Monster High: A New Start (Male Reader)

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!