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

by Cody Wagner

  Catching the Siren had its rewards.

  Speaking of Mrs. Cooke, she vanished after Roze turned her in. No doubt she was taken somewhere for questioning, and who knows what else. While it was definitely for the best, I worried it might affect Cassie in ways we hadn’t thought about. There was a good chance Mrs. Cooke was going away for a long time. I had no idea where, but the Advisory Council on Lighthouses couldn’t just let her run wild.

  Regardless of how she’d treated Cassie, Mrs. Cooke was still a big part of her life. No matter how angry I was with my parents, I’d feel horrible if they were sent away forever.

  Also, without his wife around, Mr. Cooke was now Cassie’s sole guardian. That had to be terrifying. Of course, he wasn’t under control anymore, so I hoped whatever demons were inside him had been destroyed. I even created a little daydream, where he suddenly became an amazing father.

  Too bad I couldn’t inspire Cassie with that daydream. While she wasn’t crying anymore, she spent hours checked out. I knew her brain was whirring. She was trying to prepare for whatever happened next. It’s like when I shut myself in my room after first coming out. All I could do was try to plan for every worst-case scenario.

  Still, I knew things would turn out for the best with time.

  The piece that remained up in the air was Timothy. Actually, it wasn’t up in the air at all—he still had a boyfriend. But now that things had settled, I occasionally got pangs that clenched my stomach—especially when I saw them together. However, the feelings were more muted than before. I think our success with the Siren had helped me move on. Nothing like saving an entire campus to get rid of feelings of inadequacy.

  Too bad a healing ego didn’t help me remember Spanish.

  I was just walking out of Spanish II the day before our final, knowing I’d botch the test. Languages were not my strong suit, and my mind felt like a sieve, with words like facilmente and cuidadoso falling through the cracks in my neurons. Part of me wanted to tell Mr. Lopez (in my douchiest voice), “I’m the Seeker. No final for me, buddy.” But that didn’t seem like the best way to out myself. So, I trudged down the hall, face in my open book.

  Suddenly, the alarm bell started ringing. I jerked up, cussing, and dropped the book.

  Someone was at Sanctuary. Again.

  The entire student body froze like one of those movies where time stops. My book crashed to the floor in slow motion. The noise seemed to echo everywhere.

  Then, as suddenly as we’d stopped, time sped back up, and everyone took off for the nearest window. Students piled into classrooms and bolted down stairs to get a peek at who was here. I followed a few people into a random classroom and jockeyed for a decent position.

  “It’s just one car,” a guy said.

  “Thank god,” a girl next to him said.

  I felt my shoulders relax. At least it wasn’t another RV full of Zimmerman’s Zealots. It was probably just a parent dropping by for a surprise visit. The school warned us it could happen. Curious, I pushed my way to a window, and leaned my face against the glass.

  “What kind of car is that?” a girl asked.

  “I can’t make out who’s in it,” another girl responded.

  I couldn’t answer; my voice had run and hid behind my tonsils.

  A familiar white Toyota Camry—with my family inside—made its way around the road lasso toward the Admissions Building.

  Twenty-Five

  The Siren

  The classroom full of students gossiped about whose parents had arrived. Normally, I might have feigned ignorance and joined them. Or ran out before everyone realized whose family it was. Instead, I shuffled out of the room, my mind racing. This wasn’t a coincidence. My parents didn’t just randomly show up for a fun-filled visit.

  The Siren was behind this.

  Anger started seeping in. Mrs. Cooke just couldn’t freaking stop. Somehow, before the authorities got to her, she’d set something in motion. I just didn’t know what it was. The fact it was directed at me caused fear to push back my anger. Mrs. Cooke knew I was the Seeker. Or she suspected strongly enough to get my parents involved. What was she going to have them do? Remove me forever? Take me to a Zimmerman’s Zealots camp, where she could destroy me?

  Part of me wanted to hide. Forever. However, the fact she’d already lost squashed that thought. Besides, I was tired of running. Best to figure out what was going on and deal with it.

  I walked out of the room, completely silent, and made my way downstairs. Students loitered everywhere, talking about how sorry they felt for whoever’s parents had shown up. A few people spread the word to stop all gay activities.

  I made my way through the bustle and out the front doors. The wind had picked up, and it blew my hair all over. I ignored it as I made my way around the Classroom Center and to the Admissions Building. My dad’s car was parked outside, and I stopped to stare at the familiar Texas license plate. Just then, someone grabbed my shoulder. I yelped and whirled around.

  Roze stood there, worried. “Your parents?”

  “Yep.”

  Rose cussed and said, “She’s behind it.”

  “I know.”

  She looked at the Admissions Building. “What are you going to do?”

  I patted uselessly at my hair. “No idea.”

  She punched my arm then pulled me into a hug. “No matter what happens, Cassie and I will fix it. We will get you back.”

  I nodded at her, without really processing her words, and made my way, head held high, into the Admissions Building.

  “Blaize?”

  I looked at the receptionist and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Your parents are here.”

  “I know.”

  She looked at her computer screen. “They’re with Principal Wolcott. In his office.”

  I pointed down the hall. “May I?”

  She held up a finger, grabbed her phone, and dialed his extension.

  “Blaize Trales is here. Shall I send him in?”

  After a few seconds, the secretary hung up. “Do you know which office is his?”

  “Yes.”

  “OK. He’s ready for you.” At that, she gave me her most encouraging smile.

  I tried to return it but ended up grimacing.

  Turning, I made my way to Principal Wolcott’s office. His door was shut, so I knocked lightly.

  “Enter.” Wolcott’s voice was all business.

  I opened the door but didn’t step in. Principal Wolcott sat behind his handsome desk. Mom and Dad were in the two chairs opposite the desk.

  They immediately turned to face me. Dad’s face was stoic. Mom looked confused. Molly stood next to Mom, holding a giant cloth M&M bag filled with fabric candies. The edges of the bag were twisted, and I knew Molly had been worrying. The second she saw me, she dropped the bag and ran to me.

  “They’re trying to make you leave and—”

  “Molly!” Dad’s voice stopped Molly mid-sentence. “Let us handle this.”

  She gave me a serious look then grabbed my hand and led me over to the desk.

  By this point, my heart felt like it was pounding in my brain. I hoped for a reassuring smile from Principal Wolcott, but he simply nodded at me. “Mr. Trales.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Please sit, Mr. Trales.” Without waiting for me to answer, Wolcott stood, grabbed a chair sitting in the corner, and dragged it over. I took a seat and crossed my arms.

  “So, what’s going on?” I repeated.

  “Your parents have come to pull you from Sanctuary.”

  “Why?” My tone was flat, as I’d already suspected as much.

  I think Wolcott expected me to freak out. His face showed surprise, even curiosity, for just a second, before he said, “They’ve found evidence of questionable behavior.”

  “I’m sure they have.” My voice remained emotionless. I turned to my mom. “Do you mind if I ask what you were sent?”

  She lowered her glasses. “How do y
ou know I was sent something?”

  I shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

  My attitude rattled her, but I didn’t care. I was tired of the games. Too much had happened this year. And I wanted to see what the Siren had done.

  “Yes, well . . .” At that, Mom grabbed her phone and pulled up some pictures. I leaned over and saw they were of me and Timothy. We were standing outside Ms. Meeks’s car, laughing. Even from the pictures, our chemistry was palpable. And I could see blatant desperation on my face. That brought a quick pang to my chest, but it was quickly overridden with the thought, Who took these?!

  I kept my voice flat. “I don’t understand. That’s just me and a student helping a teacher.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “The messages we received say that young man is your . . . boyfriend.” He whispered boyfriend as if banshees were going to descend on the building and kill us all.

  “That most certainly is not true.” I spoke with complete honesty. Timothy and I were never official.

  Mom looked at Wolcott, who folded his hands across his desk and said, “I cannot say one way or another.”

  “Then how do you keep order here?” Mom said.

  Wolcott smiled. “I understand your concern, Mrs. Trales. We do everything in our power to observe and heal our students. But we can’t possibly keep track of them twenty-four seven. No healing school or camp can do that.”

  “Well, it looks like you’ve missed a lot.” Mom got on her phone again. This time, she pulled up a video and handed me the phone. I pressed play, and my body went rigid.

  In the video, I was standing backstage in Sanctuary’s theater. My video body hummed with energy. Clearly, I was excited about something. Then, the camera panned a bit, and Jimmy appeared. He was in costume for Too Many Secrets, the play he’d starred in last year.

  My chest felt like giant hands were squeezing it. Jimmy was so happy, he practically glowed. Despite the tension in Wolcott’s office, I bit my lip as tears filled my eyes. Seeing Jimmy like this—alive and happy—was uplifting and gut-wrenching at the same time. While I loved seeing him, I was once again reminded of this amazing person who was gone.

  The conflicting emotions boiled together into a weird anger. “Why are you showing me this?”

  Mom didn’t look at me. She just pointed at the video like she was the Ghost of Christmas Future.

  I snapped my head back down. Video Blaize approached Jimmy, and we chatted a bit. Seeing me, Jimmy shone more than ever. Suddenly, I realized how much he’d liked me. His face was just like mine in the pictures with Timothy.

  Guilt ran through me, and I wondered how badly I’d hurt Jimmy when I didn’t return his feelings. Especially after we’d—

  Realization hit, and I covered my mouth, knowing why Mom showed me the video. Then I closed my eyes; I couldn’t watch. But I knew exactly what was going to happen. In just a few seconds, I was going to lean in and kiss Jimmy. It was wholly incriminating, because I’d initiated it. It wasn’t like Jimmy grabbed me and I flailed and fought him off. No, the entire thing was on my shoulders.

  Mom took her phone from me, and I opened my eyes and looked at Mr. Wolcott. He was struggling, too. And I totally understood. Jimmy’s death had been extremely hard on him. Under the surface, he must have been thrilled Jimmy and I had shared a moment. But that couldn’t come across.

  In the moment, I remembered something Wolcott had said at orientation almost two years ago:

  Acting out will only get you expelled. And, if it comes down to it, your parents will believe us. Trust me.

  At the time, it sounded harsh, but now I totally got it. The school couldn’t sacrifice itself for one student. Sure, tons of kids here held hands and kissed. But we were all taking a risk. Unfortunately, I was the one who’d gotten busted.

  Still, Principal Wolcott tried to intervene.

  “Mrs. Trales,” he said. “That event is, indeed, unfortunate. But please remember, our students are human. They make mistakes. Almost everyone will suffer the occasional slip-up. It’s an ongoing progress that improves over time. That video was taken over a year ago. I guarantee you won’t find another one after. Blaize is healing.”

  Normally, that tactic might have worked. But I’d seen my mom like this before. Her head remained bowed, and I knew she was probably crying. She wasn’t disappointed with the school. Instead, she was mad at herself. She blamed herself for raising a son who’d embarrassed Sanctuary. Her breakdown was directed at no one, but herself.

  My shoulders drooped. This was another one of those incidents that made me feel guilty for disliking my parents. My mom was putting all the blame on herself. Sure, it was misdirected, but it still hurt to watch.

  Finally, she said, “Maybe. But we need to think it over.”

  They continued to talk for a few minutes, but I knew her mind was made up. When Mom entered this mode, there was no going back. At least not for a while. We were going to leave the school, and I knew it.

  That’s when a voice in my head said, Not if you tell Wolcott you’re the Seeker.

  I sat up in my chair. The idea was incredibly tempting. Sanctuary wouldn’t dare let me leave if they knew my secret.

  But I kept quiet.

  Why? First, this was the last thing Mrs. Cooke could do to me. My life wasn’t in danger, anymore. Sure, telling Sanctuary would allow me to stay. But it might also make me the government’s slave. Forever. Was it worth it? Besides, Roze and Cassie would surely think of something.

  Second, the school year was almost over. I’d be going back home in a week, anyway. What was a week? Nothing. And if Mom still didn’t want me back at Sanctuary when the next school year began, I could come out as the Seeker then.

  I nodded and actually felt better as we stood to leave.

  Wolcott’s face was unreadable as Dad opened his door. But I knew he was hurting. He’d made a statement last year about how he ached for each lost student. Therefore, just before we walked out, I smiled at him. “I’ll be back.”

  * * * * *

  The drive back to Pamata was awkward as always. It was made more so because my parents had forced me to leave. Oh, and because I’d kissed a boy. They pretty much pretended I didn’t exist, which was fine with me. It gave me time to think.

  Two things ran through my head during the first hour of the drive. First, Mrs. Cooke’s reason for sending me home confused me. It seemed she just wanted to get rid of me. And that made sense; without my presence, she could do whatever she wanted at Sanctuary. But she’d killed Jimmy in cold blood. So why not me? Why let me live? She clearly despised me.

  The second thing going through my mind was Jimmy. Seeing the video brought back so many painful memories. His energy in the play was electric. And I blamed myself for its dimming. Not just because I felt responsible for his death, but because I’d broken his heart.

  That’s when it really hit home that Mrs. Cooke killed Jimmy. Up to this point, a nebulous creature in my head was the murderer. Assigning a face to the killer brought on a fury I hadn’t felt in forever. I got so wound up, I started squirming in my seat. Not only did Mrs. Cooke murder my best friend, she also dragged Cassie into it. Thinking back, I was sure Cassie felt blame for Jimmy’s death. After all, she was the closest tie to Mrs. Cooke.

  That thought made me squirm even more. I balled my hands into fists and my arms shook.

  Then I felt a head against my shoulder.

  “You OK?” Molly whispered.

  I looked at her. Her face was etched with worry.

  I glanced out the window. The rolling trees were thinning out. Just like the Siren’s hold on us. OK, it was a terrible analogy, but it seemed to fit. Mrs. Cooke couldn’t do anything else to us. Sure, I could mourn her actions, but I couldn’t let them control me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, ruffling Molly’s hair.

  “Hey!” She playfully pushed my hand away.

  I laughed. My mirth was fake, but the least I could do was give Molly some attention. The drive to Sanct
uary had to have been miserable for her.

  “What do you have there?” I looked down at Molly’s lap.

  “A phone.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re seven!”

  “So?”

  Feeling geriatric, I said, “Seven-year-olds shouldn’t have cell phones.” Part of my statement was probably rooted in jealousy—seeing as I wasn’t allowed one—but the idea of Molly walking around with a chihuahua in one hand and a cell phone in the other wasn’t appealing.

  “It’s not a good phone,” Molly said.

  “Like that makes it OK.” My voice was sarcastic, but I smiled at her.

  She nestled against me. “Want to see my pictures?”

  “Starting amateur photography already?”

  She shrugged, pulled up her photos, and went to the beginning.

  I had to admit, they weren’t bad. Molly was really empathetic, and her pictures captured emotion. Lots of photos were candid shots of Mom and Dad. In a couple, Mom was laughing so hard, I could almost hear her snort. In others, she appeared worried or lost in thought.

  An odd sense of loss went through me. These were moments I’d missed out on. Conversely, my family was missing out on my life.

  I looked at my parents for a second, then turned back to the phone.

  What I saw made me yell out loud.

  “Blaize?” Dad said.

  Heart pounding, I said, “I thought I saw a bug,” and grabbed Molly’s phone.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I ignored her, and holding the phone like it was a grenade, swiped back a picture and almost yelled again. It was a picture of my dad standing in our living room back in Pamata.

  And he glowed purple.

  “When did you take this?” I whispered.

  “This morning.” Molly’s voice shook. “Right before we left. What’s wrong?”

  I pushed back against my headrest. Mrs. Cooke had been in custody for days. There was no way she could have reached my dad this morning. She was locked up or something.