Chapter 23: Moody Mooncycle

It was that time of the month.

Clawdeen didn’t have to look up to know the moon was almost full. She could feel it. Every time Lala urged her to “brake” or “turn the wheel,” she wanted to cry, rip her friend’s tongue out, or both.

Draculaura: Why don’t we skip the parallel stuff and try regular parking?

She eyed the empty lot in front of the inn. Her pallor was no longer caused by hunger or lack of sunlight (thanks to Harriet’s cooking and Draculaura’s daily hikes with Clawd) but rather by Clawdeen’s jerky driving.

Claqdeen: What’s the point? I’ll never get my license.

Draculaura: Anything’s possible. Watch.

She popped off the cap of her matte red lipstick and swiped it across her mouth with newfound confidence.

Draculaura: Not a single smear on my cheek.

Clawdeen: How’d you do that?

She knew how hard it was for the vamp, who couldn’t see her reflection, to color inside the lines.

Draculaura: I can do my eyes too.

She began batting her smudge-free mascaraed lashes.

Clawdeen: Did you learn that with your travels?

Clawdeen casually turned down the heat.

Draculaura leaned forward and turned it back up.

Draculaura: No, today. While you were napping. Clawd helped me.

Clawdeen: Clawd?

Again?

First he persuaded Draculaura to taste steak. Granted, she fang-speared it and then spit it into a napkin, but still. It was the closest she’d ever come to a real bite. Then he got her to embrace natural light (and a lack of sleep) on their parasol-free sunrise hikes. Now this?

Draculaura: Yeah.

She giggled at the memory.

Draculaura: He made a papier-mâché mold of my face, and we practiced on that.

Clawdeen: That hairy, football-playing meathead helped you put on makeup?

Clawdeen knew Clawd was a much better catch than the oaf she’d just described. But the guy who arts-and-crafted a mask to teach Lala how to apply MAC was not the Clawd she knew. The Clawd she knew cared about yard lines, not lip lines; blitzes, not blushes; formations, not foundations. Maybe he was feeling the effects of the waxing moon? The stress of life in hiding? Or ball withdrawal.

Lala rubbed her fangs to check for lipstick. For the first time in the history of their friendship, her index finger came back clean.

Draculaura: Well, he won’t be hairy for long.

Clawdeen: What’s that supposed to mean?

Clawdeen heard the possessiveness in her own voice. But who was she possessive of? Her brother? Her best friend? Or the way she used to be the first to know?

Draculaura: It means we made a deal.

She wrapped her black cashmere scarf around her slight shoulders.

Draculaura: He said if I mastered my makeup, he’d let me give him a mohawk.

Clawdeen: Fur real?

Draculaura: Yup, as soon as your driving lesson is done. Signed a contract and everything.

She pulled a piece of paper from her skinny-jeans pocket and flashed Clawd’s signature.

Clawdeen: Shut the duck up!

Clawdeen stomped on the pedal under her foot. The truck lunged forward.

Clawdeen: Ahhhhhh!

Draculaura: Stop!

Lala screamed as they careered toward a metal Dumpster by the side of the inn.

Clawdeen jammed on the brakes with the force of someone who just realized her older brother had a crush on her best friend. The scrappy jock who liked peppy blonds and the serious brunette who insisted on a gentleman? Really? And then, SLAP! The air bags inflated.

Everything became silent.

Draculaura: I think that’s enough for today.

The airbag popped and beganbto deflat. She then turned to Clawdeen.

Draculaura: Wanna come watch the haircut?

Clawdeen shook her head. She felt snippy enough.

Instead, she opted to keep her face hidden inside the cornstarch-scented pouf until life made sense again.

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

You let out a yawn as you walked through the halls of Monster High. It felt weird, but it wasn't empty anymore. Most of the students were back, now staying in the dorms, and classes were well on their way of being back on track.

You had gotten some rest, but not nearly enough. You had been working to get everyone back or at least spread the word that Monster High was now safe again. Dracula and your uncle were teaching classes and Frankie had been working with Cleo to get more dorms ready.

Things were starting to look up. You even texted Draculaura earlier and she told you that Clawdeen was still doing well. Though, she was bummed that her Sassy Sixteen, whatever that was, wasn't happening.

Out of everyone, Clawdeen was the only one you haven't spoken to. You wanted to try and clear the huge misunderstanding between the two of you, but you had no idea how. That was until Cleo started complaining to you about the set up in front of the Wolfs' residence.

Cleo: You would think that they would cancel the party but they still have the tents set up. When I came in Monday the people they hired were decorating.

You held onto your locker door as you looked at her in surpise.

Y/N: Wait, what?

Cleo: I said....

Y/N: No no, not that. The party isn't canceled?

Cleo: It might be, but no one told the staff.

That was....actually a great thing. This could be it. The way to bring Clawdeen back. You smiled, pulling your phone out to send a message to Draculaura.

Y/N: Well, guess we can't let it go to waste. When is it?

Cleo: Friday.

The same day as the Gaga Concert. Yeah, you can make it work. You can definitely make it work.

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

Clawdeen’s phone pinged with another what’s your ETA? text from Cleo, and she quickly shut it off.

Clawdeen: Remind me why I planned my Sassy Sixteen so close to the full moon?

Clawdeen and Draculaura descended the inn’s green-carpet staircase.

Draculaura: We all warned you. But you insisted it had to be date-accurate or it would feel fake.

Clawdeen: Well, I wish you’d made me un-insist. So far I’ve spent my entire birthday waxing, clipping my nails, and peeing.

Draculaura: Whaddaya think would happen after you drank two pots of that Tame and Tranquil herbal tea?

Claqdeen: I had to do something! I transition in two days. I’m having severe mood-management issues.

She stopped to check her curls in the foyer mirror. Still full and shiny, they had at least three more hours before new growth dragged down their bounce. Plenty of time to make an entrance and pose for pictures.

Draculaura: Maybe it’s a good thing the Sassy was canceled.

After years of friendship, Clawdeen was still caught off guard by the vamp’s missing reflection.

Draculaura: Now you don’t have to worry about accidentally eating anyone.

Clawdeen: La!

Draculaura: I’m kidding. Anyway, celebrating with your family will be fun.

Clawdeen nodded, anxious for the moment when she could fill her friend in on the plan. Withholding the truth from Draculaura felt like repressing a giant cherry Coke burp. But they still had the family dinner to get through. If Cleo’s relationship with Deuce had taught her anything, it was that crushes and secret-keeping didn’t mix. All that making out must loosen the jaw joints, allowing classified information to escape. One slipup by Draculaura, and Clawdeen’s special night would be more busted than a perp on Law & Order. No amount of burp relief was worth that.

Once in the lobby, Draculaura teetered toward the restaurant in her gray open-toed booties so she could get the door for Clawdeen. Her silky high ponytail wagging with glee, the vamp looked fetching in a dark plum chiffon ruffle minidress. Her skin had a kiss of color, her makeup application was flawless, and her wise black eyes seemed lit from within.

Ever since she arrived, her style had become less Jenni and more Woww. At least tonight her hotness wouldn’t be wasted on the transitioning Wolf brothers. It would be whisked away to an unforgettable party and admired by Merston High’s elite. Clawdeen couldn’t wait for Draculaura to find out. She was going to freak.

Draculaura: Hungry?

Clawdeen: Not really.

Even though her appetite had been raging all day. Despite her mounting desire to feast, she’d managed to quell her instincts with endless gum chewing, like a true Hollywood party girl. After all, she had a size-four dress to squeeze into and a dance floor to dominate. Disco balls tonight. Meatballs tomorrow.

Draculaura: Well, that’s too bad because…

She reached the doors and pushed them open.

Draculaura: Surprise!

What the…?

Pink’s “Raise Your Glass” began blaring from the speakers. In time with the chorus, Don stood and raised a carton of milk.

Don: We know how badly you wanted a Sassy Sixteen, so here it is.

As usual, the serving dishes were half empty, her brothers’ bellies already half full.

Draculaura: Forks down.

She didn't realize how much willpower that required at this time of the month. Yet somehow, whether out of love for their sister or lust for her best friend, the boys managed. On her three-count, they began singing “Happy Birthday” on bended knee.

When they were through, Clawdeen applauded wildly. Eyes welling with tears, she thank-hugged them all while Harriet snapped pictures.

Clawdeen: This is insane.

HAPPY SASSY SIXTEEN, DEENIE! had been spray-painted across a gigantic banner made of old white tablecloths that stretched from the bar all the way to the fireplace mantel. The tables were covered in lit votives that cast frolicking shadows on the stone walls. The seats, filled by the salvaged mannequins from her father’s construction job, were lifting champagne flutes of what Clawdeen assumed to be sparkling cider.

Thanks to a scanner, old yearbooks, and a photo printer with the zoom feature, each mannequin wore the face of someone on her Sassy guest list. The gesture reminded Clawdeen of Perez Hilton, creepy and awesome at the same time.

Her heart swelled with emotion. In spite of their chauvinistic old-school values, she adored her brothers. They obviously adored her too. If they only knew she planned to flee the instant the smoke cleared on her candles. She felt guilty just thinking about it.

Harriet: Dad is so sorry he couldn’t be here.

Clawdeen: It’s okay.

Escaping would be way easier without her father sniffing around.

Harriet: He tried to get away for the night, but the Panisses are huge clients….

Nino burst out laughing.

Nino: She said huge Paniss.

The boys cracked up. Clawdeen did too. Draculaura shivered.

Clawd took off his navy cardigan and draped it over her shoulders. Draculaura acted surprised by his gesture. He shrugged, like he would have done it for anyone. Like celebrities on a movie set, they kidded themselves into thinking their relationship was a secret. As if maintaining his precious mohawk wasn’t a big enough indicator of how devoted he was to her already.

Harriet: Wait. You have to open your present.

Rocks reached under the table and presented Clawdeen with a Singer XL-150.

Rocks: It’s a karaoke machine!

Howie: No, it’s not. It’s a sewing machine.

Rocks: Oh, okay. That’s why it says Singer, genius.

They laughed.

Clawdeen searched her mother’s caramel-colored eyes, wondering how the family could afford something so high-tech.

Harriet: It was Nino’s idea, but we all pitched in. Suite nine needs some new bedding, and I was hoping you could make it.

Clawdeen’s heart thumped against her rib cage.

Clawdeen: Nino!

He covered his face with a napkin.

Nino: Sorry, I didn’t want to stand there filming while you sewed it all by hand. It would have taken hours.

Don: It was either that or wrap up Mr. Stein.

Everyone laughed, except Clawdeen. Thanks to her brother’s betrayal, she was about to end up like a Colombian coffee bean, grounded for life.

Clawdeen: Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll take it all down. I promise.

Harriet: Why? It looks great. Now that you’re sixteen, you should have your own bathroom, so it’s all yours.

Clawdeen jumped up and hug-thanked her mother twice: once for giving her life and a second time for letting her decorate it. Creative license today, driver’s license tomorrow! She had finally tasted her first slice of freedom pie. But instead of feeling satisfied, Clawdeen craved more. It was that sweet.

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

Frankie jammed her hands into the pockets of her black skinny jeans and turned away from the window. As pumped as she was for Portland, this was the only stop she had been thinking about. The goal, to get past it without sparking, involved not only her fingers but her memories too.

Your eyes narrowed with concern.

Y/N: You okay?

Frankie: Voltage.

She kept wishing you would stop caring so much and just kiss her. Then she’d associate New Salem with your lips.

Ding. Ding.

The doors slid open. Frankie refused to think about the Ghoul Next Door incident.

Girls: Don’t call my name, don’t call my name, Alejandro…

Four bleached-out blonds stepped onto the train belting the chorus of “Alejandro.” Dressed in matching black shirtdresses and turquoise tights, with GAGA written in pink across their chests, they reminded Frankie why she was there. Suddenly, all thoughts of boys, kisses, and interviews were left behind in New Salem, where they belonged.

Still singing, the Gagas sat directly across the aisle from you. Tanned and dark-featured, wearing faded jeans, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and gray-and-turquoise Nikes, you were unquestionably something to behold. But so were they. Loud, proud, and free of inhibitions, they were everything Frankie aspired to be. And everything she could be…at least for tonight. Without further hesitation, she pulled her hands out of her pockets, knelt on her seat, and joined in.

“Don’t wanna kiss, don’t wanna touch…”

Nudging you, she urged you to sing along. And you did.

A briefcase-wielding man folded up his newspaper and switched cars. You took that as an invitation to sing louder. Soon, fans from all over the train began spilling in, each one a walking homage to Lady Gaga’s unique sense of style. You, who didn’t botch a single lyric, waved your arms as if conducting an orchestra. Every now and then you'd crack Frankie up with your falsetto and then go back to charming the other girls with your gleaming smile.

Carefree and uninhibited, Frankie had never felt so complete. She wasn’t thinking about monsters or normies. Danger or safety. Hiding or protests. No one was. For the first time in her life, none of that mattered. Her only concern was having fun.

Arm in arm, the musical flash mob got through every song on The Fame Monster and half of The Fame before reaching their stop. While the train slowed, they crowded around the doors anxiously, primed and ready for the real thing.

Frankie's outfit, black lace-up boots, black skinny jeans, a fitted black turtleneck, and a fur vest (inspired by Cleo’s), had been deliberate. Tonight she’d be the “normal” one. Perhaps then she’d understand what normies were so afraid of. But it was obvious by the way they’d accepted her that “mainstream versus monster” wasn’t the issue. Connecting was.

You stepped onto the crowded platform.

Y/N: You think the concert will be as fun as the train ride was?

Frankie: I’m not sure it can be.

Y/N: I’m glad you made me learn the words.

Frankie took your hand.

Frankie: I’m glad about a lot of things.

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After all of them stuffed themselves with Harriet’s decadent seven-layer chocolate cake, the guys hurried off to watch football. Lala planned to meet Clawd by the fireplace after the game so she could “kick his hairy behind in checkers.” But Clawdeen asked if they could schedule their match for another night. It was her birthday, and she wanted some girl time. Alone. Lala flicked herself in the fangs for being so dense and was more than happy to oblige.

Clawdeen: Wanna make some curtains for our new room?

Clawdeen was just faking conversation until they were out of earshot. Harriet, who was closing down the dining room, had the best hearing in the family. So it was always wise to err on the side of caution.

Draculaura: Did your dad really get all those mannequins from a construction job?

Clawdeen: Yup. He tore down an old department store and kept them. You should see what he brings home from jobs. I have an entire shed full of junk. Tires, fabric, nails, cell-phone batteries…

Draculaura: Really.

Draculaura yawned.

Draculaura: Sounds exciting.

Clawdeen: Oh, it is. You really should see it sometime.

When they finally reached the lobby, Clawdeen gripped Draculaura’s cold hand and pulled her down the hall.

Draculaura: What are you....?

Clawdeen: Shhh!

Draculaura: Oh.

With a silencing finger to her lips, Clawdeen led her friend into the ladies’ room and blasted the water over the sound of piped-in jazz music. The double-stalled safe haven, stocked with satchels of potpourri, rose-colored bulbs, fuzzy toilet-seat covers, woven area rugs, peach curtains, and two-ply tissue, stood in stark contrast to the manly-man decor of the inn.

Clawdeen reached under the basin’s pink pleated skirt. She pulled out matching L.L.Bean totes, a garment bag, and keys to the maintenance truck.

Clawdeen: Let’s get sassy!

Draculaura gripped her stomach.

Draculaura: Can we take a break on the driving lessons? I ate a ton and.....

Clawdeen: You’re driving, not me.

Draculaura: Where are we going?

Clawdeen: My party. It’s on!

Draculaura: How?

Claqdeen: Cleo’s been helping with the setup, and Lagoona’s been in charge of the guest list. It’s gonna be packed.

Draculaura: Fang-tastic! Wait, why did Lagoona know about it before I did?

Clawdeen: My parents have no clue. We’re sneaking out.

Clawdeen unzipped her green wool hoodie and tossed it onto the rug.

Clawdeen: I made a dress for you, but what you’re wearing is perfect. Plum is such a peachy color on you.

Draculaura turned away and pinkie-dabbed gloss on her lips.

Clawdeen: I still can’t believe you can do that without smearing it all over your face.

Clawdeen smiled. She was too excited to feel slighted by Lala’s recent bond with Clawd. Besides, there was a time and place for petty emotions. The time was sooo yesterday, and the place was middle school. Anyone with her own bedroom and a Singer XL-150 was far too mature for such grievances, or should at least pretend to be.

Draculaura: Well?

She folded her pale arms across her chest.

Clawdeen: Well, what?

Draculaura: Well, why didn’t you tell me?

Clawdeen kicked off her flats.

Clawdeen: I didn’t want my mom to find out.

Draculaura: Seriously? Why would I tell your mom?

Clawdeen: You wouldn’t. You’d tell my brother, and he’d tell my mom.

Draculaura: He doesn’t know?

Clawdeen: No, he’s not going. None of them are.

Clawdeen opened her garment bag and blew a kiss at the lilac-gray masterpiece inside. The deep V, the iridescent sheen, the metallic black sash…

Clawdeen: Can I knock off a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress or what?

If only she had time to slip into it with grace. Instead, she threw it on like a frenzied runway model during Fashion Week and hurried into her snakeskin booties. Moon-shmoon, it all fit perfectly.

After a speedy application of makeup, one final leg shave, and a generous spritz of black-currant body mist, Clawdeen stood on the lid of the toilet seat and consulted the mirror. A sixteen-year-old girl with an elegantly moody dress, tousled auburn curls, luminescent eyes, and the promise of Cleo’s emerald earrings smiled back.

Clawdeen: Let’s move!

Draculaura: I dunno.

Clawdeen froze.

Clawdeen: What?

Draculaura: I just don’t think it’s safe to go alone.

Clawdeen: Not safe or not fun?

Draculaura’s eyes darkened.

Draculaura: What’s that supposed to mean?

Clawdeen: It means you wanted to go when you thought Clawd was going.

She picked her clothes up off the floor and jamming them into her bag. Anything to keep her shaking hands busy.

Draculaura: Because I thought he could protect us if something happened. Y/N isn't here.

Clawdeen: Nothing’s going to happen.

Clawdeen turned on her phone and offered it to Draculaura.

Clawdeen: Look.

She read text after text from Cleo urging them to hurry up and come to the party.

Clawdeen: See? Everything is perfect.

Draculaura looked away from the screen, conflicted.

Draculaura: If Uncle Vlad heard I sneaked out, he’d kill me. And if my dad found out, he’d kill me again. I came here for a break, not to keep sneaking around.

Clawdeen: How will they find out? Your uncle is in Portland, and your dad is on a yacht. Besides, you’re already dead.

Draculaura: It’s not safe, Claw. Please don’t do this. Maybe if we bring Clawd....

Clawdeen couldn’t stand to whisper-argue any longer. She was already late for her own party. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d miss it completely.

Clawdeen: Forget it, La. I’ll go alone.

She tossed her bags under the basin. Without another word, she slipped outside and raced for the back parking lot. In the distance, the maintenance truck, battered from years of hard labor, seemed up for anything. Including a fifteen-minute road trip with a semi-experienced, albeit determined, birthday girl.

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The Rose Garden Arena generated more electricity than a Stein family reunion. The stadium was charged with joy, alive with energy circulated by thousands of bodies moving to the same beat. Frankie savored it like a gourmet meal.

Costume after costume, song after song, Lady Gaga kept everyone amped, so much so that you were sweating bronzer on the collar of your white shirt, a sobering reminder of how different you really were. Not that your seemed to care, or even notice. You put your arm around Frankie and sang along to “So Happy I Could Die” with the joy of someone who has just been released from prison.

During the chorus you drew Frankie closer. Casually, she licked her lips and allowed you to guide her. You turned to face her and smiled like a movie star. That tingly feeling right before two people make contact, when the brain shuts down and the body takes over, had begun. A Pop Rock or two burst inside her stomach. The crowd around them became dull and fuzzy….

And then she giggled.

However, a wave of heat suddenly hit you both. You looked over to see balls of fire erupting from the stage, which was now making Frankie's makeup start to melt.

Frankie: What’s going on?

She began reaching for her neck seams.

You grabbed her hand before she could tug.

Y/N: Let’s get out of here.

She considered fighting for one more song, but she had promised her parents she wouldn’t put herself in harm’s way. Even at a Lady Gaga concert, cavorting in public with green skin had harm’s way written all over it.

Like Cinderella at midnight, you began racing for the privacy of your pumpkin. But your pumpkin was a public train.

Heads tucked, you hurried past girls who wore glasses covered in cigarettes, soda cans as curlers, bras made of caution tape, and see-through lace jumpsuits. You charged up the steps and ran out the exit. Suddenly everything was fluorescent bright. Leaving the pulsating venue for the stillness of the popcorn-scented corridors was jarring, like being unplugged mid-amp.

Everywhere, vendors peddling Gaga merchandise called to you, tempting you as you passed. Still, Frankie refused to look. She considered lifting her gaze to assess the damage to her body, but she heard footsteps all around you. Some even sounded like they were coming toward you.

Y/N: Well, we caught most of the show. At least now we'll make it back in time for Clawdeen's party.

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Clawdeen unlocked the driver-side door, suddenly aware of how strange it felt to be one-on-one with the truck. Who was she kidding, thinking she could drive this thing by herself. Maybe Draculaura was right. Maybe she should ask Clawd. He could, no! Independence was not a dish served with two spoons. She would have to chew on this alone.

After a deep breath of oxygenated courage and another where r u? text from Cleo, Clawdeen opened the door. At least she knew the air bags worked.

Harriet: Going somewhere?

The driver’s seat was occupied.

Mom?

Harriet: Nice dress.

Ping!

Clawdeen ignored the text.

Clawdeen: I can explain.

How would a woman who spent most of her life catering to six males understand the need for independence?

Harriet: I know about the party tonight.

Harriet was staring into the dark lot as if driving.

Clawdeen’s heart Titanic-ed.

Clawdeen: How?

Harriet tugged her ears.

Ping!

Another text.

Is this really happening? Is my mother going to be the sole admirer of a dress that took months to make?

Clawdeen: Sorry.

Harriet: Why, Deenie?

Clawdeen considered her answer carefully. If only there was something she could say to gain her mother’s sympathy. I feel neglected….This is me crying out for attention….My life is in danger if I don’t go through with this party….

Harriet lifted her daughter’s chin and looked her in the eye.

Harriet: If you want to be treated like a grown-up, you have to act like a grown-up. So how about you get in the truck and tell me the truth.

Her mother had a point. Besides, she’d heard everything. There was nothing left to hide.

Clawdeen shuffled around to the passenger side and climbed in. Old coffee cups lay crushed by her party boots. A new pine-scented air freshener hung from the rearview mirror. The air between them was tense and frigid. But this was hardly the time to ask Harriet to crank the heat.

Harriet: Well?

Clawdeen: The truth?

Clawdeen began.

Clawdeen: The truth is I wanted a party. I wanted the friends, the dress, the presents, the dancing…everything. One night just for me. Not the triplets. Not Clawd. Not Leena. Not Rocks or Nino. Just me. And then, when everyone said it was too dangerous, I....

The corners of her mouth began to twitch. Clawdeen lowered her eyes, ashamed of her sixteen-year-old tears.

Clawdeen: I’m just so over everyone telling me what’s best for me.

She wiped her cheeks.

Clawdeen: It’s like you all think I’m completely useless, but I’m not. I can work every power tool in Dad’s shed. I can run faster than every boy in my grade. I get straight As, I can make my own clothes, and I’ve never once seen the inside of the principal’s office or a police car, which is more than my brothers can say. I’ve never trashed a Denny’s for running out of sausages, which is more than my sister can say. Oh, and my video blog has seven fans, and one of them said I’m a natural in front of the camera and a DIY maverick.

The tears came faster now, wreaking havoc on her smoky lids. Not that it mattered. The parking lot was as far as she was going…probably for the next decade.

Clawdeen: I guess I wanted to prove that I’m old enough to make my own decisions.

Harriet: Driving without a license is not a decision, Deenie. It’s a crime.

Clawdeen: I was going to call a cab.

Harriet: And tell the driver what? To take you to a party that may or may not be a trap?

Harriet pulled the elastic from her ponytail and shook out her cinnamon-colored hair. It had grown at least an inch since dinner.

Harriet: These are not decisions; they’re mistakes.

Clawdeen: What’s wrong with mistakes?

She shifted to face the window and mumbled.

Clawdeen: Not that I’d know. No one’s ever let me make any.

After that the only sound between them was the ping of Clawdeen’s text messages.

Harriet cleared her throat.

Harriet: I understand how you feel.

Unsure that she’d heard correctly, Clawdeen turned back toward her mother. The cracked blue leather seat creaked in protest.

Clawdeen: You do?

Ping!

Harriet twisted the gold wedding band around her finger.

Harriet:I used to be a lot like you when I was younger. I couldn’t stand being bossed around by my mom and older sisters. So I worked as a waitress after school and saved up my money, and the summer before college, I backpacked through Europe. It was so liberating that I ended up staying. For the next two years I worked in restaurants, learned bits and pieces of different languages, and met the most incredible people.

Clawdeen was one part fascinated, two parts envious. It sounded like how flying must feel. Why hadn’t her mom ever told her that before?

Clawdeen: What made you come back?

Harriet: A guy named Clawrk.

Harriet grinned, suddenly looking girlish, the way she might have looked in those days.

Harriet: We met at a café in Amsterdam and spent the next two weeks traveling together before he returned home to America. He begged me to return with him, but I refused. I told myself I wouldn’t follow him, or any man. So he left and I stayed.

Clawdeen swiveled in her seat and faced her mother.

Clawdeen: Just like that? Didn’t he try to make you go with him?

Harriet: Your father was too smart for that.

Harriet snickered.

Harriet: He told me I was making a big mistake, and then stepped aside and let me make it. Let’s just say I was on a plane four days later.

She paused and took Clawdeen’s hand.

Harriet: But your dad’s a different guy now. He’s not nearly as tough as he used to be. Do you know he cried during Toy Story 3?

Clawdeen giggled.

Harriet sighed.

Harriet: The hardest thing about being a parent is watching your kids make mistakes. Our instinct is to protect you. But you’re right, Deenie. Sometimes we have to step aside and let you make them anyway. The best we can do is be there when you mess up.

Ping!

Harriet: Someone’s trying to find you.

Clawdeen: It’s probably Cleo and Lagoona wondering where I am.

Clawdeen shut off her phone. They’d figure it out eventually.

Harriet: Buckle up.

Clawdeen: Huh?

Harriet: Hurry. We have a Sassy Sixteen to go to.

Clawdeen’s heartbeat started to quicken.

Clawdeen: What?

Harriet: Maybe you’re right. Maybe everything will be fine. But I’ll be right beside you, just in case it’s not.

Clawdeen: Thanks, Mom,

Clawdeen gave Harriet a giant hug. And then.....

Clawdeen: Can I drive?

Harriet laughed.

Harriet: Now you’re pushing it.

She then slowly backing out of the spot.

Draculaura: Wait! Stop!

Harriet stepped on the brake.

Draculaura: If you’re gonna do this, at least let me drive. You suck...

Draculaura:  appeared breathless at her window.

Draculaura: Oh, Mrs. Wolf. Sorry! I-I thought you were someone else.

Her cheeks turned bright red. It was the most color she’d ever had.

Clawdeen leaned forward and waved.

Clawdeen: t’s okay, La. She’s cool.

Harriet: You’re not going to let that fabulous dress go to waste, are you?

Draculaura looked confused.

Harriet: Hop in. We’re late enough as it is.

Elated, the vamp did as she was told, squeezing up front beside Clawdeen.

All: Woo-hoo!

Harriet merged onto the highway and sped toward what might end up being the first, and most catastrophic, mistake of Clawdeen’s life.

It was awesome.