at lunch the following day, Monster High’s Creepateria was absolutely abuzz with stories of the amazing, stylish, supernaturally interesting Miss Flapper. Why, even Spectra Vondergeist, everyone’s favorite purple-haired ghost, was posting about the new teacher on her blog, Ghostly Gossip! It was as if the entire student body, both boys and girls, had developed an all-consuming crush on the newest member of the staff. Well, maybe not the entire school. Venus, Robecca, and Rochelle were far too focused on another member of the faculty to mind Miss Flapper.

“There is no point mincing words: Clearly an intervention is needed!” Rochelle exclaimed while tapping her fingers repeatedly on the wooden tabletop, dimpling the surface.

“An intervention for what?” Venus asked reasonably.

“For depression, of course! Regardez! He’s trying to drown himself in his soup!”

Venus rolled her eyes at Rochelle before realizing that Mr. D’eath was, in fact, trying to submerge his bony face in two inches of split pea soup.

“Okay, let’s not overreact. He’s eating lunch with Miss Sue Nami. I think we can all agree that spending time with that woman would make anyone a little crazy,” Venus assessed.

“Just look at his clothes! Only a man with nothing to live for would go out in such an outfit. Plus, when he yawned earlier, I noticed his teeth were looking a bit gray. And everyone knows that once skeletons stop whitening their teeth, they’ve hit rock bottom.”

“Who told you that? Your dentist?” Venus asked incredulously.

“I bet gargoyles make wonderful dentists,” Robecca asserted earnestly.

“It’s true, we do. We don’t even have to use instruments; we can do it all with our pinkie fingers,” Rochelle said proudly before pausing to watch Miss Sue Nami.

The soggy woman, whose profile closely resembled an overstuffed trash can, awkwardly leaped out of her chair, arms flailing. Sitting for extended periods of time led to waterlogging and, on rare occasions, flooding. And so as a flabby-faced troll removed her tray from the table, Miss Sue Nami began aggressively shaking, moving every body part from her toes to her scalp. Unfortunately for Mr. D’eath, his lunch, and the troll, these motions created a heavy shower—not that Miss Sue Nami acknowledged it, let alone apologized for her behavior.

“Per paragraph 7.9 of the Gargoyle Code of Ethics: Once a gargoyle has decided to help, actions should be both focused and speedy,” Rochelle announced before throwing down her napkin and walking over to Mr. D’eath.

And while it was not the most graceful of walks, since Rochelle was rather heavy-footed when excited, it clearly conveyed the intensity she felt regarding the gloom-stricken man.

“Bonjour, Monsieur D’eath. My name is Rochelle Goyle, and I am a new student from Scaris.”

“Scaris? I’ve always wanted to go there—walk along the river, eat smelly cheese, maybe even wear a beret.”

“I’m not sure a beret would suit you, but I think you’d definitely enjoy our smelly cheese,” Rochelle said in her usual matter-of-fact manner.

“It doesn’t really matter. I’ll never make it to Scaris. I might as well add it to the list now,” Mr. D’eath said with a sigh.

“Pardonnez-moi? What list are you talking about?” Rochelle inquired.

“The regret list. It’s a comprehensive record of all the things I plan on regretting right before I die. I only hope my death isn’t too sudden—I’ve got a lot to go over.”

“I’m sorry if I am being impolite, but aren’t you already dead?”

“That is technically correct. But I’m talking about the death of my soul.”

“That is heavy, Monsieur D’eath.”

“I get that a lot,” he grumbled.

“Actually, so do I, but for different reasons,” Rochelle said, looking down at her slender yet weighty frame. “Monsieur D’eath, I was wondering if I might revamp your wardrobe, help you liven things up a bit. Not that there is anything wrong with your stained brown trousers and pilled brown sweater.”

“Students aren’t allowed to get involved in teachers’ personal lives.”

“And is that an actual rule or more of a suggestion?” Rochelle asked.

“It’s not technically a rule, just sort of an accepted thing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really should get back to wallowing in self-pity; I haven’t done nearly enough of it today.”

“I hold rules in very high regard and thus clearly delineate between actual rules and suggestions. And as this is not a real rule, we would not be doing anything wrong. Therefore, I insist we move forward.”

“Okay,” Mr. D’eath mumbled, “but we’ll have to stop if my pessimism starts rubbing off on you. After all, misery and youth do not belong together.”

“Clearly, there is much you do not understand about youth,” Rochelle mumbled to herself before holding out her small gray hand for Mr. D’eath to shake. “And please excuse the coldness of my skin. It comes with being carved from granite.”

“Please excuse my personality. It comes with being me.”