Siren's Song

by Heather McCollum

  “Fridge,” I say and wait for him to fill his glass from the water dispenser. He tosses an ice cube to the eagerly panting Mica. “So?”

  He shrugs. “No, I haven’t been in trouble before, at least not anything terrible. No grand theft auto, no drugs or murders,” he kids.

  “But somehow, they think I’m going to be a bad influence on you?” It suddenly strikes me that this is the reason Matt wants me to go out with him. To protect his brother, or friend or whatever intense relationship they seem to have. I shove more rigatoni in my mouth and fight the blush burning up my cheeks. Hopefully the light is low enough to hide it.

  Luke steps closer. I inhale the perfect scent of him. “They’ve never seen me interested in someone before. It’s sort of freaking them out.”

  Interested? My heart shudders at the word and I have to remind myself to chew, so when my jaw drops open food doesn’t fall out on his shoes. He’s interested in me? Big, dark, gorgeous mystery guy is interested in me. His word, not mine. I swallow. “Are they your keepers, then?” I whisper past the hitch in my throat. Better to stick to a subject that doesn’t make me choke.

  He laughs and backs away. “They think they are.” The spell seems broken with the space he created between us. “Actually, we’ve always looked out for one another. I’d probably behave similarly if it was one of them.”

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, but Matt’s been interested in nearly every girl in the surrounding three counties.”

  “Yeah, Taylin’s been filling me in. He’s a jerk, isn’t he?”

  Other words besides “jerk” play through my mind, but I just nod. Silence ensues, filled only by Mica’s loud crunching at her food dish. She glances between us, but then shoves her muzzle back into the kibble.

  “So, you’re home alone a lot,” he comments. Has he been looking out for me? Instead of creeping me out, though, it makes me feel sort of warm inside.

  I dump my empty rigatoni dish into the trash and drop my fork in the dishwasher. Do I tell the truth, or fabricate a lie he’d probably see through immediately? “My mom is in the hospital, and my dad visits with her a lot.”

  He nods. “She okay?”

  “Actually, yes. I think. She seems better.”

  “Assuming the gossip is not accurate, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s wrong with her?”

  I have to give him credit for asking instead of relying on hearsay. “She had a nervous breakdown two months ago.” Although, if what Mom told me is true, wouldn’t a lot of people have had a similar reaction? “She’s resting at a psychiatric hospital over in Selma.”

  I expect the natural “I’m sorry,” but he just stares at me. No pity, no worried frown. He studies my face. “You said she seems better?”

  “Yeah.” I smile. “She’s been losing a lot of weight. The doctor said he would release her, except that she needs to gain back the weight and her strength. When I left the other day, she was hungry.”

  His forehead wrinkles as if he is trying to solve a difficult calc problem. “You care a lot for her?”

  “Of course. She’s my mom.”

  “You,” his head tilts slightly off-center, “love her?”

  “Yeah,” I answer; my face pinches, and I give him an “of course” look. “It’s sort of a mandatory thing, isn’t it? Or do you think parents just brainwash us when we’re little kids into loving them, no matter what?” I let out a muted laugh and lean back against the opposite counter a few feet away from him.

  He looks past my shoulder at the reflection in the black window over the sink. For a brief moment our conversation gets lost somewhere in my brain as I take in the perfect cut of his lean forearms crossed over his chest. The T-shirt spreads against his trim waist where the hint of rippling muscles shows. His voice pulls me back to his face. “I’ve never…been close to my parents.” It takes me several seconds to kick my brain into gear enough to remember what we were talking about.

  “I mean, when you were little, like, a toddler.” I’ve babysat enough to have seen a toddler’s nearly superhuman strength when clinging onto an escaping parent.

  His gaze returns to me. It looks…haunted. “I wasn’t an affectionate child. It worried my mother.” Something in what he says makes the hairs on my arms stand up. As if the words mean a whole lot more than the basic interpretation. But right now, I have too much deep stuff going on to want to excavate Luke’s messed-up childhood.

  “Well,” I say, “I love my mom. A lot. She’s actually pretty cool.” When she’s not hysterical. “I miss her.”

  “She sings,” he says and takes a sip of water. “I Googled her.”

  “Oh.” Awkward. It feels…invasive. Or is that just because I’m worried that, two miles away, there could be a secret room in my best friend’s house, covered in pictures of me and my family?

  “You sing, too.”

  “You searched for me?” I snap.

  He smiles wryly. “No. Taylin told me. She says you’re…” he looks at the ceiling as if remembering Taylin’s exact word, “…mesmerizing.”

  Wow. Taylin Banes said I was mesmerizing. “Yeah, I inherited my mother’s vocal cords.”

  “I heard a little the day I moved in.”

  “I remember,” I say dryly.

  He’s still smiling. “I believe I apologized for being rude.”

  Does he think I hold grudges? Do I? I shrug. “You did.” Mica whines at the back door, giving me something to do. I let her out.

  “I’d better go,” he says, setting the glass on the counter. “My mom’s kind of a nut about getting to bed on time on a school night. It’s crazy how early we have to get up for school here. The bell in Boston didn’t ring until 8:30.”

  “Cock-a-doodle-doo,” I say with a little roll of my eyes.

  A real smile replaces the haunted look in his eyes. I smile back. It’s impossible not to when Luke turns on his full grin, the type that reaches his deep-water eyes. Like an ocean under a storm. He walks to my front door and I follow.

  “So…” I hesitate. I don’t often go out on a limb, and I feel my blush ignite. “Interested, huh?”

  We’re standing on the dark porch. I inhale his clean, soapy scent, with maybe a tinge of some sexy body spray. Or is that just his pheromones? Can you smell pheromones?

  I feel the fabric of his shorts brush my thighs. His chest presses against mine and I suddenly feel just how tall he is. He must be six foot. I look up, feeling wobbly. His strong hand goes around my back to steady me, keeping me close. He brushes hair back from my ear and breathes slowly along the waves there. My heart pounds. I feel twinges running through me like an electric current. His fingers comb all the way down through my long hair, gently untangling the few snarls along the way.

  “Yeah,” he whispers, and goose bumps run along that side of my body. “Definitely interested.”

  My breath comes out in a staggered pant as I feel his lips touch my neck, feather-soft. My legs almost buckle when I feel the bare trace of kisses along my jaw, as if he’s exploring, savoring.

  I feel his nose skimming along my pulse. “Mmmm… lilacs.”

  My hands clasp his powerful shoulders so I don’t fall down, although, somehow, I know Luke will catch me if I do. His lips touch the corner of my mouth and I nearly embarrass myself by moaning. I’m melting. And then his lips move across mine.

  Tires crunch at the edge of the driveway and my eyes snap open. Luke is instantly next to me, his arm still in place, my anchor. Headlights slice the night open like a lightsaber.

  “My dad.” What would Dad think of me standing in the dark with a boy?

  “Most definitely interested,” he whispers against my temple. I feel the pressure of his hand fade. He’s gone. The darkness swallows his form as he jogs across the road toward his house.

  My mouth is gaping. Oh, God!

  “Julietta?” Dad asks. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Um…” I turn toward Dad. “Just thought I heard something.” />
  Dad chuckles. He almost sounds like his old self. “Turning on the light helps, you know.” He reaches inside and flicks on the porch light. I blink at the piercing brightness. Dad looks at me. “You okay? You look kind of…dazed.”

  Dazed? Try frickin’ shocked, floored…thrilled? My mouth finally works enough to smile. I shrug and walk inside. “How’s Mom?”

  Dad’s parental concern melts into a smile and he nods. “Eating. Better. What made you think about getting her to sing?”

  “I haven’t been singing, you know. Mom said not to. And I’ve felt…bad.” I shrug again. “When I cut my foot the other day, I sang to take my mind off it.” Dad looks at my foot. I forgot I didn’t tell him. “It’s nothing. Pre-med Carly patched it up. But when I sang, I felt so much better. I thought it couldn’t hurt for Mom to try it.”

  Dad steps up and envelops me in a hug. I’m stiff at first, wondering if he can smell Luke on me. He kisses the top of my head. “Thank you.” He pulls back and smiles into my face. “It really helped. Her oxygen levels and blood pressure are normalizing again. Her doctor is going to make sure she sings a concert every day.”

  “Will she come home soon, then?”

  Dad nods. “If she continues to improve physically and doesn’t…well, say anything that makes the doctors wonder, she could come home the week after next.”

  “Let’s take her a lot of milk shakes.”

  Dad’s smile broadens. “That’s the plan.” He glances around and spots the two glasses. “Did you have company?”

  Crap. “Um, Carly stopped by.” Dad seems too happy to press further. “I’d better go upstairs and get ready for bed.” Before his euphoria wears off and the overly intelligent, “can’t hide anything from me” Dad resurfaces. “Five-fortyfive comes early.”

  He turns toward his computer. “I’d better check my homework, too,” he says as he boots it up. “I left the lab pretty early today.”

  I heft my book bag and trudge upstairs. Once the door clicks shut I flop onto my bed and let my chin drop open. OMG! Luke kissed me! And not just some grope-in-the-dark, fumbly, slimy, tongue-down-the-throat kiss. I sit up and go to my full-length mirror, push back my hair and stare at the spot his lips traced below my ear. I can still feel the feather-light movement along my jaw. God, what would have happened if Dad hadn’t ended it with his mere presence?

  I grab my cell and punch speed-dial #1.

  “Hey, Jule. What’s up?”

  “God, Carly, you won’t believe what just happened!”

  5

  “O, swear not by the moon, the fickle moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.”

  ~William Shakespeare

  The sun shines low on the horizon, promising a beautiful day. It’s Friday, the last day of the first week of school. What a week. I smile as I tip my head out the window and let the wind blow-dry my curling hair. I sing a few lines of the song on the radio while Carly’s stopped at a light.

  “It’s green, Carly,” I say to break her from her daze.

  “If you’re going to sing, Jule,” Carly says, shaking her head and hitting the gas a little too hard, “you’re going to have to drive.”

  I laugh. “Sorry.” Is it ridiculous to feel so happy when life is still so utterly insane? Can a kiss have such impact? Apparently, yes. I smile wide into the breeze and feather my hair out the window. Long curls twist and shine a glowing brown as I run my fingers through the wild mane. My mom says that the fresh, wind-blown look complements my pixie-like face. Lately I’ve been too much of a control freak to let my hair dry naturally, but today I’m taking the risk. Ooooh, I’m living on the edge.

  When I round the corner to my locker and Luke’s nowhere in sight, I ignore the small dive in my stomach. Dropping my bag, I spin the combination and jerk the metal handle up. The door swings open and I’m slammed with a wall of incredible fragrance. Lilacs, everywhere! Taped to the walls of my locker are bunches of my favorite flower. Mounds of them fill the bottom.

  Lindsey stops behind me. “Holy purple flowers!”

  My hand flies to my mouth in an attempt to stop the trickle of giggles I feel bubbling in my cheeks. I dig through the soft petals, but there’s no note. It has to be Luke. For one thing, who else could get into my locker? These surely aren’t from Mrs. Rozinski. I collect the flower bunches off the floor of my locker so I can store my backpack. I turn and toss the lilacs out to the girls nearby.

  Madison sniffs dramatically at the one she caught, like an excited bridesmaid. “Lilacs, I love them. Pretty extreme though, Jule,” she says, staring at my still lavender-bedecked locker.

  I shrug and grab my chemistry book. “I didn’t put them in there.”

  “Who did?” Her eyes sparkle at the mystery. She glances around like the culprit might just jump out of hiding with an uprooted bush of lilacs in hand.

  Shrugging again, I walk toward homeroom. “No note.” I enter the room, lilacs still in my arms, and my smile fades. Luke’s not here. I leave the bouquet on Mrs. Rozinski’s desk and slide into my usual seat.

  When I enter chemistry, Taylin just scowls at me from the back. Again, no Luke. Is he ditching? He must have shown up to put the lilacs in my locker. Taylin whisks past me as soon as the tone sounds. I walk slowly toward my locker to exchange chem for lit. Maybe Luke did leave a note saying why he isn’t here. I’m nearly trotting when I round the corner. Matt and Taylin have my locker open.

  “Hey, what the hell?” I yell and they turn toward me, mirror frowns across their faces. “Get out of my locker.” It’s one thing to not like their friend’s girlfriend–not that I am his girlfriend, but he did kiss me–but a whole other thing to commit breaking and entering. “What are you doing?”

  They stare me down. Do they think they can intimidate me enough to make me take my chem stuff to lit? Hell, no!

  “We thought we smelled something bad in there,” Taylin says. “Where’d you get the flowers?”

  I shove my chem book in, rifle around, still finding no note, and grab my lit notebook. Matt and Taylin loom on either side of me. I don’t have to answer any of their questions. Pissed, furious, disappointed, I slam the door with a resounding metal echo. “Stay out of my locker.”

  “Did Luke put them in there?” Matt asks. His voice is different than Taylin’s, more worried. It tamps my wrath down a notch.

  “There’s no note,” I say.

  Matt exhales and leans back. “Bloody hell.” His voice slips into something like a British accent.

  “Do you know where he is?” I ask Matt. “He hasn’t been in class.”

  Matt and Taylin exchange a glance. Matt looks at me. There’s definite concern in his eyes, pinched lips, wrinkled forehead. “He left this morning before the bell. He…wasn’t feeling like himself.”

  “He’s sick?”

  Taylin rubs her temples in small, circular motions. “He needs to get away.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” God, has someone followed him from Boston?

  “It’s none of your business,” Taylin snaps at me.

  “Actually Tay, it is her business,” Matt says, resigned.

  “Shut up!” Taylin yells and pokes a finger in my face. “Listen to me, Jule.” She points to Luke’s locker, Matt and herself. “We three are a family. We will do anything to protect our family. Stay away from him.”

  “Luke is his own person, not just part of your weird little group.” I’m not going to back down just because she’s loud and pierced.

  “Stay the fuck away from him or you’ll be sorry.” Taylin breaks eye contact. She stomps away and I’m not gutsy enough to stop her. She just threatened me. I should report her or something.

  Matt leans into me and inhales. “You do smell nice.”

  Shock glues my feet to the linoleum. There’s no innuendo in his comment, just an observation. He studies me. “Look, Jule,” again with the British accent, “I know this all seems bizarre. But T
ay’s right. Luke isn’t good for you.” My eyes narrow at him. “I’m not saying I’m good for you, either; far from it, actually.” He gives a sad chuckle. But then he grows serious and shakes his head. “But Luke…” He bites his bottom lip as if wondering what he should say. He lowers his voice. “He can get…out of control sometimes. You’re a nice girl.” He pauses. “Just be careful.”

  Before I can process the horrific message wrapped up in the whispered, friendly package, Matt disappears around the corner and the tone sounds, meaning I’m late for class.

  * * *

  “Jule! You came!” Derek calls as I pad down the dark aisle toward the stage.

  “Um…I wouldn’t ditch class,” I mumble.

  “But you are auditioning, right?” Panic laces his words.

  I walk over to Ms. Bishop and hand in my forms. The parental signature has, of course, been forged. Can she tell? I’m sure she won’t call me on it. Relief mixes with mild annoyance on her face. “Not ditching, but tardy,” Ms. Bishop says.

  “I was sitting in the back by the door. I didn’t want to interrupt.” I glance at Madison, who has just finished her song. She takes a seat. “You were great, Madison.”

  “Thanks,” she smiles. “Let’s hear you sing, Jule. It’s been a while.”

  “What will you sing?” Ms. Bishop asks. “Do you need the music?”

  I shake my head. I usually sing a cappella. “‘Masquerade.’”

  Ms. Bishop nods. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  I climb the steps to the stage. The lights are dim. A single spotlight shines white light down on me. I close my eyes against the glare. I feel the magic of the notes form in my lungs. They take on a life of their own, like birds held captive for too long. They flutter excitedly and expand as the familiar opening cadence plays through my mind. I latch onto the end of the introductory stanza and fill my body with breath, the birds growing, dying for freedom; they fly up through my body and out between my lips. The sweet sound is born and euphoria and ecstasy mix to fill me. I wonder briefly if this is what getting high feels like.