CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HIDE AND GO SHRIEK
“Can anyone tell me what an autotroph is?” Ms. J asked her science students, holding up a flash card.
Frankie’s Fierce & Flawless–covered hand shot up. Most of her friends were still yawning from the late-night RIP gathering, but she was on fire—in a good way.
“Yes, Frankie?” Ms. J asked.
“An autotroph is something that makes energy directly from the sun.”
“Very good.” She held up another card. “What about anabiotic?”
Frankie raised her hand again, wishing she had chosen a more forgiving blazer. Tweed was so tight and itchy. At least borrowing Lala’s pink cashmere scarf allowed her to lower the collar. But now she was stuck wearing a scarf in class. What next? A whiplash brace? A plastic dog cone? Clawdeen’s tagged tuft?
Ms. J scanned the four rows of desks. Her hazel eyes considered each student equally, as if yesterday had never happened.
Meanwhile, Lala, Cleo, Clawdeen, and Blue were just as nonchalant. Dressed in their regular school clothes, doodling in their notebooks, checking for split ends, picking their cuticles… They behaved exactly like every other girl in the class. Bored and normal.
The only person showing any RAD pride was Brett, who sat next to her carving a bikini-clad zombie into his desk. It was definitely a sign. Their beach day was coming.
“Yes, Frankie?” Ms. J said, sounding a little bored herself.
“Anabiotic describes something that is living in a state of suspended animation.”
“Good.” She flipped a card. “And biotic?”
“A cyborg!” Brett blurted. “Like Steve Austin on that old TV show The Six Million Dollar Man.”
“Who?” Bekka asked, sounding slightly jealous.
“He was so awesome.” Brett perked up. “He could run sixty miles an hour, and his eye was like a zoom lens and—”
“That’s bionic,” Ms. J corrected. Everyone snickered. “I’m asking about bio-tic.”
Frankie raised her hand, determined to show Brett that she was more than just a pretty face.
“Anyone other than Frankie?” Ms. J sighed.
No one breathed.
“Biotic describes something that’s living,” Frankie volunteered, grateful for her parents’ biology obsession.
“Good.” Ms. J carefully pinched a piece of chalk, mindful of the dusty blackboard ledge and what it might do to her dark attire. “As you know, all things are either—”
Frankie raised her hand again and spoke. “Are the undead anabiotic?”
Lala, Cleo, Clawdeen, and Blue lifted their heads and exchanged a fearful glance.
Ms. J removed her black-framed glasses. “Excuse me?”
Frankie couldn’t see the logic in being intimidated by someone who was obviously intimidated herself. Raising awareness was the first step in creating change… and getting Brett to notice her.
“What about zombies? Or vampires and phantoms? What are they considered?”
“Yeah!” Brett chimed in. “Zombies are definitely anabiotic.”
He smiled at Frankie. She radiated back. Bekka, who was seated on the other side of him, kicked the metal leg of his chair.
Ms. J slammed the chalk back on the ledge. “That’s quite enough! I’m talking about real science here. Not some mythical—”
Reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo…
“On your desks!” Ms. J shouted. She jumped up on her own desk at the front of the room.
No one moved. Instead, all the students looked to their neighbors, wondering if this was some new prank-show trick. How else to explain a deafening siren, their teacher’s sudden hysteria, and their confusion?
Reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo…
“Now! This is an emergency drill.”
This time they did what they were told.
“Good thing I wore my flats today,” Cleo mumbled, admiring the bronze finish on her three-inch gladiator wedges.
The girls giggled, still not knowing what they were being drilled for.
Reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo…
“Silence!” Ms. J snapped.
“Tell that to the siren,” Clawdeen barked. Her hands were covering her ears, and her face was contorted in pain. “It’s deafening.”
Reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo…
“Maybe you have bionic ears,” Brett joked, from the top of his desk.
“Or dog senses,” Bekka added.
“You would know,” Clawdeen hissed. “With all those freckles, you must be half-Dalmatian.”
Bekka gasped and then looked to Brett, expecting him to rush to her defense. But he couldn’t. He was too busy fighting the urge to laugh.
Reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo…
“Now lift up your chairs and jab them into the air,” Ms. J insisted, demonstrating on her own desk. With her black skirt, satin blouse, and paint-the-town-red lips, she could have been in a photo shoot for a new trend called lion-tamer chic. “And make as much noise as you can.”
She eyed her students, who were all at various stages of chair lifting and jabbing. Yet not even the most obedient ones could bring themselves to make noise.
“What are we doing?” Cleo asked, refusing to lift a heavy chair unless absolutely necessary.
Whooping, shouting, yelping, and stomping echoed through the empty halls. Clearly, the other classes were more open to this mysterious exercise.
“It’s a drill,” Ms. J repeated, still poking at the air with chair legs.
Reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo…
“What kind of drill?” Several voices overlapped.
“A monster drill, okay?”
“A what?” Lala asked through tight lips.
“A monster drill,” Ms. J lowered the chair, “in case there’s a sighting at our school. Principal Weeks thinks it’s best to be prepared.”
Seriously? Frankie thought her teacher’s matter-of-fact attitude was disturbing. Is she really okay with this?
“Yeeeeeeah!” Brett began waving his chair around and hollering like a wild warrior.
The other normies did too. Frankie couldn’t blame them. They had inherited this fear from their parents. But if they were taught to be afraid, couldn’t they be taught not to be?
Lala, Cleo, Blue, and Clawdeen avoided each other’s eyes and halfheartedly performed the absurd exercise, just like Ms. J.
More than anything, Frankie wished she could do the same. Cast her beliefs aside for the greater good. Make a mockery of her life instead of celebrating it. Hide with pride…
But it was impossible. Simply thinking about it filled her heart space with bricks. It was one thing for RADs to try to fit in. Acting afraid of themselves was quite another. Because fear leads to more fear, as was demonstrated by the horror movies that had started all of this. Until fear was gone, nothing would change.
Reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo reeeeewoooooo…
Frankie released her chair. It landed with the sound of blatant refusal. Melody, the other new girl, did the same.
“Pick them up, girls. Let’s go!” Ms. J ordered, as if clueless to the mini-rebellion.
“But I’m not afraid,” Frankie said without sparking.
Brett stopped roaring and examined Frankie with renewed interest. His black jagged hair poked out in all directions, but his denim-blue eyes were fixed directly on her.
“Well, you should be,” Ms. J threatened.
“Cool,” Brett whispered.
Frankie turned toward him. “Huh?”
He pointed to her neck. A snap of electricity zipped up her spine. All that poking and jabbing had loosened Lala’s scarf. Her bolts were sticking out!
“Love the piercings,” he whispered, then opened his mouth and flashed his silver tongue stud.
“Cool.” Frankie giggled.
Finally, the siren stopped.
“Please take your seats.” Principal Weeks’s pinched voice came over the PA system. “Rest assured that this was only a drill. But we want to be prepared in the event of another sighting,” he said.
Frankie rolled her eyes. If they only knew their dangerous “monster” was acing science.
“Now, guys and ghouls…” He snickered at his lame joke. “The faculty here at Merston High wants to show these colossal creatures that we’re not afraid.”
Everyone woo-hooed in agreement.
“So this year’s theme for the September Semi is… MONSTER MASH!” He paused, giving the students more time to cheer.
“A gift certificate for a dinner cruise on the Willamette Queen will be awarded to the couple with the creepiest costume, so get your tickets before they’re all sold owww-oooooooooooot! Mwwwahh ahhh ahhhh ahhhhhhhh!” He signed off with his best howl-at-the-moon-maniacal-laughter impression. A clap of thunder sound effect followed.
Frankie tugged her seams from embarrassment.
“I’m Frankenstein!” Brett called out.
“I’ll be your lovely bride,” Bekka gushed. She grabbed his arm and glared at Frankie. Her eagle eyes hadn’t missed the moment between them.
More than anything, Frankie wanted to tell them they’d be going as her grandparents. And that the real lovely bride’s wedding gown was in her garage. And that Grammy Frankenstein danced barefoot that night because her shoes rubbed her seams. And that Grandpa made all the men put their suit jackets on the floor so she wouldn’t get her feet dirty. But apparently that story was too frightening to share.
Slumped in her chair, Frankie folded her arms across her itchy blazer. She glared at Ms. J, sending invisible rays of shame to the one woman she had hoped would save them from all of this. But Ms. J avoided Frankie’s eyes, choosing to sift through a stack of handouts instead.
Bwooop. Bwoooop.
Class was finally over.
“Frankie, please stay behind,” Ms. J said, still fussing with her papers.
Instead of wishing her luck, the RADs quickly gathered their books and hurried out, while the normies took their time, exchanging costume ideas and whispering about their ideal dates.
Once the room had emptied, Frankie approached Ms. J’s desk.
The teacher removed her glasses and slammed them on the wooden desk. “What do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea how risky your behavior is?”
Frankie sparked.
Ms. J exhaled. “Listen,” she said, putting her glasses back on, “I know that you’re new here. I understand your frustration and your desire to change things. And you’re not alone. Every one of your friends has felt it. I have too. And we’ve all tried. But eventually we each realized that it’s much easier, and a lot safer, to go with the flow.”
“But—”
“You don’t think I want to march up to”—she pointed at the speaker that had broadcast Principal Weeks’s announcement—“and tell him that his silly desk dance is unnecessary? Or that it’s more humiliating than the YouTube clip of Tom Cruise on Oprah?”
“But—”
“Because I do. I want to say all of those things and dozens more.” Her jaw tensed. “But I can’t. I have a son to protect. And as a single mother I have to put his needs before mine.”
“But saying those things would help him,” Frankie finally said. “It would change things, and he could have a better life than he has now.”
“That’s true. The kind of change you’re talking about would make his life better.” Ms. J rested her chin on her elbows. “But that’s not the change we’d get. We would have to leave Salem and start all over again somewhere else. Coming out would take us right back to the 1930s, Frankie.”
“Um, I think the monster drill has already accomplished that.”
“Not even close,” Ms. J said. “People lost everything back then; some even lost their lives.”
Ms. J gently retied Frankie’s pink scarf so it lay snug against her bolts. “Someday things will be different. But for now I need you—we all need you—to lie low and play the game.” She smiled kindly. “Can you do that?”
Frankie sighed.
“Please?”
“Okay.”
“Thank you.” Ms. J smiled. Her teeth looked extra white against her matte red lipstick.
Without another word, Frankie gathered her books and left.
Merging with the foot traffic in the hall and hearing how excited everyone was to dress like RADs, she couldn’t help thinking that maybe her generation was more open than her parents’. Sure, the girls at Mount Hood High had freaked when they saw her, but that was understandable. They had never seen anyone with mint-green skin before. It was a natural reaction.
But what if they went to her Facebook page? Read her profile? Watched videos of her and the Glitterati dancing to Lady Gaga? Learned about her Brett crush? And friended her friends? Would they react differently? Frankie asked herself these questions over and over again on her way to her second-period class, and each time she arrived at the same conclusion: She had started all of this. And she would end it.
Frankie would keep her promise to Ms. J and play the game.
But she would follow her own set of rules.