The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren

by Wendy Toliver

  “Hello? Roxy, you there? I can hear you breathing.”

  “Oh, yeah.” God, how embarrassing. “I’m back. Sorry about that.”

  “So, do you want me to come get you around seven?”

  “Yes.”

  After a pause, he says, “Okay. See you then.”

  I hang up the phone, throw myself on my freshly made bed, and scream.

  Chase bangs on my door. “Roxy! Hurry, let me in. I’ve still gotta dust.”

  While Mom pops a Tupperware full of leftover Chinese food into the microwave, I pour myself a glass of water. “Chase has been begging me to take him to get his hair cut,” she says. “So if you want, you can come with us and we can hit Cold Stone for some ice cream afterward.”

  “That sounds fun, Mom …” Not really, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings. “But unfortunately, I’ve got plans.”

  “Oh? With Natalie?”

  “Uh, no. Zach Parker, actually.” I wait for it to register that Franklin High’s hottest hottie and star quarterback is about to pick up her very own flesh-and-blood daughter.

  “You’ve never mentioned him before. Does he go to your school?” She presses a bunch of buttons on the microwave and nukes away. “Whatever happened to Alex?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Alex McCoy, that nice boy who plays the trombone. Weren’t you two going with each other?”

  “Going where?”

  “You know, going steady. I could’ve sworn—”

  I roll my eyes. “Mom, we’re just friends,” and she gives me this weird look, so I add, “He’s in band with me.”

  “I see.”

  I pick a piece of lint off my newest Roxy shirt, marveling at how good it looks now that I’ve got boobs. Right as the microwave buzzes, the doorbell rings and I rush to answer it before Chase.

  Zach stands on the welcome mat, his hands stuffed deep into his jeans pockets. His hair’s combed and he’s wearing a faded American Eagle polo. “You look great, Roxy. Really rockin’.”

  “Thanks. You too.” I grab my purse (holding my flute, which, thank goodness, breaks down into three pieces) and follow him to his truck. I’m going on a date with Zach Parker. Somebody pinch me! No, wait. If I’m dreaming, I never want to wake up.

  Dad whips up the driveway in his red Boxster and waves, doing a double take when he sees that I’m with a boy. Waving back at him, I hurry and jump into Zach’s truck before Dad can say anything to embarrass me.

  “Wow, your pop has a sweet ride,” Zach says. “Do you ever get to take it?”

  “No. It’s like his pride and joy. He doesn’t even let Mom drive it.”

  “Bummer. So, what’s the plan tonight?” Zach asks, reversing down the driveway.

  Plan, right. I guess I never really thought about what we’re going to do tonight. Is it like totally old-fashioned to expect him to have an itinerary? After all, he’s the one who asked me out. Okay, technically, I used my Siren powers to get him to ask me out. Back to square one. “I don’t know. What do you think?” I ask, clearing away some space for my feet among all the trash in his truck. Now the bottoms of my flip-flops are totally sticky. The culprit: lemon-lime Gatorade that’s spilled all over the floor.

  “I don’t care.”

  “We could go to that new Orlando Bloom movie,” I throw out.

  “Okay.”

  I almost laugh. Is he for real? Did he just freely offer to go to a chick flick without kicking, screaming, crying, or making me sign an “I Promise to Put Out” agreement? Couldn’t this get him excommunicated from the Church of Dude?

  “Mind if I play something?” I ask, pulling my flute out of my purse and twisting the parts together.

  His forehead furrows, but he says, “Knock yourself out,” and turns off his Green Day CD.

  My heart is palpitating like crazy. The last thing I want to do is to spotlight my band geekiness. But if Zach and I are going to do the dating thing, I may as well have happy lips, right? Why wait around for “Practice makes perfect” when I’m a Siren?

  After playing my song, I ask Zach to pull over in the Chuck E. Cheese’s parking lot, and he does. I swear his pupils are eclipsing his irises. He looks like one of those Japanese cartoon characters. “Kiss me again. But this time, more like a hero out of a romance novel.”

  “Come again?”

  Right. He’s probably never read one, or even skimmed one for the naughty parts like Natalie and I used to do. Stupid me. “Er, like Enrique Iglesias?” I try. “You know, the way he kissed Anna Kournikova in the ‘Escape’ video? You do watch MTV, don’t you? It was voted one of the sexiest videos in hist—”

  Before I can babble another word, he pulls me close and gently nibbles my lower lip. Oh, wow. Next, his lips skirt mine playfully, teasing me. And for the grand finale, we come together in a kiss so fiery and passionate, I don’t want it to ever end. Mmmmmmmm.

  After we finally break apart, chests heaving, he leans back in his seat and utters a very eloquent, “Whoa.”

  Couldn’t have said it better myself.

  When Zach and I get to the movie theater, we stroll to the ticket booth hand in hand. I’m still a little woozy from The Kiss. And I guess that’s why I don’t notice Natalie in the opposite line. “What is this?” she almost shouts, hands on her designer-jeaned hips. “You’re too cool to say hi to your best friend?”

  Ginny, Carl, and Fuchsia wander over to us with their Red Vines and popcorn. I’m about to ask which movie they’re all going to when Zach sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles, nearly busting my eardrum.

  “Yo, Zach!” Devin shouts, jogging over. J.T., Eva, and Amber—all dressed like Abercrombie & Fitch model wannabes—follow.

  Eva flips her long blond hair. “Oh my God, Zach. Did you get hit in the head with a football or something? Why the hell are you out in public with her?”

  Her question hangs in the butter-scented air as the Proud Crowd sneers and the BeeGees stare at their grubby sneakers. (Except for Natalie, of course, who’s wearing the cutest wedge sandals.)

  Eva takes a step closer to me and hisses, “Just because you’re not ugly anymore doesn’t mean you’re one of us.”

  “She’s a helluva lot hotter than you two put together,” J.T. says to Eva and Amber.

  It looks like fire is going to shoot out of Eva’s eyes any second.

  Instead of lashing out at the jocks, the cheerleaders swim around Natalie like chicly dressed sharks. Amber hisses, “You might have cute clothes, but that doesn’t make you one of us, either.”

  “Whatever,” Eva says with a dismissive flick of her hand. “She gets her whole wardrobe at the Castle Rock Outlets.”

  I say, “And how would you know?” but Zach snatches my arm and leads me down the hall before I can say anything else or hear Eva’s response. I look over my shoulder at Natalie. She’s making a face like she’s in the midst of a Brazilian bikini wax. Tears glisten in the corners of her big blue eyes. But I know she won’t cry. Not in front of the Proud Crowd.

  I should’ve channeled Lara Croft and punched Eva and Amber’s fake-tanned faces until they both needed nose jobs (which isn’t quite as mean as it sounds ’cause Eva’s mom is a plastic surgeon so they’d get their operations for free). I should’ve told Natalie that I’m sorry for staying at the party, that I’m sorry I pretended we weren’t friends. I mean, she’s still my best friend, right?

  But she’s already heading down the far hall, her Kate Spade knockoff bouncing against her skinny thigh. The Proud Crowd trails behind Zach and me and then veers off to the concession stand.

  “Roxy?”

  I whip around, suddenly face-to-face with Alex.

  I’m totally shocked, but I manage to say, “Alex, hey.”

  “Hi.” He grins at me, his cheeks flushed.

  “So, you work here?” Duh. He wouldn’t be standing here in a hideous blue-and-yellow-striped shirt and too-short black pants, taking our tickets just for kicks. “I mean, I thought you sai
d you were working at the Auto Spa this summer,” I recover.

  Zach crosses in front of Alex and says to me, “I’m gonna go get some popcorn. Want any?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Once Zach’s out of earshot, I ask Alex, “Did you see Natalie and the gang?”

  He nods. “Yeah, I saw all of you talking. So, you’re coming with us to Murphy’s, I take it?” he asks.

  I try to shrug it off like it’s no big deal, but it’s strange that they’re all going to Murphy’s and no one even mentioned it. Of course, it’s our favorite hangout and it’s not like I need a special invitation. “Maybe.”

  “You look pretty, Rox. Your hair, your glasses … um, not that there was anything wrong with …” He stares down at his Converse high-tops.

  I smile. “Thanks, Alex.”

  “Um, can I ask you something? Are you and Zach …?”

  As if on cue, Zach materializes beside me. “There you are. Ready?” He wraps his sinewy arm around my back, a huge tub of popcorn in his other hand.

  “Yep.” I wave to Alex and head down the hall with Zach. “You sure got that popcorn fast,” I say, helping myself to a handful.

  “Yeah, well, Eva was already in line, so she just got us some.” Oh, joy. I guarantee she spat in it.

  “Are your friends coming to this movie?” I ask during a trailer for a Jack Black movie that looks even funnier than the last one.

  “Dunno.” He shrugs. “Don’t care.”

  I rest my head on Zach’s shoulder and he combs his fingers through my hair, and it feels fabulous.

  Until it snags on his varsity ring. After a rather painful detangling, we start kissing. Before long, we’re in the depths of a full-fledged make-out session. He gives me one nibbling, lip-skirting, fiery kiss after another until the credits roll.

  As Zach is driving to my house after the movie, part of me wants to drop by Murphy’s. I’m sure he’d say yes, especially if I mention how good the fries are. Or if I put my flute to work. But the part of me that’s scared how my friends will react to my showing up at our favorite hangout with Zach Parker ultimately wins out. Besides, all that making out has made me tired.

  Zach pulls up my driveway and we unbuckle our seat belts. He snakes his arm over the back of the bench seat, his fingers twirling my hair. When we lean together to kiss, I’m happy to report it’s perfect. Exactly like the kisses he’s been giving me since the one in the Chuck E. Cheese’s parking lot.

  I float inside the house. The ’rents are staked out on the couch in the living room. Dad’s watching Star Wars for the zillionth time. Mom’s reading a paperback, her reading glasses propped haphazardly on her nose. She looks up when I come in and says, “Hello, dear. Did you have a nice night?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She removes her glasses and folds them on her lap. “Your father and I need to talk to you about something.”

  Uh-oh. Now what? I’m by no means the perfect teenage daughter, but I’m not used to having my parents gang up on me like this. To be honest, I’m a little scared.

  She swipes the remote control from Dad and pauses his movie. He clears his throat and says, “That’s right, honey. Why don’t you sit down?”

  Slowly, I lower myself onto the blue leather recliner.

  My parents exchange a look, and I’m guessing they’re silently debating which one has to start this “talk.”

  Mom must’ve won. Or lost, depending on your point of view. She says, “Roxy, we don’t know what you’re holding over Chase’s head … but it’s going to stop. You can’t make your brother do all your chores.”

  “He said no to Grayson’s birthday party because he wasn’t finished with your laundry,” Dad adds, “and he’s not keeping up with his own duties around the house.”

  Mom fingers the afghan that’s draped on her armrest and then looks me in the eye. “Are you blackmailing him, Roxy?”

  “Of course not!” I cross my arms over my chest. “I think he’s just trying to be extra nice to me for some reason.” By the look they give me, it’s obvious they’re not buying it. So I try, “I have no idea what is going on in that twelve-year old little boy mind of his. But I’ll talk to him. I’ll make sure he stops sacrificing his own chores and his social life to help me out. Okay?”

  Mom sighs and hands Dad the remote. “Okay. So … what was the movie about?” she asks.

  Crap. This lying is getting out of control. “Uh, Orlando Bloom plays this really hot guy who meets this girl and they fall in love and, uh, live happily ever after.”

  I have no clue what was happening on the big screen. I was in my own little world, the world where hot jocks go for band geeks and live happily ever after. But hey, it would’ve been nice to get a glimpse of Orlando’s naked butt.

  Nine

  It’s Monday and I’m sitting in the waiting room at the DMV on Colorado Boulevard. Mom had some kind of Junior League fund-raiser thing and, of course, Dad had to work. Alex was nice enough to drive me here so I could take my test and get my driver’s license.

  The fluorescent lights flicker and buzz, and some chick’s hammering her pencil on a pockmarked desk while she takes the written exam. Talk about annoying.

  “Did you have fun last night?” Alex asks out of the blue.

  “Yeah. It was a really good movie.”

  “Really? I haven’t seen it yet, but I’ve heard that it’s totally predictable.”

  “Oh.” I fish in my purse for some gum, but I don’t have any. Too bad Natalie’s not here. She’s always got gum. But I need more than just her gum. If she were here, she’d be cheering me on—and I’d act all embarrassed, but deep down I’d really appreciate it.

  “So, you just went to the movie and then went home?” Alex asks.

  “What is this? Twenty questions?” Oh, man. Where’d that come from? Just because Natalie and I aren’t getting along doesn’t mean I need to take it out on Alex. “Alex, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just, well, nervous about this test and everything. I haven’t been practicing much, and … what was it you wanted to know?”

  Alex sets his jaw. “Nothing. It’s just that you weren’t at Murphy’s. I thought you might show up.”

  A wiry woman in the drabbest beige suit I’ve ever seen marches to the front of the room and glances at her clipboard. “Roxy Zimmerman, Charles Mann, your driving instructors are ready for you. Just go out there.” She points to a pair of smudged glass doors and then crawls back into her hole.

  Alex mouths, “Good luck.” I wave at him and follow the Charles guy outside. My cell phone rings to the tune of “Secret Agent Man.” Ah, Grandma Perkins.

  “I haven’t heard from you in a few days, Roxy. How are you doing?”

  “Fine! Better than fine, actually. Guess what?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I went out last night. With a guy. And not just any guy, Grandma. A football player.” She has a thing for football players. One time, about ten years ago, she even went on a ski vacay with Todd Riggs, back when he was the Broncos’ QB. But then Todd signed with the Packers and Grandma wouldn’t have anything to do with such a traitor, so she dumped him.

  I can’t believe I’m dishing to my grandmother like this, but since Natalie isn’t exactly fulfilling the role of Roxy’s Best Friend, Grandma Perkins will have to suffice.

  “That’s wonderful, honey. Just remember that you can’t fall in love with him. When I first became a Siren, I rarely went on a date with the same man more than once. Twice was tops, until I was positive I could keep my emotions in check.”

  “Okay.” I mean, it’s not like I’m going to fall in love with Zach. We’re just having some “Summer Lovin’,” like Danny says in Grease. Oh, God. There I go comparing my life to an eighties movie, just like Natalie. Wait. Wasn’t it a seventies movie? That’s even worse!

  I promise Grandma Perkins we’ll get together soon and hang up. Two Dodge Neons are parallel parked at the curb. I glance over at Charles, who’s so fidgety, he looks
like Pumpkin when he needs to be let outside. A man steps out of the front car, a woman out of the back car.

  Oh no! I’ve got to get the male driving instructor or my Siren powers won’t work.

  I shoot Charles an extra-sweet smile. “FYI, I’ve heard the woman is a lot easier than the guy. I’ve been practicing for this test for months, so if you want to go with her, be my guest.”

  He smiles back. “Really? That’s nice of you.”

  “I know.” Whew.

  I could say I drove around town—my hands at ten o’clock and two o’clock on the wheel, making smooth stops at stop signs, parallel parking with the prowess of a Beverly Hills limo driver—and legitimately earned an A-plus on my driver’s test.

  But I’d be lying through my perfectly straight teeth. All I did was sit in the front seat, play my flute, loop a couple of circles around the parking lot for good measure, and the DMV man signed a slip of paper, acknowledging that I passed.

  When I walk back into the DMV building, Alex jumps up, his brows knit with concern. “That bad?”

  “No, silly. I aced it!” I run over and hug him. Not many guys seem to be the huggy type, but I love hugging Alex. I think it’s the way he spreads his hands wide on my back and never lets go until after I do.

  I stand underneath the PHOTO sign, feeling all giddy. I’m really getting my license. It’s really happening!

  “Neeeext,” drawls a woman who looks like she forgot to brush her hair this morning. And brush her teeth. I step onto the yellow footprint stickers on the dingy laminate floor and smile for the camera.

  A few minutes later a man with a bushy mustache calls my name. He’s studying my license like there’s something wrong with it. Oh no. Did he somehow find out that I didn’t actually take the test?

  “What is it?” I ask, holding my palm out.

  He doesn’t hand it over, though. “In eleven long years of working here, I’ve never seen anything like it,” he mumbles, as if to himself.

  “What?” I lean over the counter, but he holds it just out of my reach.