CHAPTER TWELVE
RIP
Frankie slept like a chicken with its head cut off—her brain and her body were on totally different programs. After five boring hours of restitching, during which Viktor insisted on watching the news, Frankie was safely tucked between a fresh set of electromagnetic blankets with a warm current of power streaming through her bolts. Her brain, however, was running in a panicked frenzy.
Sound bites of the lies she had told Viv and Vik taunted her like a never-ending loop of carnival music.
Viveka: Viktor! There’s something wrong with Frankie!
Viktor: What happened? Are you hurt? (to Viveka) Is she hurt? (to Frankie) Are you okay? Where’s your umbrella?
Frankie: I’m okay, just a little cold and tired. (pause) Dad, did you know rodent whiskers remove scars?
Viktor: What? (to Viveka) Is she hallucinating? (to Frankie) Frankie, can you understand me? Do you know where you are?
Viktor: Where are the other girls? (He lifts her and carries her to her metal bed.)
Frankie: They wanted to go to the movies after the library. I promised you I’d be home. So I left.
Viveka: And they didn’t drop you off first? (She flicks on the massive overhead light, pulls the arm, and positions it over Frankie’s body, making it feel like an interrogation.)
Frankie: Um, they offered, but I didn’t want them to be late.
Viktor: You could have called and asked to go with them. We would have said yes, especially if we knew you’d be walking home alone in the rain.
Frankie: It wasn’t so bad. But I am kind of tired. Do you mind if I rest?
Viktor: (He dabs something cold and wet over her stitches.) Of course not. Go ahead. (mumbling to Viveka) They almost look burned.
Viveka: (mumbling) Probably just frayed from the wind.
While they assumed, worried, tended, stitched, and listened to the local news, Frankie struggled to get back to that imaginary beach where she and Brett were running freely. She finally arrived—but it was raining.
At some point Frankie must have slept, because she couldn’t recall the moment her parents left and turned off the lights. But for the past hour she had been lying in bed listening to the Glitterati burrow beneath sawdust, wondering how to explain her mysterious disappearance to the girls. Lying to her parents about the spa trip was one thing. But how does a human electrical outlet sell the old dead-phone-battery excuse? It would definitely take some practice.
Hooot hooot.
Frankie switched off Carmen Electra and lifted her head.
Hooot hooot.
Either there was an owl in the house or her parents were experimenting with ring tones.
She checked on the Glitterati, expecting them to be scratching at the glass in a fight-or-flight attempt to escape a winged predator. But they had fallen asleep, curled into mini white disco balls.
Hooot hooot.
“Hello?” Viveka said, sounding concerned. Her voice was muffled by the wall. “I understand.… We’ll be there as fast as we can.”
Seconds later, bare feet were slapping across the polished concrete, closet doors were sliding along their tracks, and a toilet flushed.
In movies, late-night calls meant someone had died. Or there’d been a fire at the factory. Or aliens had burned circles in the crops. But this was real life, and Frankie had no idea what had happened.
Her door began to open. The thin band of light from the hallway widened like a Japanese folding fan.
“Frankie?” Viveka whispered, her purple lipstick already on.
“Yeah?” Frankie squinted in the brightness.
“Get dressed. We need to go somewhere.”
“Now?” Frankie glanced at her phone. “It’s four in the morning!”
Viveka zipped the hoodie of her black Juicy tracksuit, her tiny bolts momentarily exposed. “We’re leaving in three minutes.”
In the background, Viktor was filling two travel mugs with coffee.
Frankie jumped to her feet. The floor was cold. Her new seams felt tight. “It takes me at least a half hour to put my makeup on and—”
“Forget the makeup. Long sleeves and a hood should be fine.”
“Where are we going?” Frankie asked, oscillating between fear and excitement.
“I’ll explain on the way.” Viveka left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The rain had stopped, but the wind was still blowing. Silver moonlight reflected off the slick cul-de-sac pavement, reminding Frankie of a huge bowl of milk. But instead of leaves, hers would be full of Fruity Pebbles.
“Where are we going?” Frankie tried Viktor.
He responded with a yawn as he backed the Volvo out of the garage.
“We have a meeting,” Viveka said, a slight hint of worry in her voice.
“At the university?”
“A different kind of meeting,” Viktor said, eyes fixed on the red taillights of the black Prius ahead. Considering the early hour, a surprising number of cars were heading up Radcliffe Way.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. Something’s obviously going on,” Frankie snapped.
“Frankie.” Viveka turned to face her. For a brief moment everything smelled like her gardenia body oil. “Remember we told you there were other people like us in Salem?”
“The RADs?”
“Exactly. When something happens in our community, we get together and discuss it.”
“And something happened?” Frankie asked, lowering the window and welcoming the cool night air.
Viveka nodded.
“Was it me?”
Viveka nodded again.
Frankie sparked. “What are they going to do to me?”
“Nothing!” Viveka assured her. “No one knows it was you.”
“And no one ever will,” Viktor insisted.
“You’ll like our get-togethers. While the grown-ups talk, the kids get to mix and mingle with other RADs,” Viveka explained.
A tingle filled Frankie’s heart space. “I’ll get to meet other RADs?”
Brett! Brett! Brett! Brett! Brett!
“Yup.” Viveka smiled, turning back to face the road. “Ms. J is a wonderful youth counselor. She leads discussions about the issues you’re facing and—”
“Ms. J the science teacher?” Frankie asked.
“Voices down, windows up,” Viktor whispered, turning onto Front Street. He pulled up to an empty stretch of curb beside a public park and shut off the engine. “Shhhhhhhh,” he hissed, with a finger to his lips.
The Riverfront carousel was directly across the street, its painted horses still and silent, like the rest of Salem. Traffic lights changed from red to green to yellow and then back to red, performing for an audience that never showed. Even the wind had stopped.
What are they waiting for?
Frankie controlled her urge to spark, but it wasn’t easy. The beam of a flashlight flickered across the windshield.
“Let’s go,” Viktor said, stepping out of the SUV.
A man appeared, dressed all in black. Without a word, he took Viktor’s keys and drove off with their car.
Too afraid to speak, Frankie looked at her parents on the deserted sidewalk and asked a hundred questions with her eyes.
“He’s just parking it for us,” Viktor whispered. “Follow me.”
He offered his hands and led his girls behind a dense thicket. After a quick scan of his surroundings, he bent down and patted the wet grass.
“Got it,” he said, yanking something that looked like a rusty bangle. A hatch opened, and he hurried Frankie and Viveka inside.
“What is this?” Frankie asked, marveling at the underground walkway that snaked before them. Laid with cobblestone and lit by lanterns, it smelled like mud and danger.
“It leads to RIP.” Viktor’s voice echoed. “RAD Intel Party.”
Frankie beamed. “So, it’s a party?”
“It can be.” Viktor winked at his wife.
Viveka giggled.
The low drone of cars on the road above them vibrated throughout the tunnel. But Frankie didn’t spark once. Filled with the hope of seeing Brett, she followed her parents along the cobblestone road with the bounce and promise of a day at Disneyland.
An old wooden door with thick iron hinges greeted them at the end of their brief trek.
“We’re here,” Viktor whispered.
“Mmmmm, smells like popcorn.” Frankie rubbed her belly.
“That’s because we’re under Mel’s popcorn stand,” Viveka explained while Viktor searched for his key. “And soon we’ll be underneath the carousel.”
“Voltage!” Frankie looked up, but all she saw was a mud ceiling and some broken lantern hooks.
“The carousel was built by RADs, you know,” Viveka announced with pride. “A very nice Greek couple who used to live on a horse farm, named Mr. and Mrs. Gorgon. I believe their son Deuce is in your grade.”
Cleo’s boyfriend? Does she know he’s a RAD?
“The Gorgons can turn things to stone just by looking at them,” Viveka continued. “So one day, Maddy Gorgon hears an uproar in the stable. Turns out one of the groomers’ kids was throwing rocks at a nearby beehive and broke it. So when Maddy runs in, she is attacked and starts swatting like mad. Her glasses fall off, she looks at the horses, and just like that”—she snapped her fingers—“they turn to stone.
“The Gorgons spent the next five years painting the horses.” Viveka gasped at the sheer magnitude of the project. “And in 1991, Mrs. Gorgon donated them to the city.” She giggled. “Oh, you should really hear her tell it. It’s so funny.”
“I bet.” Frankie feigned interest, but her thoughts drifted back to what was behind the door, not above it.
Viktor opened the door to her new social life.
“Remember,” he warned. “In here we’re family. But up there”—he pointed at the carousel—“any mention of RIP or its members is forbidden. Even in a RADs-only conversation. And that includes e-mails, texts, and tweets.”
“Okay, I get it.” Frankie pushed her father inside the round room and did a quick scan for Brett.
Dressed in PJs, kids of all ages were lounging on couches and club chairs, like they were hanging in a friend’s basement. Everything in this basement, though, had a casing of smooth white stone. Apparently Mrs. Gorgon had lost her glasses a few more times.
“Voltage!” Frankie gasped. “Look at all the kids!”
“Viktor, Viv!” A woman wearing oversize black Dior sunglasses greeted them with open arms. Her hair was piled high under a seafoam-green Pucci head scarf, and her white linen pantsuit looked surprisingly chic, despite its Labor Day expiration date.
“Maddy Gorgon, meet our daughter, Frankie,” Viveka said, beaming.
Maddy clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, V, she’s just gorgeous. Viktor did a wonderful job.”
Frankie practically floated up off the cobblestones with delight. She was completely green, and someone thought she was gorgeous! Someone other than her parents!
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Gorgon.” Frankie held out her hand, not the least bit concerned about sparking.
“Call me Maddy,” she insisted, “or Mother-in-law.” She leaned closer to Frankie’s ear and whispered, “If Deuce ever dumps Cleo, I’m calling you.” She tapped one of her dark lenses and said, “Wink wink.”
Frankie beamed.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Maddy said, becoming grave, “I’m going to borrow your parents.” She placed a hand on each of their backs and guided them through the stone doorway.
Once the grown-ups were gone, someone blasted “Bust Your Windows” from the Glee sound track, and everyone shot up to dance. From what she could tell, no one else had seams or bolts. But there were a few guys with snakes for hair, a gilled-couple making out by the stone cactus, several swinging tails, and a serpent-skinned girl who resembled the voltage Fendi clutch Frankie had seen in Vogue.
“Frankie!” called a familiar female voice.
She turned. “Lala? What are you doing here?”
“I’d ask you the same thing, but…” She touched Frankie’s green hand. “It’s kind of obvious. Besides, I heard a rumor a while ago that your dad was making a kid. I just didn’t know she’d be so… voltage.”
Frankie delighted at the sound of her own expression.
“So you knew when we went to the spa?”
“I had a feeling. We all did,” Lala confessed. “But we’re not allowed to talk about RAD stuff out there.” She pointed up. “So we’ve been waiting for the next RIP to confirm.”
“Well, consider me confirmed.” Frankie smiled brightly, luxuriating in the weightlessness of freedom. “Um… what are you?” she blurted, unsure of the polite way to ask, or if there even was one.
Lala took a step back, placed her hands squarely on her hips, and smiled.
Pink-and-black hair… black satin pajamas covered in pink bats… cashmere scarf and gloves… dark eyes… mascara smudges on her forehead… It all looked completely Lala.
“I dunno.” Frankie shrugged.
“Look.” Lala smiled wider for a photographer who wasn’t there.
“Fangs!” Frankie shouted over the music. “You have fangs! That’s why you always laugh with your mouth closed.”
Lala nodded excitedly.
Frankie was about to gush over how amazing it was they were both RADs, when she heard another familiar voice.
“G’day, mates!” Blue called, spritzing her scaly bare arms with the spa’s Evian facial mist. Her forearms were spiked with triangular growths that looked like fins, and her fingers and toes were webbed. “Confirmed?”
Lala lifted Frankie’s arm and pointed at her seams.
“Ace!” The fins wiggled with delight. “Welcome to the party!”
“Ahhhhhhh,” Cleo yawned, shuffling toward them. Other than her feet, which were clad in a pair of gold platform sandals, and her ring-covered hands, she was totally wrapped in strips of white cloth. The fashion-forward look was so Rihanna at the 2009 American Music Awards. “Does anyone know what’s going on? Was there another sighting?”
Lala shrugged.
“Is he here?” Cleo asked.
Lala pointed at the three boys seated on a stone carpet in front of them. Deuce appeared to be in a meditative state. Sitting cross-legged and wearing sunglasses, he was playing the flute for the tangle of green snakes slithering on his head.
“Looks like someone’s having a RAD hair day,” Lala joked.
Cleo giggled into her palm and then turned away from her two-timing, normie-loving boyfriend.
“I can’t believe you’re here too!” Frankie exclaimed, inhaling a nose full of amber perfume.
“I would say the same thing about you, only I’m not the least bit surprised,” Cleo said smugly. “Now pay up.”
“Huh?”
“Not you! Draculaura!” she snapped, her tired blue eyes smoked to perfection. “I told that vamp you were one of us the first time I laid eyes on you. Now she owes me ten bucks.”
“Who’s Draculaura?”
“It’s my RAD name—my real name,” Lala said, handing Cleo a ten-dollar bill.
Cleo folded it into the shape of a pyramid and stuffed it down her linen-enhanced cleavage. “Maybe if my family got some royalties from those Brendan Fraser movies or those tacky Cleopatra Halloween costumes, I wouldn’t need to take your money.”
“You don’t need to take my money anyway… but imagine how loaded I’d be from Twilight?” Lala said.
“I’d complain too,” Blue scratched her scaly arms, “but Creature from the Black Lagoon wasn’t exactly a bonzer at the box office.”
“How did you know I was a RAD?” Frankie asked Cleo, suddenly wondering who else might be onto her.
“I thought I saw you spark in the cafeteria. And then I saw it again in Lala’s car.”
“That’s not the only time I sparked yesterday.” Frankie giggled.
“That power outage was you?” Blue asked.
Frankie nodded sheepishly.
“Fang-tastic!” Lala clapped.
“Do you have any idea how much I hate the dark?” Cleo asked. “It reminds me of being buried alive.”
“I thought I heard you screaming.”
“My masseuse had to piggyback me outta there,” Cleo admitted. “I was scared stiff.”
“You mean, you are a scared stiff,” Lala teased.
The girls burst out laughing.
“It’s so voltage that you’re all RADs,” Frankie trilled. “I never would have thought—”
The door slammed. Everyone turned to find a pack of preppy, albeit hairy, boys entering the party, their long fingers clutching supersized McDonald’s takeout bags. Without a single word, they sat at the stone picnic table and began devouring their Big Macs.
“Claude!” Cleo shouted at the oldest-looking boy, who had dark, curly hair and was dressed in khakis and a blue blazer. “Where’s your sister?”
“In the tunnel crying,” he said, chewing fiercely. “She got tagged again.”
Cleo and Lala exchanged a sympathetic pout.
“You don’t have to howl it to the whole world!” Claudine shouted from the other side of the door.
“Um, you’re the one howling, not me,” he called, unwrapping another Big Mac and tossing the bun away.
“What am I supposed to do?” Claudine entered, sobbing. “Look what they did to me.” She tugged the patch of red fur around her neck.
“What happened?” Cleo patted her arm.
“It was those PETA activists again. They think I’m wearing fur.”
“You are,” Frankie reasoned.
“Yeah.” Claudine unbuttoned her navy-blue coat and revealed her amber one. “My own!”
Frankie gasped in horror. Not from the shock of seeing werewolf hair under a sexy nightie as much as from the memory of suggesting Claudine remove her fur. If only she had known!
“Ugh!” the wolf growled. “If the stupid power didn’t go out yesterday, I would have gotten my wax, and none of this would have happened.”
Frankie sat on the arm of a nearby couch and pretended to pick a loose ankle seam.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now.” Cleo hugged the distraught lycanthrope. “Mummy’s here.”
Claudine burst out laughing and wiped her wet nose on Cleo’s cloth-wrapped shoulder. “That might be the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“No, I think Lala’s ‘RAD hair day’ comment was worse.”
“You know”—Lala finger-combed Claudine’s tagged tuft while changing the subject—“it’s kind of punk rock.”
Claudine glared at her. “What’s with your forehead?”
“Mascara!” Blue called.
“Surprise, surprise,” Cleo teased.
“What?” Lala flashed fang. “I can’t see my reflection, okay? At least I’m trying,” she insisted, sitting on the couch beside Frankie.
“Hey, what’s she doing here?” Claudine asked, suddenly noticing the newcomer.
Frankie pointed to her bolts.
“Oh, cool.” Claudine sat, unfazed, as if she pierced necks at the mall for a living.
Frankie noticed embroidery on the nightie—it said CLAWDEEN. “Oh,” she said, pointing, “is that how you spell your name? It’s cool.”
Clawdeen looked down. “That’s how my parents spell it. But at school it’s just easier to go with the normie spelling. Fewer annoying comments.”
Ms. J entered and flipped the latch on the wooden door.
What about Brett?
Frankie let out a heavy sigh. He wasn’t coming. He wasn’t like her. He wasn’t an option.
Ms. J shut off the stereo and everyone sat, like in a game of musical chairs. Blue wrapped herself in a plush red robe and joined the girls on the couch.
“Sorry I’m late,” Ms. J announced. “Car trouble.”
“Yeah, remind me to use that one the next time I’m late for biology,” Claude barked.
Everyone chuckled.
“You need to get your license first,” she fired back, stepping up to the stone podium that faced the couch klatch.
“Eleven days,” Claude announced.
The RADs applauded. He stood and bowed while Frankie studied Ms. J with renewed interest. Woody Allen glasses, a sharp black bob, red lipstick, and a collection of pencil skirts and blouses in varying shades of black made her interesting for a teacher. But as a RAD, she lacked pizzazz.
“What’s she in for?” Frankie whispered to Lala.
“She’s a normie, but her son is a RAD, only he doesn’t know. She thinks not knowing will protect him.”
“Is it Brett?” Frankie whispered excitedly.
“Hardly.” Lala feigned a swoon.
“Before we get started on today’s topic, I’d like to introduce our newest member,” Ms. J said. “Frankie Stein.”
Frankie stood while everyone applauded. Their smiles so warm, they looked fresh from the oven. She smiled back with her entire body.
“Please introduce yourself to Frankie after the meeting if you haven’t already done so. Okay, moving on…” Ms. J said. She flipped through some notes on a yellow legal pad. “As you know, there was a RAD sighting at Mount Hood High last week.”
Frankie tugged at her neck seams.
“I’m guessing it was a prank, but the normies are taking it very seriously. Several are staying indoors—”
“Awoooooooooo!” Clawdeen’s brothers howled and stomped their loafers.
“Heel!” Ms. J snapped, her bob swinging. “There’s already adversity in this world. We need to come from a place of love. Got it?” she yelled.
The boys quieted down immediately.
“My point is, we need to exercise extreme caution until this blows over. Normie interactions should be kept friendly but distant—”
Cleo’s hand shot up. “Ms. J? When you say ‘distant,’ does that mean no kissing Melodork?”
“Is she a normie?”
Cleo nodded.
The teacher removed her glasses and shot Cleo an are-you-seriously-asking-me-that? glance. “Then you know the answer.”
Deuce stood and faced his girlfriend. “Cleo, you have to let it go!” His snakes hissed in agreement. “I told you she attacked me. I had nothing to do with it. I love you and only you.”
Cleo’s thick (possibly false) lashes fluttered. “I know. I just wanted to hear you say it in front of everyone. Anyway, she doesn’t like you. She likes Jackson.”
Everyone giggled except Ms. J—and Frankie, who couldn’t help wondering why the boys thought Melody was so voltage. Because she sounded like nothing more than a boyfriend stealer.
“Are you through, Cleo?” said Ms. J.
“That depends.” She fixed her gaze back on Deuce. “Are you?”
Deuce nodded and then blew Cleo a kiss.
Cleo blew one back.
Deuce sat down on the stone carpet. He put on his headphones, and the snakes settled immediately.
Cleo smirked at Ms. J. “Now I’m through.”
“Nice!” Clawdeen lifted her hand, and the girls high-fived.
“If everyone is through, then I’d like to move on to something a little more… pressing.” Ms. J stood and pushed back the puffy sleeves of her black blouse. “It came to my attention during our Friday staff meeting that this year’s September Semi is going to have a theme.”
Blue raised her webbed hand. “Under the Sea?”
“I’m afraid not, Lagoona Blue,” Ms. J said sadly. “In light of the alleged monster sighting, they think it would be festive to make it a… a”—she inhaled deeply, then exhaled—“Monster Mash.”
The reaction was so explosive, Frankie imagined the carousel popping off its hinges and spiraling down Front Street.
“That’s so offensive!”
“Totally cliché!”
“We did that in middle school, and it was lame back then.”
“How ’bout we have a Normie Mash?”
“We could all dress exactly the same and do absolutely nothing special.”
“Yeah, but if we go as normies, we’ll have to stay home!”
“And lock the doors.”
“And tell each other stories about all the scary monsters.”
Frankie started sparking. Not because she found the Monster Mash theme offensive, but because she didn’t. Not even a little bit. And saying nothing when you could be right seemed worse than saying something and being wrong.
Frankie’s hand shot up. “Um, can I just say one thing?”
Her voice was too soft to get anyone’s attention, but her finger fireworks did the trick. Once the kids in the room settled down, so did the sparks. Everyone stared expectantly. But Frankie wasn’t afraid. She knew that what she was saying would impress them even more than her light show.
“Um, I kind of think the Monster Mash theme is a good thing.”
The murmurs started up again. Cleo kicked her in the shin, just as she had done in the car. But Ms. J clapped twice and returned the floor to Frankie.
“I think normies wanting to dress like us is a compliment,” she said. “Isn’t imitation the best form of flattery?” Some people nodded, considering Frankie’s words. “I mean, who isn’t tired of copying their style?”
Lala and Blue applauded, the sound of their support charging her like the sun.
“Maybe it’s a sign of the times. Maybe normies are ready for a change. Maybe they need us to show them they don’t have to be afraid. And maybe the best way to do that is to go to the Monster Mash without costumes.”
Murmurs rose like abandoned helium balloons. Ms. J lifted her palm.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” she asked.
Frankie tugged at her neck seam. “Um, I guess I’m saying a costume party with a monster theme means we can go as ourselves. Then once everyone is having a good time, we can show the normies that we’re not in costume. They’ll realize we’re harmless, and we’ll be able to live freely and openly.”
The room was silent.
“I could finally let my hair down,” Deuce joked.
“I could take off this ridiculous blazer,” Claude said.
“I could smile for pictures,” Lala announced.
“Doesn’t matter.” Cleo grinned. “It’s not like you show up on film, anyway.”
Lala bared her fangs. Cleo rolled her eyes. Then they both giggled.
“How about we put it to a vote?” Ms. J said. “All in favor of coming out of the casket during the September Semi, raise your hand.”
Frankie’s arm shot up. Hers was the only one.
“All in favor of staying hidden?”
Everyone else raised an arm. Ms. J raised two.
“Really?” Frankie sat, unable to make eye contact with anyone. Not that they were trying. Disappointment and shame fought inside Frankie for heart-space domination. But total depression came out of nowhere and stole the title.
Why was everyone so afraid? How would things ever change if they didn’t take a chance? Will I ever dance on the beach with Brett?
“It’s settled, then,” Ms. J announced. “Forty-three to one—”
“Two,” said a boy’s voice.
Frankie searched the room for her only supporter but saw no one.
“Over here,” said a floating sticker hovering above her. The sticker read HELLO, MY NAME IS BILLY. “Hey. I just wanted to let you know you had my vote.”
“Voltage,” Frankie said, trying to sound enthused by her invisible brother in arms.
“What are we going to do?” Ms. J shouted.
“Hide with pride!” everyone shouted back.
Everyone but Frankie.