Cleo was awoken by the vibration of her iCoffin, which was resting in the palm of her hand. The sun was shining brightly through the bay window of her bedroom. She rubbed her makeup-smudged eyes, recalling she had fallen asleep while texting Deuce. There were several unread messages.
Deuce: I personally don't agree with Holt's decision either, but at least he's trying to take the reins of his own life instead of having Jackson take care of him all the time.
Deuce: If you haven't replied by now you're probably asleep. Night, babe. Xo xo
Frankie: I think I really lost my left hand this time… ive been looking for it in the house for almost an hour and still haven't found a trace of it. Sos!
Clawdeen: Found frankies hand in the refrigerator, of all places. Makes me glad I don't have to deal with having any loose stitches, lol
Ghoulia: Could you do me a favor and proofread my admissions essay to Londoom U? Doesn't have to happen until after howliday break. And yes, I know it's too soon to start college apps.
Cleo climbed out of bed and trudged into her closet, taking note of her Ra-awful morning breath. She went through the motions of her morning, including showering, brushing her teeth, wrapping her body, and putting on a clawsome outfit. By the time she was ready for breakfast it was 11:30. "Ra," she muttered under her breath. This morning was the last opportunity she had to ask her father if she could have a party tonight, but by now he's already left for another business trip. He doesn't say 'yes' to parties unless he's asked in person. It's frighteningly inconvenient.
Lucky for Cleo, she's a socialite who can always find something clawsome to do even when the party scene is dead. She sent a mass text to the ghouls inviting them to go to the maul with her. At the very least she can always depend on Draculaura and Ghoulia to be available, and Clawdeen whenever she can bribe Clawd or Howleen into babysitting the younger siblings.
Within fifteen minutes she got an unexpected amount of RSVPs – everyone and their significant other wanted to be with her today, which is fine by her.
Deuce picked Cleo up at noon, after his morning shift at the Die-ner. On the way to the maul she brought up the possibility of going to Gloom Beach again this year with the gang.
"I don't know, Cleo," Deuce said, "can we be sure the Tiki people are okay with us being there? I realize Bartleby Barnum was the one being a pain in the ass but maybe they don't have a great impression of us, either."
"Yes. I talked about it with Bloodgood the other day and she said the Tiki tribe there has made it clear they're only okay with us visiting the island. They just don't want too many white people catching wind of it and turning it into a tourist trap."
Deuce nodded. Cleo couldn't express how blessed she felt to have a guy like Deuce. How often does one meet a cishet white boy who has a decent grasp on intersectional feminism? And on top of that, is a great chef?