The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren (10 page)

“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.

“Janice, come get a load of this,” he hollers, and Ms. Bedhead moseys over to have a look. Her jaw drops open and a tinny, high-pitched screech escapes from somewhere inside her boxy body. In no time, a swarm of DMV workers are gawking at my license.

“Excuse me,” I say in a loud, demanding tone. “Can I please have my license now?”

Alex sidles up to me and whispers, “What's going on, Rox?”

Mr. Mustache snatches the license from the DMV mob and gives it to me. Finally. “I've never seen such a beautiful driver's license picture,” he says, slightly red in the face.

“You should be a model!” Ms. Bedhead gushes.

A
model?

I can honestly say I've never,
ever
been told I should be a model. I've never even entertained the notion, not in my wildest
dreams. Of course, I never dreamed that someday I'd be a Siren, either. But really, why not? I mean, why waste my summer flinging fries at Wendy's when I could be modeling? I mean, I didn't watch all those
America's Next Top Model
episodes for nothing. Besides, it would definitely pay a lot more than fast food, and maybe I'd be able to buy myself a car. I
did
just get my driver's license, after all.

On the way out to Alex's Civic, he tosses me the keys. I try to catch them but miss, and they land on the asphalt with a clank.

“You want me to drive?” I ask, bending down to pick up the keys. “You sure?”

“Sure. You're legal now, right?”

“Right.” Well, sort of. I just hope I never have to parallel park. I adjust the seat and stick the key in the ignition. Here goes nothin'.

“Just pull into that gas station over there. I'm running on empty.”

“Right.”

It takes me a couple of tries to align Alex's car so the gas pump will reach. Okay, so it takes more like five or six, but who's counting? Alex is so sweet; he doesn't even make fun of me. He just hops out and starts
filling her up, leaving me a few moments to ponder my future modeling career.

I've heard commercials on the radio about modeling agencies, and I'm sure there are loads of them listed on the Internet. I'll just call a few of the more impressive-sounding ones and make appointments. But first things first. I definitely need to rev up the ol' wardrobe. And who has more fashion sense in her pinky finger than I have in my entire body? Natalie O'Brien, my best friend. Or is she my
ex
-best friend? Are things ever going to be the same between us?

I guess I'll just have to make the first move. Best friends don't throw entire friendships out the window for something as stupid as a party. I pull out my cell and text message her.
HEY GIRL. WANNA GO ON A SHOPPING SPREE?

I'm totally psyched about this. Natalie won't be able to turn down shopping, and it'll be a great way to get everything back to normal between us.

Two minutes later my phone beeps and the words
GO ASK UR PROUD CROWD FRIENDS
appear. My mouth goes dry.

I bite my lower lip and type,
I'D RATHER
GO W/ U
but I don't send it. Instead, I delete it and send,
FINE.

But it's not fine. How could I have been so wrong about Natalie? Besides, there's no way I'm calling up Eva and Amber. I could always call Zach. He's not exactly a fashionista, unless I missed the memo that Nike is the new Versace. But he is my boyfriend. Well, he's almost my boyfriend, right? I mean, we did go on a date. And we did make out. I dial his number. “Hey, Zach.”

“Hello? Uh, who is this?”

“It's Roxy.” Who does he
think
it is?

“Oh, heeeeey.”

“Hey.”

“So what's up, beautiful?”

“Not much. Just getting ready to go shopping.”

“Ugh. I hate shopping. Well, have fun. I'm off to shoot some hoops with the guys.”

“Oh.” Okay, so I guess Zach and I aren't hitting the mall. Now what? Isn't he going to ask me out or something? Were we just a one-date wonder? Am I going to have to play my flute every single time I want to do something with him?

“See ya …” Oh no! He's going to hang up!

“Er, Zach?”

“Yeah?”

“Want to … get a bite to eat a little later?” My heart is beating like crazy. What if he says no?

“Okay, sure. Pick you up at seven?”

“Great.”

“Great.”

“Okay, bye.”

Whew. Close one. For a minute there, I thought maybe he didn't like me.

When I get home, Chase is dusting the blinds in my room. I flop onto my perfectly made bed and watch him for a few minutes. It would be a shame to have to do these tedious chores myself. Especially when Chase does such a great job. I've grown rather fond of having my room and bathroom so sparkly clean and always having freshly washed and pressed clothes to wear. But I did promise my parents I'd talk to him.

I whip out my flute and start playing. Once he's under my spell, I say, “Chase, I want you to continue doing my laundry, keeping my bathroom and room so clean, and doing the dishes …” Did I forget anything? Oh, yeah. “… and feeding Pumpkin.
But I need you to be very
secretive.
Don't let Mom and Dad notice that you're doing these things. And make sure you're still doing your own chores, and next time someone invites you to a birthday party, go.”

Chase's eyes grow big, like when he was seven and I told him the tooth fairy was really a big ugly monster that would gobble him up if his teeth weren't up to its standards. “But … what if I'm not done with everything in time?”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Birthday parties trump doing chores, got it?”

He takes a breath and then smiles. “Got it.”

“Good.” He turns around and continues his blinds-dusting. “And I really love your new haircut, Chase. Very handsome.”

Grandma Perkins whizzes up to the front of the valet line and parks next to the curb. Honking and vulgar hand gestures follow in her wake. It's totally embarrassing, but at least with Grandma around, I didn't have to use my Siren powers on Dad to get him to cough up some spending money. I jump out of her Lexus while she waits for the man in the maroon valet suit to open her door. She
looks me up and down and smiles that dazzling smile of hers.

Another man holds the gigantic glass doors open for us as we sashay into Denver's most elite shopping mecca, Designer Palace. In fact, it's so high-end that I've never even stepped foot inside. “I am so pleased you called me, Roxy. I can't remember the last time the two of us went shopping together.”

“That's because we never have,” I remind her, trying to keep my jaw hinged. This place is amazing! It's like we're traipsing through a royal courtyard, and the stores themselves are part of a beautiful white castle. Above our heads, the ceiling is painted like a sky, complete with wispy clouds and birds.

“Well, that's a shame,” she says. “You'd have a much nicer wardrobe if we had.” We hop out of the way for a horse-drawn carriage. As it passes, I see two elderly women sandwiched between a mountain of shopping bags.

Despite the hustle and bustle of the shoppers, we get our fair share of rubber-neckers. Will I ever get used to all this attention? Will I ever get used to being a Siren?

Grandma Perkins waves down a guy in a reddish-brown
BEAN THERE
apron. “Son, would you please bring us one white-chocolate mocha and …” She holds her palm out to me, my cue to add my order.

“A French-vanilla iced latte.”

He looks at us bleary-eyed and says, “I'm sorry, ladies, but I'm off. The coffee shop's just around the corner, by the big cherub fountain.” The guy nods to his left.

Before he can get away, Grandma Perkins starts singing, just loud enough for him to hear. “We'll be in Nordstrom, in the juniors department. You can bring our drinks to us there.”

He turns around, gives us a big goofy smile, and literally sprints back to the Bean There shop.

“Ah, that's more like it.” Grandma Perkins straightens a button on her tailored linen jacket and winks at me.

“Grandma, we could've gotten the drinks ourselves. It's not a big deal.”

For a scary moment she looks like she's going to pinch my cheeks. Instead, she threads her arm through mine and steers me toward Nordstrom. There's a huge mob of
people at the other end of the mall. Cameras are flashing, and reggae music is blaring.

“What's going on?” I ask.

“Let's go see.”

Come to find out, it's the grand opening of Jaded. Natalie's always lamenting about never getting to go to L.A. or New York, because, up until now, those were the only two American cities deemed cool enough for Jaded. Eva's parents take her to New York to do Christmas shopping, and when she returns with a shopping bag full of Jaded clothes, Natalie's green with envy. She'd pay a hundred bucks for the shopping bag alone.

A twentysomething dressed like Gwen Stefani breezes past us, and when I see the bag she's toting, I get what Natalie's talking about. It's a big iridescent jade-colored circle, kind of like a hatbox, and the handles are silver chains.
IS SHE OR ISN'T SHE?
is printed on one side in graffiti-style lettering, and
JADED
on the other.