the Libury was a cold and drafty place filled with dust bunnies, creaky furniture, and the greatest monster stories ever told. Organized by species, the tales featured or were written by every type of creature imaginable, from the popular to the obscure. These volumes were more than just Ghoulish Literature; they were Monstory—the history of monsters as told by the creatures themselves.

Dr. Clamdestine entered the Libury just as the bell clanged, signifying the start of class. Dressed in a tweed suit with dark brown patches at the elbows and carrying a large leather satchel, the middle-aged sea monster definitely looked the part of literature professor, albeit one with a faint whiff of salt water.

“Students,” Dr. Clamdestine greeted the class before dramatically lowering his head for a thirty-second period of silence. After which he pulled a pipe from his jacket pocket and continued. “I find cleansing my mental palate very helpful before diving into Ghoulish Literature.”

“Pardonnez-moi, Dr. Clamdestine, but smoking is definitely not allowed at Monster High. Plus, it is very, very bad for you,” Rochelle stated firmly.

“And us. It totally makes me wilt,” Venus whispered to Rochelle.

“This isn’t a pipe, young gargoyle. It may look like a pipe, but it is definitely not a pipe. In actuality, it is a well-carved hunk of cheese, one that I will likely eat for lunch later. You see, teaching is very similar to acting; both professions use props to aid in the accessing of different characters. And this cheese pipe is currently helping me access my intellectual persona, the great Dr. Clamdestine.”

“Dear me, I think that sounds a lot more like a circus performer than a teacher,” Robecca muttered to Venus and Rochelle.

“Now then, for my monologue, also known as roll call,” Dr. Clamdestine said while putting away his cheese pipe and pulling out a clipboard. “Lagoona Blue? Draculaura? Jackson Jekyll or Holt Hyde? Deuce Gorgon?”

As the names of her classmates echoed throughout the room, Rochelle eyed the eternally sunglasses-clad Deuce Gorgon. She found him both handsome and intriguing. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t crafted out of granite or because she was one of the few people at school who might one day look into his eyes. Since she was already made of stone, Deuce’s Gorgon snake stare posed no threat to her.

“Cleo de Nile?” Dr. Clamdestine continued.

Upon hearing the name of Deuce’s girlfriend, Rochelle quickly snapped out of her haze, remembering that she too was taken! Why, only a few days earlier in Scaris, she had said goodbye to her lovable gargoyle boyfriend, Garrott. Just thinking about Garrott filled her with overwhelming guilt.

While Rochelle pondered the moral implications of her burgeoning crush, Venus sat next to her, seething with rage over Cleo de Nile’s large collection of shopping bags.

“Look at all those paper bags! It’s downright irresponsible. She’s basically a tree killer,” Venus spouted angrily to Robecca and Rochelle.

“Jeez Louise, Venus, don’t you think ‘tree killer’ is a bit harsh? Maybe she just forgot her reusable shopping bag at home. I forget things all the time,” Robecca squeaked, hoping to appease Venus’s growing environmental rage.

But Venus was not the type of monster who was easily placated. And before Robecca knew it, Venus was waving her light green arms in the air, desperate to garner Cleo’s attention.

“Hey, Cleo, over here. The name’s Venus. I’m new to Monster High.”

“Welcome,” Cleo responded frostily.

“It looks like you did some serious back-to-school shopping this morning. That must have been a lot of fun. But do you know what would have been even more fun? Bringing your own reusable bag to the Maul and saving a tree’s life!”

“Why are you talking to me about my bags and trees and stuff? Do I look like a forest ranger or garbage collector to you?”

“I’ll have you know that those are two of the noblest professions in the world. They are on the front lines every day fighting antienvironmentalists like you! Do you even realize that we need trees to produce oxygen?” Venus declared as her vines curled tightly around her fists.

“Fight like you’re right! Fight with all your might!” a lone pumpkin head sang from his perch in the corner of the room.

“Way to spaz out, weed,” Cleo replied before turning to Clawdeen Wolf. “She is definitely not Fearleading or Frightingale material.”

The Frightingale Society was the school’s all-girls social club—a literal who’s who of teenage monsters and, as such, very hard to get into.

“Ah, mate,” Lagoona Blue exclaimed in her bubbly Australian accent, “she’s just trying to keep the world healthy for all of us.”

“Whatever,” Cleo replied as Venus’s face continued to grow redder with rage.

“Venus, I’m concerned about your blood pressure; you look like you’re about to explode. I would advise you to continue this conversation later,” Rochelle interjected.

“The planet cannot wait for later!” Venus professed while dramatically flinging her hands in the air, green vines flailing about wildly.

“How about I see you later? Or better yet, never?” Cleo answered cuttingly.

Venus’s nose twitched and her cheeks bulged before she expelled a most thunderous sneeze. The bright orange cloud of pollen descended upon Cleo de Nile, miraculously missing any of the surrounding students.

“Babe, are you okay? Are your clothes okay?” Deuce asked sweetly, worried that Cleo might be more distressed about the state of her clothing than anything else.

“Of course I am,” Cleo said with uncharacteristic warmth and kindness before turning to Venus. “Thank you for showing me the error of my ways. You’re absolutely right; it is irresponsible to shop without a reusable bag. As a matter of fact, I am going to commission a solid gold bag that will last forever! Thank you, Venus, thank you!”

“A solid gold bag would be very heavy, nearly impossible to carry,” Rochelle mumbled to herself.

Deuce then sweetly put his hand on Cleo’s forehead. “Babe, you’re really freaking me out right now. Are you sure you’re not upset about being sneezed on?”

Having watched the drama unfold as if it were a theatrical production staged for his enjoyment, Dr. Clamdestine finally decided it was time to step in.

“Let me guess. Venus McFlytrap?”

“Yes, that’s me, Dr. Clamdestine.”

“Pollens of persuasion are strictly prohibited at school.”

“I know. I’m really sorry,” Venus said with discernible regret. She couldn’t believe she had lost control of her pollens so soon after arriving at Monster High.

“As a connoisseur of drama, I appreciate your passion. However, as a teacher, I cannot allow you to use your pollens of persuasion without repercussions,” Dr. Clamdestine explained. He then called into the hall, “Troll? Troll? Would the closest troll please come to the Libury?”

Within seconds, an extraordinarily chubby gray-haired troll with a pulsating red nose waddled into the room. After looking around for a few seconds, the troll followed Dr. Clamdestine’s gaze directly to Venus McFlytrap. The troll then toddled over to Venus, promptly wiped his nose on his hand, and motioned for her to follow him into the hall.

“Bon chance,” Rochelle whispered while waving her pink-monogrammed handkerchief in the air.

“Don’t let him eat you,” Robecca added.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” a quiet voice came from behind Robecca. “Trolls are vegetarians.”

It was Cy Clops, and as usual the shy boy was staring at the ground with his arms awkwardly crossed.

“Good golly, that is good to know, thank you,” Robecca replied, to which the boy merely nodded his head.

Once in the main corridor, the troll again used his grimy hand as a tissue. It was a visually arresting sight, one that prompted Venus to look down at the purple-checkered floor in disgust.

“Do you know what I do whenever I have a cold? Swallow loads of vitamin C, drink plenty of fluids, and—here is the most important part—only blow my nose with handkerchiefs. This will not only help you get better but also help you socially. Because if there is one thing that turns off potential friends, it’s booger-encrusted hands.”

“No time. You must listen. Bad thing here,” the troll grunted quietly.

“Is that your way of saying I have detention?”

“Bad thing here, ruin school,” the troll yammered on before looking around suspiciously.

“I don’t understand.”

“Happen before. Now bad thing here. You must listen. Stop bad thing.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand Trollish. I have no idea what you are trying to tell me.”

“Too late,” the elderly red-nosed creature whispered before ducking into a passing pack of trolls.