Monster High 4: Back and Deader Than Ever (14 page)

The last rays of sunshine disappeared behind the maples,
and the clearing was left in the dark, just like the RADs who waited for Mr. D to make his announcement. Tall and silent as the trees that surrounded them, they stood united in their commitment to weather the storms that—

Smack!

Lala flattened a mosquito against Clawd’s cheek. “No one bites my guy but me,” she said, gnashing her fangs playfully. She flicked the poor-man’s bloodsucker to the ground with an accomplished grin.

“Thanks,” Clawd mumbled, “but that biter’s the least of my worries.”

“I know.” Lala sighed, releasing her happy-girl act into the crisp night air. The truth was, she hated how stressed everyone was. Double hated that her father was the reason for it. And triple hated that she was just as clueless as they were. Lala shivered. Would it have killed her father to meet at RIP? Or had he not
noticed that his daughter was heat-challenged? Did he even know he had a daughter?

Clawdeen linked her arm through Lala’s pink peacoat. She smelled like blackberries. “Still can’t say, huh?”

Lala zipped her chattering lips and turned away.

It had been h-e-double-l acting as if she were in the know. But what choice did she have? He was always locked in his office, talking in his headset, or tanning.

Brrrrap.

Heath burped a fireball and everyone gathered around. Not as much for the heat as the distraction. One by one, parents and friends stole glances at Lala, eyebrows raised with curiosity, hoping for some sort of hint. She responded with pursed lips and a shrug….
I would if I could
. Blue stayed off to the side, struggling to access her Cleo-wrapped moisturizer. Her scales were starting to crack. Lala knew how they felt.

Where is he?

Jackson tapped Lala on the shoulder. His eyes were hidden behind the flames reflected in his glasses. “Do you know—?”

“I can’t talk about it, okay!”

Jackson took a defensive step back. “Fine, I’ll ask someone else.”

“Ask me,” Spectra said from somewhere nearby. “I know everything.”

He hesitated for a second and then sighed in a nothing-to-lose sort of way. “Do you know where Melody is?”

Oops.

“Sure do,” said the violet-scented voice. “I heard she got grounded for trashing her father’s motorcycle.”

Jackson scoffed. “Her father doesn’t have a motorcycle.”

“Not anymore,” Spectra said. “That’s why he’s so mad. He loved that thing more than he loved his own son.”

“He doesn’t have a—” Jackson paused. “Forget it.”

A sudden breeze sent the fire dancing. Maddy Gorgon quickly turned it to stone before its embers spread. Everything felt cold again. Darkness had returned. Everyone was still.

Then the sound of crunching leaves, slow and measured, grew closer.

The superior had arrived.

Lala’s heart began to speed. Clawd, sensing her anxiety (or maybe his own), allowed his arm to graze hers in public. An owl hooted. Ghoulia groaned.

“The time is nigh…”—from somewhere in the tall shadows, Mr. D’s voice was low and controlled, his Eastern European accent a melodic embellishment—“… to take the final step toward securing our bloodlines.”

He stepped into the moonlight. Hands at his sides, shoulders back, black eyes shifting from one face to the next, Mr. D appeared before his people with the stateliness of a king. If Lala hadn’t felt so dejected, she might have been proud.

“As many of our elders know, we are standing on sacred ground….”

Sacred? Does he mean
scared
? Is this a language-barrier thing?

Just as confused, Lala’s friends exchanged glances.

“It was in this clearing, seventy normie years ago, that we gathered to seek refuge from our enemies. Afraid to show our faces, we dug caverns and went underground, literally. Our first
tombs, coffins, labs, caves… they’re all beneath us, and thanks to these changing times, they are behind us.”

“Awoooooooooo!” howled the Wolfs. Others applauded. Clawdeen curtsied.

Mr. D held up a pale palm. The clearing fell silent. “Normies and RADs are now living in harmony. Some are even dating.”

More applause. Frankie and Heath smiled proudly. Mr. D’s palm silenced them again.

“Toleration is sublime. But integration? Assimilation? Those can be toxic. Allow them to enter our systems, and they will corrupt our DNA, weaken our bloodlines, annihilate the very things that make us special… that make us RADs… that make us superior.”

Superior?

Ghoulia groaned again.

“Now that we are free, we can launch new agendas! Teach our ways! Harness our powers! Propagate the race!”

“Seems like the whole congratulations thing was a bit of a porky pie,” Blue whispered.

If that meant it was a long shot, Lala couldn’t have agreed more.

Mr. D snapped his fingers. Muscles appeared by his side with a gold-plated shovel. The superior thanked his aide with a dismissive nod and lifted the shovel high. “Which is why, with the help of Ram de Nile and Wolf Construction, I have purchased this land so I may bring you, and all future RAD generations, Radcliffe High!” He jammed the shovel into the loamy earth and scooped up a pile of dirt. “Construction has officially begun!”

Many of the parents cheered. Most of the kids didn’t. Instead, they turned to Lala, as if she might be able to make sense of her father’s bewildering announcement.

“Why didn’t my dad tell me about this?” Clawd mumbled.

Blue arched her brows in an
Is this fair dinkum?
sort of way.

I seriously cannot believe you kept this from me
, Cleo said with a single squint.

Your father knew about it. He bought the land. Blame him!
Lala thought as she glared at Ram de Nile.

I seriously cannot believe you kept this from me and Cleo
, the spiked fur on the back of Clawdeen’s neck seemed to say.

Your father knew about it. He’s in charge of construction. Blame him!
Lala thought as she glared at Clawrk Wolf.

Is Clawd touching your arm in public?
Ghoulia managed to ask with a simple smirk.

Yes, Ghouls, he’s touching my arm in public. And that’s about all I know
, Lala conveyed with a nod.

“Say good-bye to Merston High,” Mr. D said. “Starting this September, you will be attending the first RAD-only private school.”

Frankie tugged her seams.

Heath popped a Tums.

Jackson hand-fanned his face while searching the clearing for someone—probably Melody.

“Sounds like someone had a fight with Majorca,” Spectra told Billy.

Clawd sighed. “Looks like I’ll be working construction all summer.”

Mr. D went on to explain that the facility would be state-of-the-art. That classes and sports would cater to the RADs’
individual skills and needs. That this school would be a destination for RADs from all over the world—several had already enrolled, and some had already arrived in Salem. But all Lala could think about was the T’eau Dally contest. What was she supposed to do now? Forfeit?

“Any questions?” Mr. D asked.

Hands shot up.

“What about Double RAmies?” Frankie asked. “This separation could do some serious damage to the relationships.”

Heath nodded in agreement.

“You’re not leaving town. Just switching schools.”

“What if I still want to play football for Merston?” (Clawd.)

“Radcliffe needs you, son. You play for us now.”

“And basketball?” (Deuce.)

“We will have our own basketball team too.”

“Can we still compete against normie schools?” (Clawdeen.)

“If they are brave enough to welcome our superior teams into their leagues.”

“What happens to my swim scholarship?” (Blue.)

“And my track scholarship?” (Rocks.)

“Scholarships will no longer be necessary. We are currently developing a RAD college. Standards will be high, but tuition will be low.”

Several of the parents applauded.

“We tried so hard to fit in with the normies. This feels like a step backward.” (Clawdeen.)

Mr. D forced a patient smile. “You’ll still have time to socialize with the… others. Just not on school days or at weekend sporting events.”

Frankie sparked. “Do we have a choice?”

“I’d rather stay.”

“Me too.”

“Same.”

Mr. D’s expression hardened. A cold breeze blew. His hair did not. “Attendance at Radcliffe High is mandatory for all RADs.”

A collective gasp rattled the branches above.

“Meeting adjourned.”

“What about all the normies who worship me?” Cleo whispered to Lala. “They’ll be lost. And what about the contest? Me and Deuce are about to become spokesmodels. You have to do something!”

Lala knew Cleo was right. But what were her options? Conversation certainly wasn’t one.
Dad, can you hear me now? How about now? Now?
Their entire relationship was one massive dropped call.

“What about the contest?” Frankie called out.

“What contest?”

Dozens of eyes turned to Lala.
He doesn’t know about the contest?

Lala became light-headed. Her insides felt floaty. She was about to have a major fang-xiety attack.

“Thanks to Lala, Merston’s a finalist in the T’eau Dally high school contest,” Frankie explained. “If we win, we’ll get to redo the whole school. And Brett and I get to—”

“Brett and I?” Cleo screeched. “More like Deuce and I.”

“What about me and Haylee?” Heath asked. “We’re in this too, you know. And we have a better chance than you because of our Double RAmie status.”

Cleo put her hands on her hips. “That term is so—”

“Enough!” snapped Mr. D. “Whatever this little contest is about, it’s best left for the normies to deal with. It’s time to start focusing on your own community.”

Little contest? LITTLE CONTEST?

Shaking and floaty, Lala stepped forward and blurted, “Merston
is
our community.”

Mr. D slowly turned around to face his daughter. Frankie sparked but stood firmly by Lala’s side.

“Not anymore,” he said with an eerie sense of calm. “You have a new school. You don’t need to compete for one in a sad little contest.” His dark eyes gripped her like a vise. “Withdraw.”

Lala shook her head. “You’ve been pressuring me to do something for my school all year. Now that I am, you want me to withdraw?”

“Lala!” Clawd urged. “Be careful—”

“You will do as I say.”

“Why?” Lala folded her arms across her chest. “You’ll just change your mind again.”

There were gasps from the crowd.

Mr. D stabbed the shovel into the ground. “Draculaura, wait for me in the parlor at home. Everyone else, this meeting is adjourned.”

Flames trembled in the glass-screened fireplace.

Lala sat on the edge of the daybed and rolled back her shoulders. She smoothed Count Fabulous’s pink bangs, lifted her chin, and then clasped her hands for warmth. The pose reminded her
of the time her grimparents had commissioned Densilav Blega to paint her portrait. Only that time she’d been shaking with boredom, not anticipation.

Before leaving the clearing, Clawd had urged Lala to apologize to her father. Blue and Clawdeen wished her luck and begged her to call them the minute she could. Frankie offered to hide her in the Fab. But Lala refused. What could he possibly do? Kill her? Been there, bit that, 1,599 years ago.

Uncle Vlad appeared by her side, smelling like eucalyptus. “Another scoop?” he asked, spoon at the ready.

Lala rubbed her belly and shook her head. She wanted her father’s attention, but puking soybean pâté on his new jeans was hardly the way to get it. “Maybe some peppermint tea,” she said, handing Vlad her plate.

“A little too much comfort food?”

“A little too much food,” Lala said, peering out the window, “and not enough comfort.”

“I wish I could have been there to—ahhh… ahhh…”—Uncle Vlad set down his serving tray, dug into the pocket of his kimono, and thrust a silk hankie toward his nose—“chehhhhh!”

“Bless you.”

He reached under his glasses and dabbed the corners of his eyes. “I told him—no, I begged him—not to leave that vitamin C–sucking paper shredder in my health corner, but did he listen?” Vlad paused to blow his nose. “ ’Course not.” He blew again. “What do I know about fang shui? I only wrote the book and created the app. Not to mention the—”

Headlights fanned across the walls in the parlor. The town car crunched across the gravel driveway.

“I’ll be right back with your tea,” Vlad said, scooting off.

The front door creaked open. In the bedroom above, her pets scurried to their hiding places. Count Fabulous, still perched on her wrist, began to quake. Lala pressed her hand against his tapping heart. She wished there were a Rosetta Stone DVD that taught animal language, so she could tell her friends to relax. Her father’s bite was bad, but his bark was worse. Besides, he had no interest in them. He had no interest in anyone or anything other than his work. And yet there she was, century after century, stressing to impress.