The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren (8 page)

Aaaaaaah!

“Sure,” I say. Which is code for “Of
course
I do, you idiot!”

Too bad Natalie isn't here. She'd be so proud!

But Natalie's Sportage is long gone. There's just an empty space where it had been parked. Should I have left when she and Alex did? God, everything happened so fast. Have I made a huge mistake, staying at this party?

I look up at the midnight blue sky. Beyond the wispy clouds, the moon shines bright and silvery. Stars twinkle like crazy. It's like when Chase flips the lights on and off as fast as he can, just to annoy me.

“Roxy? You all right?” Zach asks.

“Um, yeah. I'm just tired.” I pull out my cell phone.

“Who're you calling?” He stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets, looking überadorable.

“I'm just calling—” But wait. If I ask my parents for a ride, they'll want to know why Natalie isn't taking me home. And I don't particularly feel like explaining it to them. “Nobody. Um, just checking to see if … I have any text messages,” I lie.

What if
Zach Parker
drove me home? Oh man, I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it. I bite my lower lip and conjure up the courage to ask, “Can you take me home?”

“Sure.”

Inside, I'm screaming and jumping up and down, but on the outside, I'm just looking at him in what I hope is a superconfident I-knew-you'd-say-yes way. I follow Zach to his truck, which is parked in the driveway, and I can't help but wonder if (and hope that) we've got an audience.

He says, “It's open,” and I hop in. In the few seconds that the interior light comes on, I see that the gray upholstery is dingy and sunflower seed shells are scattered all over the floor. An empty twenty-ounce bottle of Mountain Dew is tucked
into the cup holder and there's a nasty crack in the windshield.

He blasts his Green Day CD and drums his steering wheel as if he's Tré Cool. Too bad he's not in band. He could actually learn a thing or two about rhythm. We go a few miles like this before I say (or shout, more like, seeing as how he's got his stereo on so freaking loud), “Thanks for taking me home.” He's got one of those CD holders on the passenger side visor, and it's so overstuffed, the visor keeps inching its way into the down position.

“Huh?”

He's not taking the hint, so I reach over and turn the volume down myself. “Thanks for driving me home.”

The only other conversation we have the rest of the way is me rattling off directions, since he's obviously never been to my house. I swear, I could find my way to his house blindfolded. Ha. Not like I'd ever tell him that. He'd think I was a stalker or something. Am I?

His truck grunts and moans its way up my driveway, the headlights illuminating the marigolds and pansies ringing the mailbox post. The porch light makes the front
door seem more purple than red. Judging by the muted glow coming from my bedroom window, Mom must've turned on my bedside lamp for me.

This is all so crazy. I mean, I'm actually sitting in Zach Parker's truck. With Zach Parker!

His arm stretches out across my shoulders, knocking my tank top strap down. Here I am, gazing into his baby blue eyes, not knowing what to do, what to say, what to think. I tug my strap back in place and bite my lower lip. Zach is frozen like a cherry Slurpee. It's as if he's waiting for some kind of sign.

This is it. This is my chance to kiss Zach Parker, right here in his white Toyota pickup. But what if he pulls away? What if he laughs at me or calls me Peppermint Patty? I take a deep breath:
iiiiin, ouuuuut.
If I jump out of his truck right this very instant, I won't sink any further into the humiliation quicksand. But if I go for it … I might actually be pulled out of the quicksand completely.

I steal a look at myself in his side mirror. I'm not the frizzy-haired, zit-faced band geek I was yesterday. I'm a beautiful Siren.
Any guy would give his sports scholarship to make out with me. (I know that sounds conceited, but I'm totally nervous and maybe if I psych myself up, I'll actually have the guts to try to get that kiss I've been dreaming about all these years.)

Go for it, Roxy.

“Kiss me,” I hear myself whisper.

“Yeah?”

I nod, hoping it's dark enough to hide the blush I feel creeping into my cheeks. “Yeah.”

Zach inhales deeply and cradles the back of my head. Oh my God, it's really happening. I close my eyes and wait, my lips tingling in anticipation. I feel his breath on my nose as he exhales…. Oh, here it comes!

Or maybe not.

Hey, what's taking him so long?

What's wrong? Oh my God. Is there something in my nose? Is my lip gloss smeared on my teeth? Is it my breath? Has he changed his mind? Has the Siren spell expired?

Opening my right eye just the teensiest bit, I peep at him through my lashes. He's just sitting there, staring at me. There's a
serious expression on his face, but he doesn't look particularly repulsed, so that's good. He leans closer, and I close my eyes again, my heart beating in overdrive.

Zach's lips hit mine, his tongue banging against my teeth until I open up. He swipes his tongue side-to-side, front-to-back. Wet, hard, hot. And did I mention
wet?

I yank my head away, pressing my fingers against my throbbing, slobbery lips. I've been waiting for this moment since puberty. My first real kiss. Not a forehead kiss like my mom gives me, or a cheek kiss like Alex and Natalie give me. Not a kiss mandated by those dumb kissing games we'd play at camp. A Real Kiss.

Is this how it's
supposed
to feel? If fireworks were supposed to go off, someone forgot to light them. Hell, they forgot to go to the neighborhood TNT shed and buy them in the first place. I feel no tingles, no sparks, no excitement. Instead, I'm rehearsing some kind of excuse to get out of his tube socks—stinky truck and into the safety of my home.

I open the door and the interior lights come on. Something sparkly catches my eye. Reaching into the crack between the
seat belt and the seat, I pull out a pretty rhinestone hair clip. Eva Nelson's hair clip. She wears it all the time. I would too, if it were mine. Well, she won't ever see it again if I leave it in this mess of a vehicle, right? I slip it into my pocket, making a mental note to give it back to her the next time I see her.

“See ya later,” I say, jumping out.

Right before I slip inside the front door, I hear Zach shout, “Hey, you forgot your flute!”

“Oh, right … thanks.”

I slip inside and close the door as quietly as possible, but Pumpkin hears me and comes a-prancin' over, his tail wagging enthusiastically. Leaning aginst the door, I clench my eyes shut and try to catch my breath.

What an unbelievable night! First, I can't believe I showed my face at a Proud Crowd party, especially after Eva and J.T. teased me about liking Zach. Second, I can't believe I actually kissed Zach Parker. Definitely not the toe-curling kind of kiss you see in the movies, but it was a kiss. And any kiss is better than no kiss, right?

Besides, it was probably my fault that it wasn't all that. I mean, Zach has tons of experience. He was with Eva, after all. And
she's not exactly the president of the Prudence Club. I, on the other hand, have zero experience. Maybe it'll just take a little more practice to get it right.

I've got to call Natalie to dish. After dropping my flute off in my room, I dial her number into my cordless, and wait for her to answer. Pumpkin yawns, showing me a mouthful of teensy white teeth and a teensy pink tongue. I stoop down and scratch his ears.

“It's one thing to be a bitch to
me,
but to Alex?” she says, skipping the “hello” altogether.

“What are you talking about?” I wander into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of milk.

“You totally dissed us.”

“Excuse me?
You're
the one who dissed
me.
I had to find a ride home.” I sit down with a slice of leftover birthday cake.

“I guess you think you're all of a sudden too
pretty
to be seen with the likes of me.” She says “pretty” all nasally, like it's a bad thing.

“Whatever, Natalie,” I say with my mouth full of cream-cheese frosting. But part of me knows she's right. I had a feeling
those guys wouldn't kick me out, like they did Natalie and Alex. I knew, deep down, that my Siren beauty was enough to earn me at least a temporary Proud Crowd membership card. I admit it. And I can't deny that I took advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to hang out with them, even for a jiffy. I'm not necessarily proud of this, and if life had a rewind button, I probably would've left with Natalie and Alex.

Then again, if I'd left, I wouldn't have kissed Zach.

Still, I don't want Natalie to be mad at me. I know what will bring her around. Just the mere mention of The Kiss … “Hey, guess what?”

“I've gotta go.”

“Don't you want to know what happened?”

“I
saw
what happened, Roxy. I may not have perfect eyesight like you in your new colored contacts, but I saw what happened.” She pauses for a second before continuing. “You sold me out, Roxy. You sold Alex and me out. You made fun of us for being band geeks, and you pretended not to even know us. It may as well have been
you
who kicked us out of the party.”

The bite of cake lodges itself in my throat. I take a swig of milk to wash it down. “That's so untrue! Why would I make fun of band geeks when I'm one myself?”

“You tell me.”

“I'm serious, Natalie. You're being ridiculous.”

“Am I? Then why'd you stay? Why'd you stay when they were being such jerks? I thought you were my best friend, Roxy. Friends stick together. They stick up for you! They don't humiliate you in front of the whole damn world. They don't pretend not to even
know
you.”

Her words make my stomach plummet, like I'm on the Tower of Terror ride at MGM Studios. “Natalie, I …” Man, I figured she wouldn't be happy with me, but I had no clue she'd be
this
upset. I need to give her time to let off some steam, so I change the subject back to the whole reason we even went to the party. “You don't care who drove me home in his white Toyota pickup?” Come on. Be a good little gossip hound and take this bone. This big meaty, delicious bone.

She says, “Not really,” and the line goes dead.

I brush my teeth and climb into bed, my breaths coming in quick, shallow waves. Snuggled under my daisy comforter with Pumpkin snoring softly at my feet, I stew over Natalie.

I didn't expect her to be this mad about the whole staying-at-the-party thing. But wasn't the reason Natalie dragged me to the party so that Zach could see the “new me” somewhere other than at school? Didn't she want him to ask me out? Didn't she want him to kiss me?

As for The Kiss, well, I'm going to have to do something about that. Maybe if I use my Siren powers on Zach again, I can get him to kiss me like the hero in one of those romance novels Mom has stashed under her bed—you know, the ones with muscle-ripped, half-naked men holding huge-breasted women on the cover?

While I'm eating breakfast Sunday morning, I have an idea. An epiphany, really. I am a Siren. I have powers. Why do all my tedious household chores myself when I've got a perfectly competent little brother with nothing better to do?

I pull out my flute, and the instant
Chase comes wandering into the kitchen, I start playing. Beautiful, smooth, sweet music fills the air. I play for quite a while, since a) he's not already under the spell of my beauty (he
is
my brother, after all) and b) I haven't played my flute for him since becoming a Siren.

Chase smiles this goofy smile and lays his beloved Game Boy on the counter.

Oh my God, it's working. This is too cool!

Without warning, he hurls a banana at me. The banana ricochets off the top of my head and knocks over my glass of SunnyD. I spring up before the orange stickiness drenches my pajama pants, and Chase takes off into the dining room. Grabbing my flute, I run after him, blowing notes into it as I chase him around the house.

I'm about to give up when strangest thing happens. My brother stops running and walks back into the kitchen. His pupils are dilated as if he just got back from the eye doctor.

I give the whole Siren power thing another whirl. “Chase, I'd like you to do the dishes, wash and iron all my dirty clothes, clean my room and bathroom, and feed Pumpkin. All summer long.” I get ready to
duck for another banana-bomb, but since he's just standing there looking at me, I add as an afterthought, “And get a haircut. You look ridiculous.”

He blinks once, twice … then says, “You betcha, Roxy. Anything else I can do for you?”

“Er, no. That'll be all.”
Hello?
This is my little brother we're talking about. True to his word, he whisks away my cereal bowl and empty glass and takes them to the sink.

I run my fingers along my beat-up flute case, marveling at the shiny, silver power within it. Funny how the very thing that's been the bane of my existence since the fifth grade is capable of giving me any kind of life I want. Like Grandma Perkins said, the sky's the limit.

As I'm hunting through my closet for something to wear, Chase zips about—making my bed, vacuuming my carpet, and even washing my bedroom window.

Examining myself in the mirror, I still have a hard time believing this is my reflection. All my life, I've dreamed of being beautiful. But I never dreamed that it would actually come true. And I never dreamed
that I'd be going out with the hottest guy at Franklin!

The phone rings, and Chase lunges for it. “Hello? Yeah, she's here. Just a sec.” He holds the phone out for me, and before I can wonder who it is, he says, “It's a booooooy.”