The hallway at Monster High buzzed like a live wire the second Jackson—*Holt*, technically—stepped through the front doors.
And yeah, that distinction mattered.
A lot.
Holt adjusted the strap of their backpack over his right shoulder, rolling it like it weighed nothing even though he knew Jackson would've been clutching it like a lifeline. His stride had that loose, rhythmic confidence—half swagger, half performance. The kind that said *I've got this* even when "this" was a flaming mess barely held together with duct tape and denial.
Inside, though?
It wasn't nearly as smooth.
*Keep it steady,* Holt muttered inwardly, cracking his neck as lockers slammed and monster chatter echoed around him. *We're good. We're golden. We're—*
*—lying to literally everyone,* Jackson's voice cut in, tight and frayed like a wire pulled too far. *This is going to fall apart.*
Holt smirked, dragging his fingers along a locker as he passed, leaving the faintest warmth in his wake. "Relax, Sparky," he murmured under his breath. "We've been riding this wave for days now."
*Days isn't forever.*
"Doesn't have to be."
A group of ghouls down the hall perked up as he approached—whispers already starting, eyes flicking toward the silver hoop in his eyebrow like it was a headline all on its own.
"DJ!" someone called.
Holt didn't even break stride. "Morning, nightmare squad," he shot back with a lazy salute.
Confidence.
Control.
Performance.
That's all this was.
And as long as he kept the beat going?
Nobody would notice the cracks.
—
By the time lunch rolled around, the rumor mill had gone from simmering to full-on boil.
"Yo, DJ!" Heath Burns slid into the seat across from him with all the grace of a controlled explosion, flames flickering brighter than usual. "So I've been thinking—if you and Jackie are cousins, does that mean the whole fire thing runs in the family? 'Cause if it does, I'm *definitely* the cooler cousin."
Holt snorted. "Cooler? Bro, you're like a campfire that thinks it's a volcano."
Heath grinned like that was a compliment. "Hey, I'll take it."
Across the table, Draculaura watched them with narrowed pink eyes, straw paused halfway to her lips. Next to her, Clawdeen Wolf leaned in, clearly pretending not to listen while absolutely listening.
"DJ," Clawdeen said casually, "you seen Jackie today?"
Holt didn't miss a beat.
"Prob'ly buried in books somewhere," he said, popping open a soda. "Dude's allergic to fun."
*That's not—* Jackson started.
*Shh.*
Holt took a long sip, letting the carbonation burn just enough to keep him grounded.
Draculaura tilted her head. "Funny. He said you'd probably be causing chaos."
Holt grinned, sharp and easy. "We've got a system."
Not a lie.
Not the truth either.
Just… something in between.
—
At the far end of the cafeteria, Ghoulia Yelps sat perfectly still, notebook open, pen moving in precise, deliberate strokes.
Her yellow eyes flicked up.
Tracked Holt.
Then back down.
*Tap. Tap.*
New line.
New observation.
—
The rest of the day unfolded like a song played just slightly too fast.
Classes blurred together—Holt answering questions just well enough to keep up appearances, just sloppy enough to feel like himself. Right-handed writing, clean and sharp. Confident posture. Easy grin.
Nobody questioned it.
Why would they?
DJ Hyde was exactly who he always was.
Loud.
Charismatic.
A little too much.
The bell rang for last period, and Holt leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs like he didn't have a care in the world.
*We're fine,* he thought.
*This is working.*
*For now,* Jackson whispered back.
—
After school, the courtyard buzzed with that restless, pre-evening energy.
Plans.
Parties.
Whispers about Halloween.
About the Blood Moon.
About DJ's party.
Holt leaned against the stone railing, spinning one of his earbuds around his finger like a coin. The sky was already starting to dim—sunset bleeding into something darker, something deeper.
He could feel it.
That pull.
That edge.
Music would make it easier.
Fire would make it faster.
But right now?
He didn't need either.
He was already here.
Already in control.
—
"Yo, DJ!"
Heath again.
Of course it was Heath.
Holt glanced up as the flame-headed maniac jogged over, looking way too excited about something.
"What's good, Hothead?" Holt asked.
Heath leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to drop the biggest secret in Monster High history.
"I've been doing recon."
Holt blinked. "That sounds illegal."
"It's not illegal if it's awesome."
"Pretty sure that's not how laws work."
Heath waved that off. "Anyway—listen. You know how everyone's been freaking out about your party?"
Holt smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Biggest event of the undead season. I know."
"Well…" Heath's grin widened, flames flaring just a little brighter. "I've got something better."
Holt raised a brow. "Better than my party?"
"Okay, *almost* better," Heath corrected quickly. "But hear me out."
He leaned closer.
Like this was classified information.
Like Ghoulia totally wasn't watching from across the courtyard.
"I've got eyes," Heath said, lowering his voice even more dramatically, "on Abbey Bominable."
Holt blinked once.
Then twice.
Then broke into a slow, incredulous grin.
"Ohhh, this I gotta hear."
Holt's grin didn't fade.
If anything?
It got *worse*.
"Ohhh," he drawled, dragging the word out like a bassline, "*this* is about Ice Queen, huh?"
Across from him, Heath Burns straightened like he'd just been knighted, flames puffing up with pride. "First of all, her name is Abbey," he said, trying—and failing—to sound smooth. "Second of all… yeah. It is."
Holt pushed off the railing, rolling his shoulders as he circled Heath once like he was inspecting a very questionable science experiment.
*This is gonna be a trainwreck,* Jackson muttered in the back of their mind.
*Oh, absolutely,* Holt agreed instantly. *Front row seats, baby.*
"Alright, Hothead," Holt said, clapping a hand onto Heath's shoulder. "Lay it on me. What's the game plan?"
Heath hesitated.
Which, for Heath, was already a bad sign.
"Well," he started, scratching the back of his neck, "I was thinking… I go up to her, right? Real casual. Like, *super* casual. And I hit her with something like—"
He snapped his fingers, flames flaring brighter as he found his confidence.
"'Hey Abbey, you must be made of ice, 'cause you just froze my heart.'"
There was a beat.
A long one.
Holt stared at him.
Inside, Jackson buried his face in his hands.
*Oh no.*
*Oh, come ON,* Holt thought back, barely holding in a laugh. *That's not even my worst line.*
*That's not the point,* Jackson shot back. *You say things like that with timing. And tone. And—*
*—and natural charisma? Yeah, yeah, I know,* Holt finished.
Out loud, though?
Holt just let out a low whistle.
"Dang, bro," he said, shaking his head like he was impressed. "You trying to get turned into a popsicle on purpose?"
Heath blinked. "What? No—that was good!"
"It was *something,*" Holt said carefully, holding up a hand. "But listen—Abbey's not like the other ghouls."
As if summoned by her name, Abbey Bominable crossed the courtyard in the distance, her presence cutting through the crowd like a cold front. Students shifted instinctively, giving her space—not out of fear, exactly, but respect.
She didn't look around.
Didn't slow down.
Didn't *care* who was watching.
Holt nodded toward her. "See that? That's not someone you hit with bargain-bin pickup lines."
Heath followed his gaze, swallowing.
"…Okay, yeah, fair."
*He's doomed,* Jackson said flatly.
*He's *learning*,* Holt corrected. *There's a difference.*
Holt crossed his arms, tilting his head. "You wanna actually have a shot?"
Heath nodded immediately. "Yeah!"
"Then rule number one," Holt said, holding up a finger, "don't try to be me."
Heath's flames flickered, confused. "But—your whole thing works."
"Yeah," Holt said, tapping his chest. "*My* thing works because it's *my* thing. You try to copy it, you just look like a knockoff mixtape nobody asked for."
Heath winced.
"…Okay. Harsh."
"True though."
*You're being nicer than I expected,* Jackson noted.
*I like the guy,* Holt replied. *He's just… aggressively himself.*
Holt leaned in a little, lowering his voice like he was actually giving real advice now.
"Abbey's straight-up," he said. "No games. No fake. You go in there trying to impress her, she's gonna ice you out faster than a broken freezer."
Heath nodded slowly. "So… no pickup lines?"
"Unless you want to be remembered as 'that guy,' yeah."
"…Got it."
Holt smirked, then clapped him on the back again. "But hey—you've got one thing going for you."
Heath perked up. "Yeah?"
"You're confident."
Heath grinned. "I *am* confident."
"Exactly," Holt said. "Now just… aim it better."
—
Across the courtyard, Draculaura watched the whole exchange with narrowed eyes.
"Is it just me," she murmured to Clawdeen Wolf, "or is DJ being… weirdly helpful?"
Clawdeen crossed her arms, brow furrowing. "Yeah. It's like watching a wolf give a sheep life advice."
Nearby, Cleo De Nile scoffed. "Please. If Heath thinks he stands a chance with Abbey, he's more delusional than a mummy without a mirror."
"Hey!" Heath called from across the courtyard. "I heard that!"
Cleo didn't even look at him. "Good."
—
Meanwhile, Holt tilted his head, watching Abbey pause near the front gates, adjusting one of her fur-lined sleeves.
"Alright," Holt said. "Moment of truth, Hothead."
Heath's flames sputtered. "Now?!"
"You got a better time?" Holt shot back.
Heath looked like he might actually combust from nerves alone.
*He's really doing this,* Jackson said, equal parts horrified and fascinated.
*Yep.*
*This is going to end badly.*
*Probably.*
*Definitely.*
Holt smirked.
Then nudged Heath forward.
"Go get 'em, tiger."
"I'm not a—" Heath started, then stopped. "…okay, fine."
He took a deep breath.
Straightened his jacket.
Tried—*tried*—to smooth his flames down into something less chaotic.
It didn't work.
At all.
But he went anyway.
Step by step.
Across the courtyard.
Toward Abbey.
Holt leaned back against the railing again, arms crossed, watching like it was a live show.
*You're enjoying this way too much,* Jackson muttered.
*You kidding? This is premium entertainment.*
*You're supposed to be helping him.*
*I did help him,* Holt said. *I told him not to be me.*
There was a pause.
*That might actually be the best advice you've ever given anyone,* Jackson admitted reluctantly.
Holt grinned.
"Damn right."
—
Heath finally reached her.
Abbey turned.
Looked him up and down.
Said something.
They were too far away to hear it.
Heath responded.
A little too fast.
A little too loud.
Abbey blinked.
Tilted her head.
Said something else.
Heath's flames flickered wildly.
Holt squinted.
"…Oh, this is going great," he said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm.
*He's panicking,* Jackson said.
*Yeah, I can see that.*
*You should've given him something better.*
*Hey,* Holt protested, *I gave him the tools. What he builds with 'em is on him.*
Across the courtyard, Heath gestured wildly.
Abbey crossed her arms.
Heath just froze...