CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TOO HOT TO HANDLE
Haylee followed Bekka down the “Till Death Do You Part” aisle of the Costume Castle like a dutiful maid of honor. Melody followed Haylee like a jealous bridesmaid.
“What about this one?” Haylee lifted a sleek wedding dress off the rack.
“Too shiny,” Bekka said.
Haylee held up another one.
“Too lacy.”
“This?”
“Too poufy.”
“This?”
“Too white.”
“Maybe you should go as Bridezilla instead,” Melody grumbled.
“Maybe you should go as the Sulk Ness Monster,” Bekka countered.
Melody couldn’t help giggling at her friend’s goofy retort.
Bekka giggled too. Then she got right back to business. “I want scary-sexy-cool.”
“This?” Haylee tried.
“Too frumpy.”
“This?”
“Too costumey.”
“Bekka, we are at a costume store,” Melody pointed out.
“Good point.” Bekka reached for her necklace and slid the gold B charm back and forth on its chain. “So maybe you should be thinking about your own outfit. The Monster Mash is next Friday. And since today is Saturday, that gives you less than a week to—”
“Stop.” Melody rolled her tired eyes. “I already told you. I’m not going.”
“Why? Because you and Jackson got into some silly fight last night?”
Haylee held up the last wedding dress.
“Too sweet.”
“It wasn’t silly,” Melody snapped, wishing she had never mentioned it. How could she possibly explain something she barely understood herself? Jackson’s behavior left her with a feeling, not a story. And gutted was the only way to describe it.
“Fine, then go with someone else,” Haylee said, pinching the tulle on a cobweb veil and rubbing it between her fingers.
“Ew, I swear I just saw flames. I wonder if they have better quality in the back,” Bekka said. “Hmmmm.” She looked up at the massive spiders hanging from the ceiling and tapped her chin. “Hayl, can you ask the—”
“I’m on it.” Haylee hurried off in search of a manager. Her tiny butt moved with windup-toy efficiency.
“So, do you have any costume ideas?” Bekka asked, trying to sound helpful and supportive.
“How about the Invisible Girl?” Melody ran her hand along the packs of waxy Halloween makeup. Colors called bat black, bloodred, ghoulish green, and phantom white stood at the ready inside their plastic casings. Melody leaned close and sniffed. They didn’t smell anything like Jackson’s pastels. They were sweeter, less intense. But tears gathered anyway.
“Knock knock,” Bekka said, checking the price of a black garter.
“Who’s there?” Melody sniffed.
“Boo.”
“Boo who?”
“Since you’ve been making that sound all morning, why don’t you go as a depressed ghost?”
Melody giggle-sniffed. “It’s not funny.”
“Then why are you laugh-ing?” Bekka said in a singsong.
“I’m no-ot,” Melody sang back.
“Fine.” Bekka stepped away from the thirty-four-dollar wedding dresses and folded her arms across her denim utility jacket. “If you don’t go, I don’t go.”
“Yeah, right.” Melody flicked Bekka’s arm playfully. “And miss the chance to be Brett’s bride?”
“Friends first,” she insisted, her green eyes fixed and sure.
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Then it looks like you’re going.” Bekka’s freckled face radiated victory.
Haylee returned, her hurried stride full of purpose. “I spoke to Gavin, the assistant manager. He said they aren’t expecting any more Bride of Frankenstein dresses until mid-October. But he gave me”—she peeked at the business card in her hand—“Dan Mooney’s number. He’s the manager and will be back on Monday. So we can double-check with him.”
Haylee’s dedication to Bekka tickled Melody’s insides. They weren’t typical tenth graders, but they were loyal. And Melody had grown to adore them for both those reasons.
“Nah, it’s okay.” Bekka sighed, surrendering to the selection. “I’ll make up for it with awesome hair.”
“Then I recommend the shiny one,” Haylee said, pulling it off the rack. “It’s simple and elegant, and my Flower Ghoul dress is shiny too, so it will look well thought out.”
“Brilliant!” Bekka laid the dress over her arm. “Now all we need is…” Her eyes wandered. “Heyyyyy, look who it is.…”
“Hey.” Melody heard a familiar boy’s voice.
She turned. It was Deuce. Despite the low lighting, he wore a pair of dark red Ray-Bans and an Ed Hardy trucker hat. Seeing him made her lips thirst for gloss. It was their way of telling her they’d rather sit this one out. Melody shut her mouth, assuring them she would too.
“Hey.” He smiled awkwardly. Hefty Bose headphones were clamped to his ears, and he made no attempt to remove them.
“What brings you here?” Bekka asked like a nosy mom.
Haylee began typing.
“Uh, costume shopping.” He raised his metal shopping basket. Assuming she had failed to notice his hat selection, he said, “I’m going to be the Mad Hatter.”
Melody resisted the urge to smack her.
Deuce shifted uncomfortably. “She’s not going this year.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Bekka!” Melody snapped. “It’s none of our business.”
“Actually, we’re cool.” Deuce smiled weakly. “It’s just that some of her friends were thinking of passing this year, so she’s probably going to hang with them and—”
“So you’re going solo?”
“Maybe. I’m not completely—”
“Perfect!” Bekka clapped her hands. “Why don’t you and Melly go together?”
“Bekka!” Melody stomped her black Converse. Inside, the ticklish feeling quickly turned to scratching.
“What?” Bekka asked innocently, feigning interest in a blood-soaked bouquet. “It’ll be fun. Don’tcha think, Deuce?”
“Yeah, it would.” He nodded, warming to the idea. “But just as friends, cuz, you know, Cleo and—”
“Of course!” Bekka negotiated.
“Okay.” Deuce smiled sweetly.
“Get out your iPhone,” Bekka insisted. “I’ll bump you Melody’s number.”
“I’m right here, you know,” Melody seethed.
“One-two-threeeeee… BUMP!” Bekka and Deuce knocked phones.
“Got it,” Deuce said to his screen. Then, to Melody, “I’ll text you day of.”
“Cool.” Melody grinned, her mouth still closed.
The short bike ride back from the Costume Castle was mostly silent. Optimistically sunny, the blue sky seemed to challenge Melody the same way Bekka had, making it almost impossible for her to wallow. Every few blocks, Bekka would assure Melody that she was only trying to help. And Melody would say she appreciated it but she hadn’t asked for help. And then more silence.
“This is me,” Melody announced as they approached the top of Radcliffe Way.
“You still don’t have a costume,” Bekka called.
“I still don’t care.” Melody waved good-bye, partially smiling despite herself.
Hurrying past her mother and the bottles of wine she was setting out on the table, Melody stomped up the wooden steps to her room.
“We’re having some neighbors over for a wine-tasting class in an hour,” Glory called up the stairs. “In case you were wondering.”
Melody slammed her bedroom door, letting her mother know she wasn’t.
“I have your fan,” Candace called from her bedroom. “I’ll bring it back when my toenails are dry.”
“Whatever,” Melody mumbled.
She climbed the ladder to her loft bed and flopped, belly first, onto her lavender and lilac Roxy duvet. After the first wave of sobs passed, she rolled over and stared at the wood rafters on her ceiling.
Her iPhone chirped. She had a text. It was from Deuce.
DEUCE: I forgot to ask about your costume.
Melody tossed her phone aside without responding. Was she really going to the dance with Deuce? The thought of a pity date with someone else’s boyfriend felt lonelier than going alone.
Even with open windows, the heat in the house was unbearable, something Beau had been trying to have fixed for weeks. Not that Melody really cared. She was numb all over. If it hadn’t been for the sweat on her forehead, she wouldn’t have even noticed.
She began to wallow all over again. Sweat brought back memories of the previous night… being under the ThermaFoil… kissing Jackson…
“Hey,” she heard him say.
She shot up and bumped her forehead on a beam.
“You okay?” He put his hand on a black rung of the ladder.
Melody nodded, unable to speak.
There he was. Glasses. Shy smile. Green short-sleeved button-down. Pastel-stained fingertips. As if nothing had ever happened. “It’s so hot in here.” He fanned his face.
“Then leave.” She flopped back down on her back.
“I don’t want to,” he protested.
“Well, what do you want, then?”
“I came by to tell you that last night was fun,” he said.
“Yeah, until it wasn’t.”
He sighed. “I blacked out again, didn’t I?”
“More like perved out, Jackson.” Melody sat up. She hung her legs off the edge of her bed, leaned back on her hands, and faced her closet. Looking at him was almost as impossible as forgiving him. “And stop with this whole blacking-out excuse, okay? It’s insulting. Go try it on Firecracker. Maybe she’s bimbo enough to believe it, ’cause I’m not!”
“It’s true,” he pleaded. “I came to by the house in the cul-de-sac.”
“Well, you should have stayed there.”
“If I did, you wouldn’t have a date for the September Semi,” he said, trying to be cute.
“Yes, I would,” she said, trying to hurt him. “I’m going with Deuce.”
He didn’t respond. Mission accomplished.
“Melody.” Jackson went to the foot of the bed and grabbed her swinging feet. “The last thing I remember is kissing you under that blanket. After that I—”
“Trust me, Jackson.” She finally looked at him. His face was covered in sweat, shame, and confusion. “You’re not blacking out. I almost wish you had.”
“Then why don’t I remember anything?” He wiped his forehead.
“You do. You just use this blackout thing as an excuse to say what you want and kiss who you want and—”
Jackson removed his glasses and unbuttoned his shirt, giving Melody a backstage pass to his glistening boy-band abs.
“What are you doing?” She reached for her iPhone. Involving the police was not out of the question, and she began recording just in case she needed proof.
“You again?” He lifted his brows. “I should have known from all this sweat.” He ran his fingers along his chest. “Girl, you make me hotttttttt.”
“Jackson, enough!” Melody jumped down from her bed.
“Why do you keep calling me Jackson?”
“Because that’s your name,” Melody insisted, holding her white iPhone to his face.
“Really?” Melody challenged. “What is it, then?”
“D.J.,” he said right to the lens. “D.J. Hyde. As in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Just like my great-grandfather… who was super-freaky, by the way. I found some papers in our attic, and it looks like he did all these weird experiments with tonics back in the day—experiments on himself! After he drank these potions, he turned into quite a wild man. I’m not into drinking, but I do like a good dance party.” He winked and then looked around the messy room. “Got any music?”
Melody ended her recording. Before she could stop him, D.J. Hyde had hurried toward the white docking station on her desk and attached his own iPhone. “Carry Out” by Timbaland came blasting from her speakers. Swiveling his hips and spreading his arms so his shirt looked like wings, he began dancing as if performing for a stadium full of screaming girls.
“What’s going on in here?” Candace appeared in the doorway holding Melody’s fan. Barefoot, dressed in baggy boyfriend jeans and a tight white tank, she had the whole lazy-sexy look down. “Are you shooting an audition tape for something?”
“Yeah, it’s a little show I like to call And Who Might You Be?” He removed the fan from her arms and pulled her toward him.
“Candace.” She giggled, allowing herself to be taken.
Timbaland’s beats came at them like balls in a batting cage, and D.J. returned each one with an overhead snap of his fingers.
“Melly, who knew?” Candace called above the music. Then she raised her hands above her head too.
“Not me.” Melody plugged in the fan.
“Wind machine!” D.J. shouted.
Suddenly, he and Candace were gyrating in front of the fan. D.J.’s blowing shirt made them look as if they were actually inside Timbaland’s video.
“Whoooo-hooooooo!” Candace shouted, her hands now turning tight circles above her head. She leaned over and cranked up the speed of the fan.
D.J. held out his hands like Superman. “I’m flying!” he announced as his shirt billowed behind him like a cape.
“What’s going on up there?” Glory called.
“Nothing,” Melody answered. The truth was impossible to explain.
“Well, turn that nothing down, please. My guests will be here any minute.”
More than happy to put an end to the party, Melody quickly removed the iPhone from the dock.
It took a few seconds for Candace and D.J. to stop dancing. A few more for them to stop laughing. And a few more for the room to cool down.
“That was awesome.” Candace high-fived her dance partner. “You’re much more fun than you look.”
“’Scuse me?” He put on his glasses, sounding slightly confused.
“Those glasses and that shirt.” Candace pointed at his chest. “You know, when it’s buttoned.” She giggled. “They make you seem kind of nerdy. But you’re fun.”
He looked down and quickly fastened his buttons. “I am?”
Melody felt the sting of clarity zip up her spine. “What’s your name?”
“Huh?”
“What’s your name?” she pressed.
“Jackson.” He backed up, leaned against her ladder, and rubbed his slick forehead. “Oh no. Did I just have another blackout?”
“Oh yeah,” Melody said. “Only you didn’t black out.” She stood beside him and pressed PLAY on her iPhone. “Jackson, meet D.J. Hyde.”
“Jackson, wait!” Melody called. But he didn’t listen.
After seeing the way he had acted in front of Melody, he hurried off faster than the paparazzi on a Britney lead.
Candace didn’t say a word. All she did was glare at Melody and shake her head disapprovingly.
“What?”
“Exactly.” Candace lifted her blond hair and fanned the back of her neck.
“Exactly what?” Melody snapped, her thoughts smudged and whirling like Jackson’s carousel sketch.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“What can I do?” Melody glanced at the unpacked boxes in her room. Maybe she could tackle those. “I don’t think it’s a call-the-police kind of thing.”
“Maybe you should go after him,” Candace suggested, like someone who actually cared.
“No, thanks.” Melody picked a loose cuticle until it bled. “A relationship with an unpredictable… whateverthatwas… is not the kind of thing I’m looking for right now.”
“Well then, you’re missing out.” Candace turned to leave, her butt splashing around inside the excess denim of her saggy jeans.
“Wait!”
Candace froze.
“What do you mean, I’m missing out?” Melody asked.
“Unpredictable is fun!” Candace said, like she knew firsthand. “Even if Jackson’s only around half the time, you’re still ahead of most girls.”
Melody thought of him and smiled. “He’s nice, isn’t he?”
“Go find him,” Candace insisted, her aqua-blue eyes radiating sincerity. “Because that’s what sticking with something means.” She snapped her fingers. “Love Doctor out.”
Melody raced down the stairs and pushed past the tall couple in her doorway.
“Sweetheart, I’d like you to meet the Steins from down the street. They have a daughter your age—”
“Nice to meet you,” Melody called over her shoulder. “I’ll be home soon.”
“Don’t worry,” the woman with the long black hair told Glory. “My daughter is the same way.”
Charging toward the white cottage, Melody felt like a romantic-comedy cliché—racing to the airport before her jilted lover’s plane took off. But that’s where the similarities ended. As far as she knew, the girl chasing after a jilted crazy had not been done.
The door to his house was open a crack. “Jackson?” she gently called. “Jackson?” She pushed the door with her index finger. An icy blast of air stung her hand. Melody stepped inside. It couldn’t have been more than sixty degrees. Were thermostats in Salem really so difficult to control?
At first Melody thought better of barging into Jackson’s home, especially since his mother was her science teacher, but he had done it to her twice, so…
“Jackson?” she called softly.
Dusty velvet couches, dark Oriental rugs, and cluttered corners filled with knickknacks that could have arrived via time machine from Old World London cramped the small space. And bogged it down with a sense of historical weariness—an unexpected contrast to the bright, cheery innocence of the exterior. Melody smiled to herself. It was a contrast she knew all too well.
“If you knew who I was, why didn’t you tell me?” Jackson shouted from somewhere on the second floor.
Melody heard his mother’s voice. “I wanted to protect you!” she insisted.
Melody knew she should leave but couldn’t.
“From what?” Jackson sobbed. “Waking up in strange yards? Making a fool of myself at the neighbors’ house? Freaking out the only girl I’ve ever really liked?”
Melody couldn’t help smiling. He really liked her.
“Because you haven’t protected me from any of that!” Jackson continued. “It’s all happened. And that was just in the past twenty-four hours! Who knows what I’ve done in the last fifteen years.”
“That’s the whole point,” his mother explained. “This hasn’t been going on for fifteen years. It started to get worse as you got older.”
They were silent for a second.
“What triggers it?” Jackson asked, sounding calmer.
“Overheating,” Ms. J said softly.
Melody shuffled through the memories of her D.J. encounters. Of course! ThermaFoil… her bedroom… the fan…
“Overheating,” Jackson repeated calmly. As though he should have known it all along. “That’s why it’s always so cold in here.”
“And why I never let you play sports,” Ms. J explained, sounding relieved to share her secret.
“But why heat?”
“Jackson, sit down for a second.” There was a pause. “I’ve never told you this, but your great-grandfather was Dr. Jekyll.… He was a shy, gentle man, just like you. But sometimes his shyness held him back. So he created a potion that gave him courage, and made him more… forceful. He became dependent on it, and eventually… it killed him.”
“But how did I—” Jackson began.
His mother cut him off. “The potion was toxic and ended up corrupting his DNA. And the trait was passed down. Your grandfather and father had it too.”
“So Dad didn’t abandon us?”
“No.” Her voice cracked. “We met when I was a genetic research scientist, and… I did everything I could.” She sniffed. “But the mood swings became intolerable, and it… well, it drove him mad!”
Jackson didn’t respond. Ms. J was silent. The only sounds coming from the upstairs room were sniffles and heartbreaking whimpers.
Melody cried too. For Jackson. For his mother. For his ancestors. And for herself.
“Is that going to happen to me?” he finally asked.
“No.” Ms. J blew her nose. “It’s different with you. Perhaps it’s mutating. But it seems to affect you only when you get too hot. Once you cool down, you shift back.”
There was a long pause.
“So are you like, his”—he paused—“… his mother too?”
“I am,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Because he is you… only different.”
“Different how?”
“D.J. is comfortable in the spotlight, whereas you tend to be more shy. He loves music; you love art. He is confident, while you’re thoughtful. You are both terrific in your own way.”
“Does he know about me?”
“No.” She paused. “But he knows who his ancestors are.”
“How—”
Ms. J cut him off. “D.J. has done some digging into his past, but he doesn’t know about you. He thinks he has blackouts too. He can’t be trusted. No one can. You have to keep this to yourself. Promise me. Can you do that?”
Melody took that as her cue to slip out. She didn’t want to hear Jackson’s answer. She had heard too much already.