Chapter 15: Insidious Interviews

The final bell bwooped. It was over. She’d survived.

Day three of school without friends was just like day two, which was exactly like day one. Inconceivable! Social extinction wasn’t something Cleo had ever anticipated. What next? Clawdeen needing hair plugs? Draculaura buying steak knives? Lagoona summering in the Sahara?

Now, faced with the unimaginable, she was forced to make the best of a bad situation and embrace the afterlife…or at least make everyone think she had.

Thank Geb for Deuce. He’d stuck to her like liquid resin. But after seventy-two hours of basketball recaps, sunglass shopping, gossip-free lunches, and noxious guy smells, Cleo was starting to unravel.

Deuce: My game starts in forty.

He was holding the double doors open with the flat of his Varvatos high-tops.

Deuce: Wanna grab a slice first?

Cleo saw herself in the lenses of his brown Carrera aviators. An overcast October sky behind her…a lackluster black turtleneck...expressionless eyes. She sighed. Sports and slices, is that what her life had become?

All around her, Monsters and Ghouls spilled from the pink and purple-colored building. Friends connecting like magnets, anxious to share the details of their afternoon before racing home to text. It was the loneliest part of her exile. The time she dreaded most.

Cleo: I don’t get it. Why would anyone choose teen rogue over Teen Morgue?

Deuce: Their loss.

Deuce was absent-mindedly answering while slapping a fellow baller five and promising to see him on the court in a few.

Cleo, pretending not to be irritated by the interruption, gripped Deuce’s elbow. Ready to begin a death-defying descent down the school’s front steps while teetering in three-inch python mules.

Cleo: You think they’ll change their minds?

Deuce: Can they?

He nodded hello to another casketball buddy.

Cleo: They’d better. The shoot is thirteen days away.

Deuce: Wait, I thought they bailed.

Cleo: I haven’t exactly told the editors about the whole ‘bailed’ thing yet.

Deuce: Nice.

Deuce lifted his palm for a high five.

Deuce: Who said mummies don’t have guts?

Cleo lowered his hand.

Cleo: I thought they would have come crawling back by now.

Just then, Clawdeen, Lagoona, and Draculaura hurried by, giggling and swinging their bags like it was the last day of classes, you among them telling them the time you went to Atlantis and was almost forced to marry the prince. They could have swung them right into Cleo’s heart. It wouldn’t have broken any more.

-------------------

Deuce ate his slice of pizza while Cleo picked at hers with a plastic fork. Currently, she was pretending that it was Frankie and that she was undoing her stitch by disgusting stich. Deuce watched her for a moment before he swallowed his food.

Deuce: Maybe you should talk to them.

Cleo: And say what?

Cleo dropped his elbow.

Cleo: "Sorry for giving you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to wear Aunt Nefertiti’s priceless collection"? Or "Will you ever forgive me for getting you into a top magazine"? How about "My bad for vouching that you’d be professional"!

She was now shouting, no longer caring whether Clawdeen’s keen hearing picked up every sarcasm-soaked word.

Deuce: Yeah.

Deuce adjusted his green-and-tan snowboarding hat.

Deuce: Can't say I didn't try.

Deuce got up and left to get another slice. Hurried footsteps closed in behind them. Cleo took notice, but she didn't care to look.....until they talked.

???: I think ve missed heem.

????: I knew we should have split up. What if Simona and Maddie found him first?

???: Vatever, ve’re the ones in drama club. Ve’ll nail this. Ah-ah-ahhhh!

Cleo turned to see two ninth graders dressed in black unitards and capes. Their faces were pasty white, and their lips cherry red. If it hadn’t been for their wax fangs, one might have thought they’d walked face-first into a wet painting of the Canadian flag.

Instead of joking about them to Deuce, as she normally would, Cleo spoke directly to them.

Cleo: Excuse me. Why are you dressed like that?

The blond—who had obviously sprayed her hair black, because there was a yellow patch in the back—removed her fangs and leaned close to whisper.

???: Haven’t you heard?

She smelled like aerosol and cherry-scented lip gloss.

Cleo lifted one eyebrow and shook her head.

Blonde: Y/N Van Helsing is casting for a reality show about monsters. It’s being picked up by the CW.

"Vampire": I heard Fox.

Cleo: But you’re not monsters.

She began searching the thinning students nearby for a possible explanation.

"Vampire": Yes, ve are.

The vannabe winked and then removed her fangs.

Cleo: It sounds like another practical joke.

Cleo was pretending not to notice Deuce waving at her

Cleo: How’d you hear about this?

Blonde: Why? You wanna try out?

"Vampire": Just don’t be a vampire.

Blonde: How ’bout a pretty witch? We saw a ton of witchy stuff in the costume closet. The drama room should still be unlocked if you want to take a look.

"Vampire": Or an evil Barbie?

Blonde: Or the bogeyman.

"Vampire": Omigod, yes! You can hang bok choy from your nose.

Blonde: Bok choy? Why bok choy? That’s so random!

"Vampire": I love saying it. Bok choy, bok choy, bok choy.

They cracked up.

Cleo glared. If her head could have spun any faster, she would have taken off like a helicopter.

Cleo: How’d you hear about this show?

Blond Patch reached inside her tan leather backpack and handed Cleo a crumpled flyer.

Blonde: There's this girl in our school....old-lady glasses and psycho tights...always trailing the Van Helsings.

Cleo shook her head. She had no idea who this girl was. She didn't sound familiar. And why was she following your family? Seemed like a weird interest.

Blonde: She gave this to me during lunch.

Cleo took it and read it over.

Zombies have taken over Y/N Van Helsing's mind!

They're making him direct a monster propaganda film!

Boycott or be Caught! You Decide!

Meet At the Flagpole By The Main Doors to Organize and Strategize!

3:15 Thursday,

October 1st

*Flyers Paid For By H.U.N.T. (Human Unite! No Tolerance)

Cleo had to re-read the flyer over again to make sure she was reading it right. She then looked at the normies who had given it to her. Now, it was no secret that most normies believed that she herself was one of them. She was a mummy, after all. They probably didn't even know they were talking about this to a ghoul.

Cleo crumpled up the flyer.

Cleo: This is just another practical joke. Trust me.

"Vampire": Vhatever. Your losssss.

The girls hurried off in search of fame while Cleo tossed the flyer into the trash with a swish that would have impressed Deuce, had he seen it.

Instead, he was leaning on a wall, with his back to her, thumb drumming to whatever song was blasting from his phone.

Cleo yanked out his right earbud.

Cleo: Ready.

Deuce looked at her then to the normies.

Deuce: What was that all about?

Cleo: Some normie freaks who want to be in Y/N’s movie. I can’t believe anyone wants to be in that thing.

Deuce: You mean normies, right?

He impatiently began pushing the button at the crosswalk a few times.

Cleo: No, I mean anyone. It’s suicide.

The walk signal flashed.

Deuce: I’m going to be in it.

Deuce stepped off the curb.

Cleo pulled him back by the collar of his leather jacket.

Cleo: What? Why didn’t you tell me?

Deuce: I thought it was assumed.

Cleo: Assumed?

Insecurity slithered up through her belly and wrapped itself around her heart.

Cleo: Why would I assume you’d be in the movie that’s ruining my life? If I were going to assume anything, it would be that you’d be at my shoot for support. Not that you’d be helping the enemy!

An elderly lady shuffled by. She eyed Cleo with contempt, probably wondering why such a nice young girl was standing on a public street corner causing a scene. Cleo crinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at the nosy old bat. The woman looked away in horror. It didn’t solve anything, but it felt good.

Deuce took her hand.

Deuce: Cleo, I’m not the enemy, remember? And neither is Y/N.

That was the last straw.

Cleo: You are now!

She broke free and hurrying off as fast as she could in her three-inch mules. Her heart sank with each tottering step. She was totally alone. But the pity party would have to wait. She needed a plan. Fast. She looked back toward the normie school.

The campus, breezy and gray with the promise of rain, was empty except for two hunched figures sitting cross-legged by the flagpole. Aha!

Purrrr-fect.

Cleo: Meetmearoundbackunderthebleachersacrossfromthesnackmachineifanyoneisthereignoreme.

Cleo whispered to them as she passed. She stomped up the cement steps without looking back.

The back of Merston, aka Normie High, was a place Cleo never visited. She never really visited the back of her own school. As far as she was concerned, tracks were for finding runaway camels, and football was something you got from a stiff pair of sandals. But this was life-and-death critical. Exceptions had to be made.

The two girls were already there when she arrived. After checking to make sure there weren’t any lingering jocks, Cleo climbed the bleachers and sat directly above her marks. She opened her a book, pretending to read about self-government in British North America. After another quick scan, she knocked her wooden heel against the aluminum tier.

Cleo: Can you hear me? One knock for yes.

Knock.

Cleo: Are you working alone?

Knock.

Cleo: Who told you about this movie?

???: Me and the Van Helsings go back. Our families know each other.

Cleo raised a brow. What did she mean by that? Was this another monster hunting family? Were you in kahoots with them?

Cleo: What’s your objective?

???: First, to stop the spread of pro-monster propaganda by shutting down the movie. Second, to prove monsters live in Salem and bring them to justice. Third, to get Y/N to notice me....

Knock!

Cleo: No feelings.

???: Sorry.

Cleo considered this three-pronged plan carefully. Objective one was the same as hers. Shutting down the movie would have the girls begging for forgiveness and, more important, would get them recommitted to Teen Morgue.

Cleo: You have a plan?

Knock.

Cleo: Tell me.

???: How do I know I can trust you?

She stole the upper hand and slapped Cleo with it.

Cleo: I’m here, aren’t I?

???: Not good enough. We don't even know who you are. You could be a spy.

Cleo: I am. But I’m not working for them. I’m working against them. I’ve been watching them for years.

A whispered exchange passed between the girls.

???: Why?

Cleo: I’m a zombie hater. Long story.

Cleo felt some momentarily guilty for betraying Ghoulia. But this was war. And if staying alive meant talking trash about the undead, so be it. She was doing it to protect them.

Cleo: My name is Cleo. And you are?

???: My name is Lilith. Lilith Van Hellscream.

Cleo's eyes grew wide and she looked down to see the two girls looking right back at her. Van Hellscream. She was right.

Another family of Monster Hunters.

Lilith: Well, Cleo, welcome to HUNT.

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From the outside, Dracula's backyard shed had less hang-appeal than a frayed bungee cord. Relegated to the far end of the square lawn, past the tree house, grill, and tetherball, it was the shy kid at the party watching everyone else have fun on the dance floor.

Its worn cedar siding was masked by cobwebs, crusty leaves, overgrown weeds, and bird poo. The windows were streaked with mud. It was hardly the kind of place a gentleman took a lady on their first date. But Frankie was no ordinary lady. And this was no ordinary date. Or....any date, really.

Y/N: Here it is.

You slid open the shed door.

A pair of glowing red eyes flew toward them from the back of the shed and stopped dead in front of Frankie’s face. If she hadn’t seen the fake black rubber bat bobbing up and down on its zip line, she might have sparked until Thanksgiving.

Frankie: Cute.

You lifted your arm to tug the pull chain that dangled from the bald red lightbulb. Frankie inhaled your pine-scented deodorant all the way down to her belly.

Y/N: Whaddaya think?

Had there been a more fitting word than voltage, Frankie would have used it. Instead, she fell back onto your black futon and looked around in awestruck silence, allowing her wide eyes to say it all.

Shoulder-high stacks of classic horror VHS tapes had been glued to form pedestals, on which were displayed his favorite monster busts: Frankenstein, Dracula, Godzilla, Sasquatch, a zombie, a werewolf, the Loch Ness monster, and the headless horseman with a magazine cutout of Spencer Pratt taped to his neck.

The walls were papered from top to bottom with vintage Frankenstein movie posters. Arranged chronologically and protected by high-gloss shellac, the artist renderings of Grandpa Stein made the shed feel more like a scrapbook than a scrap heap.

Frankie: This is like a mini museum.

Your uncle never had a problem with you collecting weird things, so you just had a bunch of stuff. A lot of it was actually his when he was your age.

Y/N: I’ve been collecting since I was seven. It’s weird, but if you think about it, I knew your family before you did.

Your room was more or less the same. Maybe a bit more weapons, and fake heads in jars.

The two of you spent the next fifteen minutes transforming the shed into a film studio. You covered the fake-blood-smeared windows with black felt. Pulled the futon away from the wall to achieve depth. Slid Radar thr bat the bat back into his starting position. And moved all eight VHS pillars into the background of the shot.

Once everything was set, you powered up your lights. Your set snapped to life.

Y/N: Dude, this is gonna be so insane. Totally worth being stalked by half the human drama department. It looked like I was being chased down the street by a pack of vampires in some B movie.

Frankie: I guess we should get started.

You nodded.

Jackson: Killer space.

Jackson Jekyll entered the shed, helping himself to a seat on the futon.

Jackson: So, how does this work?

He began squinting against the glare of the bright white lights.

Y/N: Frankie will ask the questions from behind the camera, I’ll shoot, and handle the audio, make sure you look at her, not directly into the lens. Don’t worry, your name won’t be mentioned, and your face will be blurred.

Frankie: Ready?

She began unfolding her list of ten interview questions.

Jackson pushed back the sleeves of his tan blazer and crossed his legs. The rubber toe of his black Converse was decorated with a giant M written in red ballpoint.

Jackson: Ready.

Frankie: What makes you special?

Jackson: You could say I have a split personality. There are two people living inside me.

Frankie: How did you end up this way?

Jackson: My grandfather was Dr. Jekyll. He became addicted to a potion that gave him courage to act out his darkest fantasies. It altered his genetic code and was passed down to his son, my dad. Traces of it are in my blood. When I sweat ir listen to loud music, it comes out. The chemicals in my sweat trigger something in my brain. That trigger activates D.J. He’s my other half.

Frankie: How long have you known about this?

Jackson: About a week.

You and Frankie looked at each other. You thought he always knew.

Frankie: When did you first notice that you were different?

Jackson: I always knew I had blackouts, but I never knew I actually turned into a party guy named D.J. Hyde. My mom showed me a video.

Frankie: What is the best part about being a monster?

Jackson: Being part of a community that looks out for each other.

Frankie: What is the worst part about being a monster?

Jackson: Hiding.

Frankiw: Do you consider yourself or D.J. dangerous?

Jackson: Only to each other. My mom hasn’t told him about me yet because she’s not sure how he’ll take the news. He might get jealous and try to keep me away or something. Also, I have a feeling D.J. doesn’t study as much as I do. So he could do some serious damage to my GPA. And I’m not that into parties, so I might be a drain on his social life. But other than that kind of thing…no, not really.

Frankie: How would your life change if you didn’t have to hide your identity?

Jackson: I’d play sports ’cause I wouldn’t have to worry about sweating. I’d hang out at the beach. My mom would be able to turn on the heat in the winter. Oh!

Jackson reached into the pocket of his blazer and pulled out his mini fan.

Jackson: And I’d ditch this.

He turned it on and held the plastic rotating blades to his face. Frankie smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. The show-and-tell was great.

Frankie: Why did you agree to be in this film?

Jackson: I want normies, uh, regular people to see that I’m a good person who is tired of hiding and tired of feeling ashamed of who I am.

Frankie: Thanks, Jackson, we’re done.

You and Jackson both looked at her confused.

Jackson: I thought you said there were ten questions. That was only nine.

You lowered your camera.

Y/N: You have to ask him the last one. It will be the best part of the show.

Frankie: I think we’re good.

Frankie began folding and refolding her questions until they could be folded no more.

Frankie: We have six more interviews tonight. We have to stay on schedule.

Jackson: What was the question?

Frankie lowered her gaze.

Y/N: We were kinda hoping you would, you know, let us talk to D.J.

Jackson’s ankle stopped jiggling.

Jackson: You serious?

Frankie wanted to jump through the felt-covered windows and bolt. Breaking up with D.J. would be hard enough. Did it really need to be done that night? In front of everyone?

Y/N: Dude, the transformation will be the hottest part of the show. It would be cool. Normies would see that even at your worst, they have nothing to fear.

Frankie squirmed. She was uncomfortable with this, but you did have a point. It would be good for the show. And good for the show meant good for the monsters.

Jackson leaned back and considered this.

Jackson: On one condition.

Frankie clenched her fists. She knew what was coming next.

Jackson: Break up with D.J.

Y/N: Break up? What are you talking about?

Frankie: Please. I didn’t have my head on straight back then. It was a total rebound thing.

Y/N: Well, then I agree with Jackson. You should definitely break up with him.

Frankie: Why?

Frankie giggled.

Gave her a look. It wasn't fair. She had her answer.

Frankie: Fine. Crank up the lights and play some music.

Jackson, sweat-soaked and stunned, looked straight ahead while his eyes shifted from hazel to black, black to hazel, hazel to black, and finally to blue. His brown layers lightened two shades to a sandy blond, and a light dusting of stubble formed around his jawline.

That’s new, thought Frankie.

D.J. had arrived.

D.J.: Smells like burned toast in here.

He began parting his hair from right to left. He took off Jackson’s tan blazer, balled it up, and tossed it across the shed.

D.J.: Firecracker! Where have you been?

Stunned by the new physical transformation, Frankie spluttered to answer.

Frankie: Uh, where have you been?

D.J. scratched the back of his head.

D.J.: Someone’s a little needy. We just saw each other last night. Before I blacked out…

Frankie: Actually, it was almost a month ago.

D.J.: It’s okay. You don’t have to make up stories. I think it’s cute that you missed me. I missed you too.

He paused.

D.J.: Yo! Van Helsing in the house! Wait. What’s with the camera?

Y/N: We’re making a movie about special people, and you’re special, so we wanted to ask you some questions. And, uh, can we just call you Holt?

Holt: As long as I get to ask her one when we’re done.

He rolled up the sleeves of Jackson’s navy button-down and settling into the futon. Unlike his other half, Holt splayed his arms over the back of the couch, a rock star between two invisible supermodels.

Frankie: Okay. Here we go.

She fumbled nervously through her notes, smearing makeup on the edge of the paper.

Frankie: So, um, what makes you special?

Holt: I’m fun, I’m laid-back, and I get good grades without studying.

Frankie: How did you end up this way?

Holt: One part genes, two parts charm.

Frankie: Genes? Whose genes?

Holt: Old man Hyde’s. The man was a mad partier. I read his journals and, believe me, he was out there.

Frankie considered telling Holt about Jackson right then and there. Imagine the footage! Oprah would have done it. But it wasn’t Frankie’s place. It was his mother’s. Their mother’s. All Frankie could do was skip a few questions and pray Holt didn’t see Jackson’s interview when it aired.

Frankie: Why did you agree to be in this film?

Holt: Because you agreed to let me ask you a question.

Frankie giggled. He was charming.

Frankie: Okay, what’s your question?

She gestured for you to turn off your camera. You did immediately. She steeled herself for the inevitable, reminding her guilty conscience that hurting him would help Jackson and her. The benefits outweighed the costs in a mega way. Besides, he wasn’t around that much anyway, so…

Holt: I was wondering....

Holt took off Jackson’s glasses. His blue eyes were brimming with sincerity. Suddenly, it didn’t matter how well Frankie rationalized breaking his heart. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. He didn’t deserve it.

Holt: Firecracker?

Frankie: Yes?

Frankie asked this question to the rounded toe of her gray boots. Her bolts were starting to itch.

Holt: Do you mind if we see other people?

Frankie/YN: What?

Frankie burst out laughing.

Holt: I know you weren’t expecting this. I’m sorry. It’s just that my life is kind of all over the place right now, and I never know where I’m going to be from one minute to the next. And that’s not fair to you.

You snickered.

Frankie: I totally understand.

She opened the barn door, desperate for a rush of cool air and the return of Jackson.

But before the transformation occurred, she lifted her finger and gave Holt. a spark right on the cheek.

He rubbed the tiny red spot happily.

Holt: What was that for?

Frankie: Something to remember me by.

Holt: I’ll always remember you, Firecracker. Peace out, Helsing!

He winked.

Frankie’s heart space swelled. Tiny electric happy faces rained down inside her like fireworks. And then his eyes turned black. Then blue. Then back to hazel.

Change was definitely in the air. You couldn't help but smile. This documentary was really working out for the better.