The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren (11 page)

When Grandma and I get closer, I see that the music isn't coming from a CD as I had assumed. It's live. Am I imagining things, or is that Astra 8 It? Alex
loves
that
band! I dig out my cell phone, taking care that my flute doesn't fall out of my purse, and text-message him:
ASTRA 8 IT IS AT DESIGNER PALACE. COME NOW!!!

Then I send:
JADED IN DENVER! GRAND OPENING AT FASHION PALACE. COME NOW!!!
to Natalie.

Before I have a chance to put my phone away, it beeps and there's a message from Alex:
I'M AT WORK. CAN'T GET OFF.

SAY U HAVE A STOMACHACHE OR SOMETHING. U CAN'T MISS THIS!
I type back.

NO CAN DO
he text-messages me.
UNDERSTAFFED. THANKS, THO.
I'm disappointed, but I knew deep down that Mr. Work Ethic wouldn't ditch his job for this.

Grandma Perkins and I dance to the next song, having such a great time together. I glance at my cell, just in case another text message sneaked through unnoticed. Nope. God, Natalie is being so lame. I can't believe she'd let our tiny little misunderstanding get in the way of something as big as this. I mean, this is
huge.
You know, like the Broncos winning the Super Bowl!

Suddenly, a Hugh Grant look-alike taps me on the shoulder. “Excuse me, miss. I couldn't help noticing that you have a great
look. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Philip Stanford, a talent scout for Envision Modeling Agency of Denver.” He holds out a shiny gold business card.

Grandma Perkins snatches the card, studying it for a few seconds. “She does have a great look, doesn't she?” she says, pressing the card into my outstretched palm.

“You must be the proud mother,” Philip says, beaming at her.

Grandma chuckles demurely. “You're a charmer, that's for sure. I'm her
grand
mother.”

The talent scout clears his throat and then grins at me. “You won the genetic jackpot, young lady.” Ha! If he only knew…. “Have you ever thought about being a model?” he asks.

I look at Grandma, but she's busy digging for something in her purse, pretending not to be listening. “Not until very recently,” I admit.

“That's great news. Well, dear, you simply must call the agency and arrange an interview. The number is on the card”—he taps the business card that I'm holding in the air like a total nerd—“I'm sure we could book you more work than you'd ever believe possible. And what is your name, dear?”

“Roxy Zimmerman.”

“Well, Roxy Zimmerman,” he says, “I'll let you in on some fabulous news. Envision has been selected to represent Jaded on a local level. Even an international fashion company like Jaded recognizes the quality of our talent, you see. In fact, we're doing a runway show for Jaded right here next weekend,” he says, pointing at the floor beneath his shiny wingtips. “There will be live TV coverage by Fox 31 News and the Style Network. Rumor has it,
Seventeen
magazine will be here as well.” He pauses to smile at me and I'm gaping. Oops.

“Well, sorry to ramble on,” he says, more to Grandma Perkins than to me, “but as you can tell, it's going to be a big to-do and we're all very excited to be a part of it. Now, Roxy,” he says, turning his attention back to me. “Give us a call. I look forward to seeing you.” And with that, he disappears into the throng.

Grandma finishes dabbing on a bit of lipstick and smacks her lips together. “So, you want to be a model?” she asks, raising one of her delicate eyebrows.

“Might be fun.” I smile, imagining my gorgeous Siren face on the cover of
Seventeen.

“Well, I think that's a fine idea.” She leans in to whisper in my ear, “And with your Siren powers, the sky's the limit. New York, L.A., Paris, Milan …” Then she stands tall again, winks at me, and says, “Now, let's go into this store and see what all the fuss is about, shall we?”

Right as we walk through the jade green doors, a man with spiky hair jumps in front of us. “Welcome to Jaded. My name is Sebastian, and I'm the store manager. How can I help you two lovelies?” he says, doing an energetic little bow.

I giggle, still on a high from being “discovered.” “We're just looking.”

Grandma makes a huffing noise. “We most certainly are not ‘just looking.' I'm taking my granddaughter shopping, and we're going to buy her an entire wardrobe. As you can plainly see,” she says, gesturing at my faded Roxy tank and shabby jeans, “she's in dire need of an intervention.”

“Well, you've come to the right place.
I'll get a dressing room ready for you and we'll get started.”

Racks of clothes line the jade-colored walls, and in the center of the store is a posh lounge area, where a group of middle school girls have made themselves comfortable. There are black chairs and couches with metal frames on a multi-colored-striped rug. In the middle of the lounge area sits a sleek glass coffee table displaying neat stacks of fashion mags. The dressing rooms are really cool too. They have frosted glass doors so when someone's trying on clothes, you can see her silhouette.

Grandma watches Sebastian stride toward the dressing rooms and then whispers in my ear, “Pick out anything you want, honey. I'll just sing a little song for that handsome Sebastian fellow and get it
gratis.”
She takes my hand in hers. “This is going to be so much fun!”

An hour later Grandma and I exit the store through its jade-colored doors, an oversize shopping bag in each of our hands. My closet will be bursting at the seams with my new Jaded wardrobe. Aha! Eat your heart out, Eva and Amber. There's a new fashionista at Franklin High. “I could definitely get into
this shopping thing, Grandma. What a rush!”

She laughs her musical, fluttery laugh as we muscle our way through the crowd that's still gathered around Designer Palace's newest addition. “Sebastian told me they've got numerous styles only available in Paris, so I asked him to have those shipped to your house.”

“Really?” I glide past the group of Goth chicks hanging out by the stage where the band was playing earlier. “Wow, that's cool.” Natalie would be in seventh heaven. Too bad she's not here. I check my phone one more time, but there's still no response from her.

“All this shopping has made me awfully thirsty,” Grandma says. “Oh! I forgot about that boy bringing us our coffee drinks. He was taking them to Nordstrom, wasn't he?”

“The juniors section,” I remind her. “But he wouldn't still be there …” As the words lift off my tongue, I realize that he's definitely going to be there. After all, he's under Grandma Perkins's Siren spell. Poor guy. “Well, the drinks will be all gross by now. We'll have to get new ones.”

Grandma Perkins waves down a carriage, which immediately stops right in front of us.
We clamber in and ride across the mall to Nordstrom. As we're walking in, my cell phone rings. Oh, wow! It's Zach. It's really him! “Hi, Zach,” I say, a little too loudly. Grandma Perkins stops prattling on about her new trendy outfits (she saw how cute Jaded clothes looked on me and had to get a few outfits for herself) and raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“You said you wanted to get something to eat. Do you still want to?” Zach asks over the phone.

“Sure!”

“Pick you up at seven.”

I hang up and take my not-so-iced latte from the barista who's snoring beside a mannequin display. Grandma Perkins slips a fifty-dollar bill in his pocket without waking him up.

“We have one more item of business while we're here,” she says. We pitch our cups in a little trash can behind a cash register, and then she leads me to the accessories department. “You simply must get rid of that atrocious excuse for a handbag.” She flashes her dazzling smile at the distinguished-looking man behind the purse counter and he nods.

“May I be of assistance, ladies?”

She swipes my satchel off my shoulder and holds it up between her thumb and first finger like it's a dead skunk. “My granddaughter needs a new handbag, as you can plainly see. Something big enough for this,” she says, pulling out my flute.

He blinks a few times and then fumbles with his nautical-themed tie. Once he's convinced that it's acceptably straight, he bends down and selects a purse out of the too-expensive-to-have-out-in-the-open case. It has a really fun, funky print of large starlike flowers in red, brown, turquoise, and cream, with skinny leather straps. “It's an Emilio Pucci tote, made in Italy. We just got this one in two days ago, and I'm certain it'll be all the rage with my young, fashion-forward customers.” He hands it to me and then examines his fingernails.

“It's soft. Is it … velvet?”

The man shakes his head. “Believe it or not, it's corduroy. Isn't it fabulous? Each tote is distinctly unique. No two are alike. Just like no two women are alike,” he says, gesturing to Grandma and me.

When I flip over the price tag, I just about faint. It's almost a thousand dollars!

“If you like it, it's yours,” Grandma
Perkins says, winking at me. “Now be a dear and give this to the valet.” She hands me the claim ticket. “I'll be there in a jiffy.”

What an awesome day! Not only did I get noticed by a talent scout, I'm going out with Zach Parker, the hottest guy ever,
again.
And I can't wait to wear one of my new Jaded outfits!

By the time the valet brings Grandma Perkins's Lexus to the curb, she's handing me my new tote. “Did you just sing for that salesman?” I ask.

“Come to find out, he's gay. Thankfully, the store manager isn't, and it worked like a charm on him.”

I duck into her car and say, “Hit it, Grandma. I've got a busy night ahead of me.” And then I empty my old purse and put everything in my new Pucci tote. Everything fits, even my flute, fully assembled.

“Where do you want to go?” Zach asks, tucking his sandy hair behind his ear. I'm sitting beside him in his truck in my driveway, buckling up my seat belt. He looks scrumptious in a light blue polo shirt (that matches his eyes) and charcoal gray slacks. I should be
psyched about this date, but there's one tiny

thing that's totally bugging me.

He honked.

That's right. I was waiting inside like a good little date, full of anticipation and freshly lip-glossed, when I hear this really loud and obnoxious
honk-honk-honk-honkhonk!”
The whole freaking neighborhood heard it.

Chase, who was folding my T-shirts in the privacy of his room, yelled, “Your date's here!”

Mom peered at me over her book. “You're going out tonight?”

“Just going to dinner with Zach.”

She put the book down in her lap. Thankfully, she just smiled and said, “That's nice, honey. Be careful. And be home before midnight.”

And then Zach honked
again.

I darted outside and leaped into his muddy truck before the neighbors called the police for a noise infraction or something. I took a deep breath and smiled at him. It's not his fault. It's Eva's. After all, she's the one who put up with this crap before I ever came along. Well, lucky for me, I have my Siren powers. I can whip
Zach into shape with a twitter of my flute.

I don't live in a 1950s bubble or anything. It's just that the honking thing has me in shock. I mean, it wasn't a quick little “I'm here” honk. It was more of a “Get the hell out here” honk. I wouldn't lay on the horn like that if I were picking Zach up for a date. I wouldn't even lay on the horn like that if I were picking Chase and his minions up from a Harry Potter party. Okay, okay. I'll quit obsessing about the honking issue now. Really.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” he asks, taking in my Jaded dress. It's a deep magenta with a plunging neckline, a spiderweb of spaghetti straps, and a row of ripped taffeta on the bottom. It's definitely the poshest thing that's ever touched my skin.

“Thank you.” I gaze at him from underneath my long, curly lashes.

He smiles. “You're really gorgeous, you know.”

“Stop it,” I say, meaning it. He's sounding like my Evanescence CD, the one that keeps repeating the same line over and over again because Pumpkin thought it was a Frisbee and left teeth marks on track five.

Zach just grins. “I can't believe I'm going out with you again.”

“Really? Why's that?” Ah, now we're getting somewhere.

“Well, 'cause you're so beautiful.” Or not. Argh! Who would've thought that I'd get sick of Zach Parker complimenting me? Can't he think of anything else to say? Like that I'm funny or smart or smell good? That I'm his favorite person to hang out with or talk to? Wouldn't he like to find out if we like the same movies or music or baseball team?

“Did you have fun when we went to the movie?” I ask, digging for a topic that doesn't revolve around my looks.

“I was stoked to be with someone as hot as you, that's for sure.”

We're getting absolutely nowhere. Not only are we stuck in a conversational black hole, we're still parked in my freaking driveway.

“Let's go to Murphy's. It's on Littleton Boulevard.”

He nods, flips on the stereo, and starts driving. I stare out the window, the cars and trucks blurring like a photo taken with a slow shutter. It's totally stuffy in Zach's truck, and it smells like how I'd imagine the boys' locker
room would. I roll down the window and let the wind blast my face. Zach is rambling on about last night's Rockies game, but it's like he's speaking a foreign language.

Why did I chose Murphy's, of all places? Maybe it's because I miss it. Or 'cause I know it serves good, basic, all-American food, and my stomach just doesn't feel up to sushi or escargot or anything fancy.

As soon as Zach pulls into the potholed parking lot, I spot Natalie's yellow Sportage and change my mind.