“What do you mean? Where are we going?”
“To a party.” She turns down her stereo, muffling Kelly Clarkson.
“Whose party?”
“J.T. Brewer’s.”
I shake my head, my mouth going dry. “No way, Natalie. Are you crazy? It’s going to be a total Proud Crowd party. We’re so not invited.”
“Au contraire, madame,” Natalie says in a faux French accent. “J.T. himself invited you.”
I scrunch my nose and give her a look that clearly says, “How the heck did you know?”
“Alex told me. And it’s a well-known fact that the invitation extends to all the friends of the invitee.” The light turns green and she steps on the gas. “That’s what makes it a party.”
I slap my forehead. “Remember the last Proud Crowd party we went to?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Are you telling me you don’t remember? You have no recollection of calling me last summer, begging me to go to Devin’s house for a party? We weren’t even invited; you just happened to overhear the jocks talking about it at Seven-Eleven. We bought new outfits and did each other’s hair all cute and showed up right on time. Right on time to be left with Devin’s bratty little brothers. We babysat them so the jocks could go to the real party, at Amber’s house.”
Natalie squeezes her steering wheel extra hard as she turns up University Boulevard. “Okay, okay. I remember. But Devin’s parents paid us each five bucks an hour, and we snuck a wine cooler out of the fridge, so it wasn’t all bad. Plus, that was a long time ago. We’ve all grown up a lot since then.”
I cross my arms over my chest, still shocked to feel my new boobs. “Whatever.”
A few moments later Natalie says, “Listen, Rox. Everyone’s going to be there.”
“So Alex is going? And what about Fuchsia, Ginny, Carl … and that new guy from Texas who plays the trumpet?”
“I know what you’re thinking, Rox. We are not band geeks,” she says indignantly. “We are talented musicians.”
I really, really don’t want to go to this party. I can’t face the jocks. Not after the Zach’s Date Incident. We’re just a block or two from J.T.’s house, and I definitely have cold feet.
“Don’t you want everyone to see you after your makeover?” Natalie asks. “I’m serious. You look even better than Tess McGill in Working Girl or Allison Reynolds after Claire gets ahold of her in The Breakfast Club.”
“When are you going to move on from all those eighties movies, Natalie?”
“You’ve got to respect the classics. But the point is, you look fabulous and Zach’s going to go gaga over you.”
Well, she’s right about me looking fabulous. But could she be right about Zach? If I show up at this party, will I finally get that kiss I’ve been longing for? Yesterday, when I was an ordinary-looking BeeGee, doubtful. But now that I’m a Siren, is it possible?
Natalie gets a gleam in her eye as she says, “You know what? When I was at Seven-Eleven yesterday, I heard that Zach Parker and Eva the Diva are the newest residents of Splitsville.”
“I never even knew they were back together. Didn’t they break up at prom because he forgot to pick her up and she arrived fashionably late, and they crowned Amber Prom Princess in her place?”
“He didn’t forget to pick her up, it’s just that he forgot to pick her up in his uncle’s Bentley. So when he showed up in his pickup, she refused to get in. Anyway, they got back together that very night. And from what I hear, they did a whole lot more than just kiss and make up.”
I forgot to mention another very important requisite of being in the Proud Crowd. Being a gossip. Obviously, Natalie’s got that one down pat. “I know you fill up at Seven-Eleven just to get the latest scoop. Seriously, Natalie. You should start your own website.”
“I’m just well-informed, that’s all.” She flicks some gum into her mouth and hands me a piece. “Point is, Zach’s back in the game. And you, my dear, are gonna score.”
An assortment of shiny SUVs are parked haphazardly up and down the steep, tree-lined street. I roll my window down, flooding Natalie’s Sportage with the thumping of bass from J.T.’s Tudor-style house.
“Do you hear how loud the music is? The cops are going to be here any second,” I say, rooting in my purse for lip gloss.
She parallel parks with the expertise of someone who’s been driving for eight whole months and snorts. “Don’t be such a sissy.”
She hops out, and I pretend to be checking myself out in the visor mirror. But really, I’m putting my flute together and stuffing it down my shirt. I know Natalie would never let me get away with taking my whole flute case into a party. I might need it, though. Hopefully, no one will notice it if I tuck it down my cleavage and maneuver it down the front of my leg like this.
Acting against every fiber of my being, I follow her down the sidewalk, maneuvering the tip of my flute down the front of my pants as discreetly as possible. “Why do you even want to go to this party?” I ask. “Are you sick of the friends you already have?”
“I love my friends.” She waits for me to catch up and then puts her arm around my shoulders. “Especially you. I’m helping you, Roxy. You want Zach, right? I’d bet my new Stella McCartney A-line miniskirt that he’ll take notice of you tonight. I mean, look at you!” A huge smile spreads across her face.
It takes every ounce of self-control to keep from breaking into a smile myself. “You’re so full of it. You were planning on dragging me to this party before you saw me as … um, someone who got a really great makeover.” I clear my throat and do a little wiggle to shift my flute back in place.
She shrugs. “Maybe. But I knew you’d look cute regardless. And if you want Zach Parker, you’ve gotta meet him on his own turf. You know, let him see you hobnobbing with his circle of friends.”
I know Natalie genuinely wants to help me, and there’s probably a grain of truth in what she said about getting Zach to see me somewhere besides school. But the fact that Natalie wants more than anything to be a Franklin High A-lister isn’t lost on me.
“Okay, but when I want to leave, you have to promise to take me home,” I say as we cross through J.T’s front yard. “It’s my birthday, you know.”
Crap. This flute-down-the-shirt thing isn’t exactly comfortable. Can people see it? Note to self: No hugging and no slow dancing with anybody.
She raises her delicate eyebrow. “Deal.”
We slip through the front door, Eminem’s music giving me an insta-headache. About twenty teenagers are jammed into the living room—some dancing, some lounging on the white leather couches. Everyone’s shouting, and it reeks of sweat and cologne and beer. This must’ve been what Kurt Cobain meant by “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”
“Do you see him?” I ask.
Natalie shakes her head.
We wander over to the fireplace to get a better look. By now, more and more partiers are taking notice of us, and there’s a lot of whispering going on. I strain to hear what they’re saying, but it’s too loud in here.
“Let’s get a drink,” Natalie yells over the music, grabbing my hand. She yanks me past the gyrating sea of bodies to the kitchen, where one of the Proud Crowd chicks is doing a keg stand, the hem of her skirt sliding down to expose her pastel yellow panties.
“Fourteen … fifteen … sixteen …,” the mob chants.
The guys promptly stop counting when they see us, and a cheerleader performs a bubbly solo from back by the dishwasher. Her voice trails off after “twenty-one.” The chick on the keg spits the tap out, a stream of beer squirting out. Every guy in the room stares at me, mouth agog.
I snatch the tap away from the dazed keg master (who is still spraying people with beer) and pass it to Natalie. “I’m going to go outside for a sec. I just need some fresh air,” I tell her, my flute painfully poking into my thigh.
“Okay, hang on.” She passes me a flimsy white plastic cup half full of lukewarm beer, half full of foam.
I escape out the back door. I’m excited for Zach to see me like this, but I’m pretty nervous too. I’m not quite ready to “bump into” him. I need to collect my thoughts, psych myself up.
There’s an old swing set by the back fence, creaking lazily in the evening breeze. I walk over to it and try to sit on the swing, but I’m not bending very well with this flute down my shirt. So I just lean against the pole and raise the beer to my lips. I take one sip and spit it out. Disgusting. Especially mixed with spearmint gum. I spit the gum out and it ricochets off the fence.
Rustling noises are coming from behind the garage. Probably just a couple getting it on. Too bad Natalie’s not here to quench her gossip thirst. I hear a voice that sounds an awful lot like Devin’s. “I wonder if Zach’s nerdy little date is gonna make it,” he says, not very quietly.
Oh my God. Are they talking about me? I tiptoe closer to the garage, trying to keep my flip-flops from click-clacking on my heels.
“Dude, she’s not all that bad.” Is that Zach? “There’s something … about her. About the way she’s always staring at me and pretending not to.”
Devin says, “Shit, dude. No more beer for you. She’s a BeeGee, for Chrissake.”
Now J.T. is talking. “I know what Zach means. Band geeks can be hot. Maybe she does that flute thing like that chick in that movie.”
Oh, yeah. Like that’s original. We flutists will never live that down, thank-you-very-much, American Pie.
“Shit, dude,” Zach and Devin groan in unison.
Then Devin says, “Hell, Zachster. You’ve got Eva wrapped around your little finger. No BeeGee in the world would make me give up that fine booty.”
“Yeah,” J.T. says, laughing. “No matter how many times she did the band camp flute act for your viewing pleasure.”
Without warning, the jocks wander out from behind the garage and immediately spot me. My wrist goes slack and then I freeze, beer spilling on my feet, heart banging hard against my flute.
Seven
Though Leucosia’s beautiful body was discovered washed up on the shores of Southern Italy, her sisters Pisinoe and Thelxiepia swam to the safety of a nearby island. The ruthless sea had battered Pisinoe’s body, and she knew her days were few.
“Hello?” Zach finally says, a strange look on his face.
The other two are looking me up and down, down and up. Great. They probably see the flute bulge.
“For-get Eva,” Devin says under his breath.
“Who are you?” J.T. asks.
Why am I so surprised they don’t recognize me? I mean, my own father didn’t recognize me.
“I’m … a talented musician.” Oh God, can I be any lamer?
Zach’s mouth—the very mouth I was dying to kiss only yesterday—is hanging open as wide as that Scream dude’s. “Roxy?”
I’ve got to get out of here before I completely shatter this whole Siren vibe. Scurrying away in the overgrown grass as fast as possible in my flip-flops, I burst through the back door. I scan the kitchen, but Natalie’s AWOL.
“Have you seen Natalie O’Brien?” I ask no one in particular.
“Who?”
“Who’s she looking for?”
“Natalie O’Brien,” I repeat, louder.
“Never heard of her.”
I say, “She was the keg mistress only minutes ago.” Everybody stares back cluelessly. “Pretty girl, dark brown flippy hair. Wearing a black sundress …?” Nothing. This must be what it’s like to play charades with a bunch of blind people.
Oh, God. Don’t make me say it. Please don’t make me do this. Ever so quietly, I whisper, “She plays flute … in the band?”
Someone laughs, and more people join in. “A band geek?”
“There aren’t any BeeGees here.”
“Hell, no!”
“As if!”
“Hey, we just kicked one out. Maybe it was her.”
Then I catch sight of Natalie, standing by the bay window with … a dude in a short-sleeved plaid shirt, long camo cargo shorts, and Converse high-tops. Alex?
I can’t believe he’s here. Did he come by himself? I’ve watched enough movies to know he’s asking for trouble. It’s like an unwritten rule that if you’re a) uninvited and b) a guy, you may as well duck, ’cause you’re about to get slugged by someone who lifts weights at least three times a week.
Devin follows my gaze and yells, “What is this? Band practice? Who invited them?”
Who turned off the music? I wonder.
A girl with a diamond stud in her nose taps me on the shoulder. “Hey, is that the chick you’re looking for?” she asks.
Natalie shoots me a wide-eyed let’s-get-outta-here look from across the room.
I take a step toward my friends and then stop. Zach is standing right beside me, and he’s smiling at me. At me!
I feel like I’m in a gigantic taffy machine—being pulled in every possible direction. I’m surrounded by hard biceps, tanned skin, perfect teeth, great butts (one in particular) …
“You’re at the wrong party, dude,” J.T. yells at Alex. I’m sure Alex heard him, but his expression stays neutral.
“We already kicked your girlfriend out,” the guy standing right behind me shouts. “But on second thought, she can stay. I hear she gives great—”
I stomp on the guy’s foot as hard as I can, but he just laughs and slaps J.T. a high-five.
Natalie’s meticulously made-up eyes tear up, and Alex leads her through a group of gawking partiers. Before I know it, the door bangs, and Natalie and Alex are gone.
I take a few steps toward the front door, but Darren Smith, Franklin High’s up-and-coming senior class president, gets in my face and professes his undying love for me. His smells of beer and Axe bodyspray. “You’re the most gor-geous lady I ever laid eyes on. Please take this as a token of my love,” he slurs, holding out a wine cooler. Oh my God. How embarrassing! I take the bottle, mainly just to shut him up.
I feel like I’ve just gotten off the teacups ride at Disney World. All the partiers are spinning around the room, closing in on me. Making it impossible to breathe.
Where’d Zach go?
I dash down the hall (as quick as I can with a flute down my shirt) and bust through a bedroom door. It’s dark and musky-smelling. I flip on the light switch. There’s a guy and a girl on the bed doing something I really wish I didn’t just see.
“Oh, God. Sorry! I’ll just get out of your way … I’ll just go.” I slam the door shut—and then remember I left the light on. I open the door again, flip off the light, and scuttle down the hallway to another room.
This one’s dark and chilly and (thank God) empty. There’s a queen-size brass bed on one end and an armoire on the other. It’s a pretty, frilly room, probably for guests. I head over to the window. Sheer white curtains flutter in a waft of AC. I pull them back and look for my friends. They’re nowhere in sight.
I should just go home. Zach obviously found something more exciting to do than hang out with me. And the sooner I leave, the sooner I can take this freaking flute out. I’m probably getting a rash or something.
“Roxy?” Zach’s six foot, three inch frame is blocking the doorway. My heart skips a beat. God, he’s gorgeous. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but were you always this hot?” he asks me.
The only sound I can make is a weird snort-laugh.
“You’re beautiful. I can’t stop staring at you. It’s like you’ve got some kind of power over me,” Zach says, reaching for my shaking hand.
Oh my God. I can’t believe this is happening. I look down at our hands. It’s all so surreal. He’s touching me. I’m in a bedroom with the hottest guy at Franklin and he’s telling me that I’m beautiful.
He must be wasted. “You’re drunk, Zach.”
He shakes his head. “Nope, but J.T.’s completely sloshed. Another beer or two and we’re going to shave his unibrow.”
I crack up.
Zach bends his elbow, bringing me into his chest l
ike a dance move. I step back, hoping he didn’t feel the flute. Oooh, that smile.
“What’s that?” He reaches out and touches my flute, right below my boob.
“It’s my flute.” Kill me now.
He raises an eyebrow. “You couldn’t leave it at home?”
“Well, I could, I guess, but it would get all freaked out and piddle on the rug.”
Zach chuckles, and I think I just might be in heaven.
Until Eva breezes into the room in her beaded sandals with the three-inch heels, completely shattering the whole heaven vibe. I mean, they don’t allow the devil in heaven, do they? “Hey, sorry I’m late. I’ve had the worst night ever. My flatiron decided to die on me so I had to go over to Amber’s and …” She stops talking, apparently noticing me for the first time. She sizes me up, squinting her left eye. Then she practically growls, “Who are you?” She’s so close I can smell her shampoo. I don’t know what kind it is, but it smells a lot better than the Suave I use.
“It’s Roxy, from school,” Zach says, grinning.
Amber sidles up to Eva. I was wondering what was taking her so long. “Wow, you look amazing!” Amber says to me. “Where’d you get your hair done?”
Eva steps in front of Amber. She raises one of her eyebrows, giving her the appearance of someone deep in thought. “Ah, yes. I remember you. You’re the one who’s always staring at Zach.”
Amber giggles and I take a deep breath. Time to play nice. “I like your dress, Eva. It’s Marc Jacobs, right?” Normally, I wouldn’t know the difference between Marc Jacobs and Old Navy. But Natalie saw Eva buying it at Nordstrom, and this dress matches Natalie’s description to a T. I’m always learning what’s in just by hanging with Natalie, via osmosis or something.
Eva taps her French-manicured fingers on her cheek. “Oh my God. Amber, did you hear that? The band geek knows something about fashion. Who would’ve thought?”
Amber laughs loudly, as cheerleaders do, and my blood boils. “It must’ve cost a fortune,” I say between clenched teeth. No more Miss Nice Siren.
The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren Page 5