins call, you’d better answer. And, trust me, they call at the oddest of times.” She tossed the fedora out the window like last summer’s Frisbee. “In less than twenty-four hours, I’m going to be eating chocolate croissants in a bistro, speaking Fransay to hot garsawns.”

Melody sighed, collapsing onto the pink frilly bed. “I need to take five.” She hugged a white satin pillow to her chest and squeezed.

Candace lay down beside her sister. She pulled a feather from Melody’s hair. “I’m gonna miss you, freak.” She hugged Melody. Hard.