The Gay Teen's Guide to Defeating a Siren_Book 2_The Siren

by Cody Wagner

  Cassie didn’t respond for a long time, which worried me. When we were almost back to the dorms, she finally said, “It must have been important. Or he would have picked another time.”

  “What could anyone possibly know?” Roze said.

  I jerked with an idea and looked at Cassie. “Could your dad—sorry, adoptive dad—know anything since he works for Senator Joseph? I think Wolcott wants information.”

  “Oh,” Roze said. “I never thought of that.”

  She glanced at Cassie, who studied both of us. “That could be it. But my adoptive parents never tell me anything.”

  “True,” Roze said.

  I grudgingly nodded, realizing I was disappointed. I’d almost convinced myself that’s what Wolcott had wanted. I guess I was desperate for information, too.

  Once in Roze’s room, we went through her belongings, throwing away anything that bordered on suspicious. That included her Red Shirt Brigade t-shirts. While they technically weren’t incriminating, the shirts hinted that bullying occurred, and we had to give the impression Sanctuary was perfect.

  Roze’s face was stoic as I shoved the shirts into the trash. After I tied the bag, she turned her back to it and said, “They’re just shirts. We’re the ones who made them more.”

  I stared at her. “I don’t say this often, but you’re pretty damn amazing.”

  Roze cocked her head. I’m sure she wasn’t expecting that. But I figured, if there was ever a time to be honest, this was it.

  “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” she said, following my lead. “Both of you.” She came over and pulled me and Cassie into a hug. I put my arms around them, and we stood in silence. Roze pulled the circle closer, placing her head in the middle. We followed suit until our foreheads touched.

  Finally, Cassie pulled back. “We have a job to do.”

  “And we know things are worse than anyone suspects,” Roze said.

  “At least the teachers know the Siren’s involved,” I said.

  “And that means something,” Roze added.

  I half-expected Roze or Cassie to start speculating what the Siren might do. But the three of us quietly finished Roze’s room and proceeded to mine.

  The minute Cassie trashed the progress reports she’d made for me last year, I had my own mini breakdown. Images of my parents grinning at Cassie’s “healing charts” passed through my head, and it started a tidal wave of memories. I sat down for a minute and looked around the room, trying to memorize everything. Then I took a giant breath and stood up. “Remember when we played Pictionary?”

  Roze smiled. “You wanted to break the game board when we won.”

  “I don’t remember you winning,” I said.

  Roze laughed. “Whatever. Do you remember Jimmy’s drawings?”

  I grinned. “He made landscapes out of everything.”

  “The card said to draw an eagle,” Roze said, “and he added mountains and rivers.”

  “The card said to draw shoelaces,” I said, “and he added mountains and rivers.”

  We both laughed.

  “What about Cassie over-analyzing the drawings?” Roze said.

  I nodded and looked at Cassie. “You thought a bookcase was Man’s need for better education.”

  Cassie looked at her shoes. “I still think I was right.”

  The three of us continued trading memories as we finished cleaning the room. Then we carried our bags to the dumpsters by the gym. My hands were frozen by the time we arrived. I had to blow on them while waiting for the students ahead of me to trash their stuff. When it was our turn, Roze, Cassie, and I walked to the dumpsters together.

  I paused before throwing the bags away.

  “It’s just stuff,” Roze said. “Like the shirts.”

  I nodded. She was right. How often did I go through my things, anyway? Never. That made it easier to toss the bags into the nearest dumpster.

  “That was easy,” I said.

  Cassie shrugged.

  She hadn’t said much, but I knew how hard this was on her. She had more to lose than any of us. If her dad hurt her now, I was terrified at what he’d do if she was sent home. That just made my involvement as the Seeker so much more crucial.

  None of us said much on the way back to our rooms. I’m sure we were imagining our own worst-case scenarios. When we reached the fork in the sidewalk leading to the two dorms, the three of us huddled again. We didn’t move until we couldn’t stand the cold anymore. Then, we separated, and Cassie and I headed to our room.

  Neither of us slept that night. I was trying to formulate a game plan, but couldn’t come up with anything except to be on the constant lookout for purple glows.

  Every half hour or so, I looked over at Cassie. She stared off at nothing all night. She didn’t cry, though, so I kept my mouth shut. Better to let her analyze what was happening than risk causing a breakdown.

  Suddenly, a shrill alarm started ringing. I looked at the clock: 7:02AM. I’d been lost in my head for hours and jerked back to reality so hard, I almost fell out of bed. It was too early for the school bell. What was happening?

  “That’s the warning bell,” Cassie said, her voice shaking as she looked up at me.

  I gripped my sheet so hard, my hands hurt. “They’re here.”

  We stared at each other for a minute. Seeing the sadness on her face, I grit my teeth. It was time. My job as the Seeker began now.

  Before I could bombard myself with second guesses, I hopped down and got dressed. I made sure to wear a collared shirt and my nicest jeans. Cassie fixed her hair—like she did with her parents—and wore a long blue dress. Then, we grabbed our backpacks and made our way to the exit. Tons of other students filed outside, and we joined them. Together, we all stared out at the wrought iron gate and waited for hell to arrive.

  Suddenly, a white and gray RV turned in to the entrance.

  “Oh my god,” someone said.

  A girl behind me whimpered.

  “Don’t panic,” another girl said. “It’s just like Christmas when our parents come.”

  Someone else repeated, “It’s just like Christmas.”

  That started a tiny chant spreading through the group. We said, “It’s just like Christmas,” over and over as we marched across the frozen field, past the auditorium, and to the Admissions Building. I noticed the day was cloudy and dim, like Mother Nature knew this was going to suck. That made me feel better—like she was on our side—and I joined in more chants of, “It’s just like Christmas.”

  The RV circled the road lasso and pulled to a stop in front of the Admissions Building. We immediately shut up. The vehicle looked expensive. My parents’ donations had probably helped pay for this monstrosity.

  Suddenly, the door opened, and a man got out. A few seconds later, a woman emerged. Then another. And another.

  A minute later, six men and six women—all wearing gray business attire—marched toward the Admissions Building entrance, where Principal Wolcott and Coach Adkins stood, smiling pleasantly.

  Normally, I might have marveled at Wolcott’s composure. I’m sure they were more worried than the rest of us combined. But that didn’t occur to me. At all. Instead, terror enveloped me as I realized not a single member of the twelve Zealots was under control.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets and gripped my legs to keep calm. In all the footage I’d seen of other school visits, some of the Zealots glowed. But, no matter how hard I looked or how much I squinted, I saw no purple. And I knew exactly what that meant:

  The Siren suspected the Seeker was here. And she wasn’t going to let me interfere.

  Nineteen

  The Seeker

  I looked at the ground, pushing my shoes into the dirt. I’d never really felt like my life was in immediate danger before. Well, there was the time I’d almost died to save Jimmy, but I didn’t see that coming. Giving my life to save Jimmy was one thing. Going into an unknown firestorm as the target was another. I shifted from side to side
, thinking about the Siren. Was she coming for me or the school?

  “Are you OK?”

  Cassie’s voice brought me back to reality, and my sense of purpose returned. I couldn’t crumble now. Looking at Cassie, I said, “I’m just cold.”

  She nodded and watched me as I turned to the Zealots, who’d gathered around Wolcott and Adkins. The group of adults stood there, speaking for a few minutes. Then, the Admissions Building doors opened and they all went inside.

  We stood there, as if expecting a massive explosion. Or for the doors to melt into a pile of acid.

  I leaned over and whispered, “What’s happening? They didn’t say a word to us.”

  “It makes sense,” Cassie said.

  “What?”

  “They think we’re beneath them. They’re not going to address us or make speeches.”

  That did make sense, but it didn’t stop anger from seeping in. “What do we do?”

  Suddenly, a bell rang.

  Someone next to me shrieked. “What’s that?”

  “The school bell,” Cassie said. “It’s 7:45.”

  “What happens?” someone else said.

  I expected talk of a revolution, but Cassie shifted her backpack and said, “We go to class.”

  The idea of an entire school body being tardy for the first day of an inspection broke us all out of our stupors. A mad dash ensued, and all the students tore off to the Classroom Center. I joined them and used the crowd to lose Cassie.

  It was time to be the Seeker.

  As everyone began filing into the Classroom Center, I planted myself at the entrance and scanned the crowd, looking for purple glows. Because the Siren hadn’t controlled one of the Zealots, I figured she was aiming for a student. But my initial scans revealed nothing. None of the teachers I saw were under control, either.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jerked around and saw Cassie studying me.

  I pretended to be annoyed. “Looking for you!”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s OK. Let’s get to class.”

  I slowly followed Cassie, watching stragglers file their way in. Still no purple.

  On my way up the stairs, I expected some Zealots to jump out at me with lie detectors. But nothing happened, and I warily said goodbye to Cassie after we reached the Geometry classroom.

  The class sat politely in their chairs when I walked in. Everyone looked like mannequins, hands clasped in front of them on their desks. Darrin wasn’t even wearing his usual smirk. It was creepy, but I found myself joining them when I sat. We were a team.

  I looked out the corner of my eye at Roze. She was upright and still, like the rest of us.

  “Bet I can stay like this longer,” I whispered. I didn’t know where it came from, but I had to say something to keep myself from collapsing under the tension.

  Roze choked back a laugh. She hadn’t expected that one.

  Ms. Meeks walked in and set her books down. She acted like our prim behavior was perfectly normal. Without giving anything away, she went to the whiteboard and began the lesson. As soon as she did, I was sure something awful would happen—like the Zealots would come in and pass out Siren-controlled brain hats—but fifty minutes later, the bell rang without incident.

  Before Roze could react, I hopped up and bolted into the hallway. From there, I went to a corner overlooking most of the floor. For the next eight minutes, I scanned students for purple glows. When I didn’t see any, I race-walked to Chemistry, wondering if the day might actually go OK.

  A man and woman sat at the front of the room when I made my way in. They wore name tags identifying themselves as Behavior Inspectors. I was so caught off guard, I almost cussed out loud, but held it in and tentatively made my way to my desk.

  The students here were sitting just like the ones in Geometry—upright with hands clasped on desks. The difference was the tension. It was about a million times worse here. The girl next to me squeezed her hands together so hard, they were almost purple. I purposely let out a calming breath, just loud enough for her to hear. I heard her repeat it, and her hands relaxed.

  Just then, Ms. Dewey walked into the room. Her footsteps stuttered ever so slightly when she caught sight of the two Zealots staring at her. But she quickly composed herself, brushed back her dirty blonde hair, set her stuff down, and began our lesson as if nothing weird was happening.

  Once she got going, her demeanor was the same as always. I had to give her props for that, but it didn’t mean I listened. Instead, I stared at the Zealots out of my periphery. I’m sure everyone else secretly watched them, too. And I’m sure we were all thinking the same thing: What are they going to do?

  Suddenly, the female Zealot called out, “Ricky Ortiz!”

  The entire class went quiet.

  Every one of us looked at Ms. Dewey. Face composed, she smiled at Ricky and nodded.

  “Yes, ma’am?” Ricky whispered to the Zealot.

  The Zealot stood and went to the door. “Follow me.”

  I expected Ricky to look as if he were going to the electric chair. But he didn’t. He kept his head held high as he marched to the door and out to god knows where. We all stared for a second then turned back to Ms. Dewey as if nothing had happened. I smiled on the inside: we were fighters. Still, I was nervous as hell.

  “Lauren Judd.”

  It was the male Zealot.

  I jerked in my seat and looked at Ms. Dewey, who nodded at Lauren. Just like Ricky, she stood, composed, as the man escorted her out into the hall.

  Because no Zealots were around now, we stared after them for a good thirty seconds. Ms. Dewey’s throat clear jarred us back to our senses, and she continued talking about atomic weights.

  Five minutes later, Ricky re-entered the classroom. His face was flushed, but he didn’t seem too upset. Sneaking a reassuring smile at us, he sat down. Suddenly, the female Zealot—once again standing in the doorway—called another guy’s name, and he followed her into the hall.

  A few minutes later, Lauren entered, and the male Zealot summoned another girl.

  I nodded to myself: they were questioning us, randomly, during classes. My hands began sweating as always, but I maintained my calm exterior. Ignoring chemistry, I began going through my straight training lessons. I just had to go back in the closet for a few minutes.

  Ten minutes later, I heard, “Blaize Trales.”

  The Zealot smirked when she read my name. I was glad; her laughing at my name reminded me of Jimmy’s dad. That’s just what I needed to strengthen my resolve.

  Head held high, I got up and marched to the door. The woman motioned for me to exit. I went to move forward when she stepped in front of me, cutting me off. It was a total power play, and I almost rolled my eyes as she led me out of the classroom.

  Two empty desks faced each other on our side of the hall. The male Zealot sat with a girl at another set of desks across the hall. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I noticed the girl’s hands were still clasped neatly in front of her. I mimicked her pose as I sat in the desk opposite the female Zealot.

  “I’m Claire Wilkes with Zimmerman’s Zealots, and I’m going to be asking you some questions.”

  Her tone was stern and condescending, like she was better than me. Instead of intimidating me, it gave me more confidence. I found myself smiling back at her. “I’m happy to provide anything you need, Miss Wilkes. Or is it Misses?”

  She tilted her head at me. “Misses.”

  “Very well, Misses Wilkes.”

  She picked up a few papers and straightened them. As she did, I took a quick look down the hall. Another 4 desks sat at the far end, next to my English class. I nodded, realizing the Zealots were tag-teaming random classes.

  Wilkes cleared her throat. “How long have you been a student here?”

  Without pause, I answered, “This is my second year.”

  “And what grade are you in?”

  “I’m a sophomore.”

 
“You plan on graduating here?”

  I was ready for that one and answered, “Only if necessary.”

  She nodded. “What classes are you taking?”

  I rattled off a list, and she said, “How are your grades?”

  “As and Bs. Except in math.”

  “And how long have you known you were a faggot?”

  I shot back in my seat as anger ran through me. She smiled serenely at me. I took a quick second; she’d lulled me into a false sense of security before springing that question. My instinct was to lash out at her, and I almost did. Instead, I curled my toes and answered, “The last few years. Well, not as much anymore.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her, clearly mocking the students. “So, the techniques here are working?”

  “Yes. I’m not going to say it’s been easy, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Evil is like a drug. Sometimes you have withdrawals. But fighting them makes me stronger.”

  She leaned over and wrote something down. “I’m sure you’ve seen the video of your fellow student.”

  I nodded.

  “Who is she?”

  “Tracy Bridges.”

  She continued watching me, but I didn’t offer up anything more.

  “And what is your relationship to her?”

  I decided to keep it simple. “I had a few classes with her but that’s it.”

  “Why did she speak the truth?”

  “Because the first video was a lie.”

  She smirked at me. “What makes you think I was talking about the second video?”

  “Because I live here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Your words mean nothing. You’re loyal to the school.”

  “No. I can’t wait to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it will mean I’m healed. Sanctuary is just a means to an end.”

  “What end?”

  “I want to get better.”

  “And Tracey didn’t?”

  For this one, I channeled Cassie. “Most teenagers suffer setbacks when attending healing camps. All camps. Without exception. Tracey is just an unfortunate demographic.”

  “Without exception? Then why was she the only one to make an incriminating video like that?”