The Gay Teen's Guide to Defeating a Siren: Book 1: The Seeker

by Cody Wagner

  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

  The guy straighted in his chair. “Won’t our parents expect us to be healed or something? What do we tell them when we’re not?”

  Wolcott pointed at him. “Excellent question.”

  I agreed. I hadn’t thought much about that, but he had a good point. After four years of freedom, I wouldn’t be able to go back into the closet. When they noticed I wasn’t “healed”, Mom and Dad were sure to turn on the school. It didn’t sound like a fun situation.

  A low grumbling fanned through the audience as the guy’s statement sunk in. Wolcott held his hands up to settle us.

  “Guys and gals, you’re going to have to trust me on this. By the time you leave here, you’ll all be in such a different place. Trust me. Dealing with your parents won’t be an issue. We’re still in business so, obviously, our ‘success rate’ is very high.” He lowered his hands and stared through us. “And if there are problems as you get close to graduating, talk to the counselor. We’ll work everything out, I promise.”

  It wasn’t a very definitive answer, but I saw Cassie nodding at him. If she was OK with the response, it must have been alright. Besides, I was just a Freshman. I had plenty of time to worry about that later. Things like semester tests were much more pressing.

  Eleven

  Christmas Visit

  The last week of the semester had everybody stressed. Sanctuary Prep scheduled our finals the following Monday and Tuesday. Who does that? They were supposed to finish on a Friday, so we could enjoy a weekend of bliss. Talk about torture.

  Spreading all my books on the desk that Saturday evening, I felt unprepared. I shouldn’t have been surprised—I was never the most focused student. Looking through my textbooks, everything felt as if it had been written in another language. Especially Spanish, which I guess made sense. The only word I understood anymore was “biblioteca”, but that’s just because it was fun to say.

  “Calm down,” Cassie finally said, when I started singing, “I’m really screwed,” to my favorite songs. “Instead of worrying about studying, why don’t you actually study?”

  Not to be deterred, I looked at her and said, “Biblioteca!”

  “I wish I was at the library,” she said, rolling her eyes. I thought she was crazy; with the Internet, I never had to visit the library.

  “We’ve been studying algebra for weeks and you passed all your tests,” Jimmy said, trying to make me feel better (although I heard him say, “Barely,” under his breath).

  “Same with history,” Cassie said.

  The three of us sat at our respective desks, not two feet away from each other. Cassie’s leg kept cramming into mine, but I liked being surrounded by people in the same boat as me. Of course, they weren’t freaking out. My anxiety was confusing. After all, I wasn’t a bad test taker. And they were right—I was doing OK in my classes. For some reason, though, the semester tests really got to me.

  For a second, I even worried I’d forget how to run and somehow manage to fail my gym test (we had to run two miles in sixteen minutes). Leaning my head back in the chair, I pictured myself forgetting I had a left leg. Bouncing around in a circle on my right foot, I stared, helplessly, as everyone passed me.

  Groaning, I snapped back to attention, opened my English book, and forced myself to study for the rest of the evening. Well, most of it, anyway. After a few hours, I got so antsy, I had to take a quick walk. The second I stepped outside, the cold jarred something in my brain, and I realized why I was so nervous. I was afraid that if I failed, I might be expelled or withdrawn. The idea sent shivers down my spine.

  * * * * *

  Despite my incessant worrying, the tests weren’t too bad. I actually blanked on ‘biblioteca’ and wrote ‘dance club’ until I heard Cassie in my head saying, I wish I was at the library. In English, we had to write an essay on Tom Sawyer (if it was such a classic, why did it suck?). I felt most comfortable with history (thanks to Cassie) and, of course, gym. Luke, Darrin, Tracey, Roze, and I could have crab-walked two miles in sixteen minutes.

  All in all, I was pretty happy walking out of my last test and into the classroom center halls, which radiated with the energy of hundreds of free students. People floated around, excited for two weeks of nothing. It was like the building had been flooded with helium. Feeling myself swept up in the mood, I pumped my fists in the air and yelled, “I get to stay!”

  Smiling, I headed to the cafeteria and found Roze outside, glowing.

  “Get to stay at Sanctuary?” I asked her.

  She looked at me, embarrassed, like I’d discovered her huge secret. “How did you know?”

  “Cuz I do, too,” I replied.

  She smiled and we congratulated each other as we walked inside.

  With trays full of food, we plopped down and continued talking about our tests until Cassie and Jimmy arrived. Cassie and Roze started in on a debate they’d been having for days. I wasn’t sure why they enjoyed it; arguing sucked. This debate was about whether or not a dictatorship could work. As always, Cassie chose the unpopular side.

  “With a dictatorship, change is more rapid. Bills and laws don’t get stuck for months.”

  “The chance for corruption is so much higher with no checks and balances in place,” Roze said.

  “A true visionary could do wondrous things,” Cassie said.

  “Hilter considered himself a visionary,” Roze said.

  I smiled and let their conversation hum in my ears (getting involved was torture, and I always avoided it). Looking around, I noticed the first Christmas decorations going up. Groups of students climbed ladders, stringing lights and garland around the walls. I guess it was their reward for finishing up semester tests. Or maybe it was to impress the parents, who’d be arriving in a matter of days.

  Either way, it didn’t matter. I loved this stuff and thought about my family. Every Christmas Eve, we’d drive around, looking at lights. Our town was small, so we’d finish within a couple hours, get amnesia, and backtrack to see them again. Picturing Mom animatedly pointing out her favorite houses, a bittersweet feeling crept over me. I let out a long exhale, leaned back, and pushed the thought away. Who knew when that would happen again?

  * * * * *

  The following evening, at dinner, all talk of tests and decorations was replaced by speculation about the public visit on Friday. If the room had one thing in common, it was that no one seemed especially thrilled. At other schools and camps, seeing your parents might be awesome. Not here. It’s like we all had to go back to pretending we weren’t ourselves, at least for a couple days.

  Maybe that’s why students were so over-the-top with their acting—fake pretending was better than real pretending. Already, students were getting into character. One guy fainted in line, shrieking, “They’re out of Mending Macaroni!” He accidentally crashed into a huge Christmas Tree.

  I decided to play along, yelling, “Healing!” every time something happened. Cassie didn’t approve, but I figured I’d get it out of my system now, especially after acknowledging the fact my parents would smother me while they were here. I couldn’t ham it up too bad around them. In fact, after thinking about it, I realized all the crazy people were apart from their families when they acted up.

  Thinking about the visit, my focus eventually centered on Molly. I admit I hadn’t called her every week. How would she change when she got here? What would happen when she saw all the healing posters and food and fainting kids? I wondered if I could pull her aside and try to explain everything. But I didn’t know if that was the right decision. I mean, she was just a little kid. What if she accidentally told my parents?

  Friday morning, I woke really early and stared at the ceiling for an hour. Mentally, I’d done a complete 180, going from excitement at being done with semester tests (and yelling about healing) to full-on anxiety. I kept telling myself it would be good to see my parents, but it didn’t help.

  Finally, at 7:30, I climbed out of bed. Cassie
was already gone—I vaguely heard her alarm going off soooo early. Jimmy remained dead to the world. He didn’t have anything pressing as no one was visiting him. Although I did feel bad for him, I was bitter in the moment, because he didn’t have to deal with the mess. It was really childish, but I didn’t want to talk to him, so I quickly threw some clothes on, and walked outside.

  The sky billowed and it threatened to snow. I hoped it would. Although I hated cold, snow was awesome, and would provide a nice distraction. Other students must have been looking for distractions as well because Christmas decorating was in full swing. I yawned, thinking about how early they’d gotten up. That would have sucked, but I had to admit, the campus looked amazing.

  The typically plain buildings were now colorful, gaudy even. Garlands and lights and giant plastic balls (painted to resemble ornaments) sat everywhere. Old-timey light posts lined the sidewalks. It was awesome, and I walked toward a bench between the dorms, and sat to take everything in.

  A few minutes later, Cassie joined me.

  “Pretty, huh?” she said.

  I looked over at her and shuddered. Her hair had been swept to the side in an elegant, but conservative style. Her clothes were so stiff and wrinkle-free, I swear she used a gallon of starch. The one thing that didn’t fit was her face; she was miserable. So much so that I couldn’t look right at her. Instead, I stared off at the classroom center and said, “Yeah. I love this stuff.”

  “It’s a little much.”

  “Good,” I said.

  “You nervous?”

  “Very. You?”

  She answered by gesturing at herself. “My parents expect a lot from me.”

  I looked at her, my eyes prodding for more.

  “Perfect grades, perfect attendance, perfect manners, perfect everything.” She wasn’t speaking directly to me. She was just venting, and continued, “It’s impossible to be perfect.”

  I nodded, but couldn’t think of anything to say. She seemed OK with that and we sat in silence until Roze joined us. We all nodded at each other, knowing exactly how each other felt. The closeness was nice, but I could sense a growing unease. It was compounded when the first car pulled into the circular entrance and began to creep around. The entire campus went still—girls on ladders stopped with garlands dangling from their arms, guys holding giant ornaments halted mid-stride, students froze in their tracks. It was like a weird game of freeze tag.

  The car made it around to the dorms and slowed. A tall girl ran over, a fake smile plastered to her face. She wore one of the school shirts with the flag on it. I noticed it had been washed so many times, the red and white had pinkened slightly.

  Her parents emerged from the car. The hug they gave was awkward. In that moment, I’m sure all of us pictured ourselves wrapped in the same generic embrace. Roze shivered beside me and Cassie, staring thoughtfully into some trees, absently flattened her clothes.

  It was too much. I didn’t want our last minutes together to be awkward like this. Leaping to my feet, I pulled Roze up by her armpits.

  “Come on,” I said.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just come on. You too, Cassie.”

  I ended up having to drag them to the edge of the field just north of the dorms. Without protection from the dorm walls, the wind stung, but I didn’t care. As a second car rounded the curve by us, I hissed, “Touch my forehead.” Confused, Roze hesitantly pressed her index finger to my head. I screamed, “I feel it!” and fell backwards onto the ground. It hurt and I landed with a thud. Cassie yelped and reached out a hand to help me up. In unison, we looked at the car driving by. Three faces smiled back at us.

  Roze laughed. “Do you think they liked you falling or the image of a boy and girl holding hands?”

  “Both,” Cassie said.

  For the next hour, Roze and I tried to one up each other. It was hard to look serene covered in stickers and grass and dirt, but we had fun letting out our nervous energy. Even Cassie seemed to enjoy herself. She didn’t get too crazy, and refused to get dirty, but giggled when Roze and I did cartwheels together as a car passed.

  As I stood up and brushed myself off, I glanced at the farmhouse to our north. A tingle ran down my back. I had promised to swing by and visit Timothy here. For some reason, I kept putting it off. It was confusing; I wanted to see him but was too scared to take action. Groaning with disappointment in myself, I added it to the growing list of things to do next semester.

  Nodding, I turned back and looked at the road. All thoughts of Timothy and farms and friends vanished. A familiar white car pulled into campus and headed toward the first curve. My stomach felt full of milk and I wanted to throw up. Cassie must have sensed my panic and squeezed my hand briefly. Not saying anything back, I began a slow walk to the dorm. Roze whispered, “Good luck,” and I couldn’t even nod.

  Snowflakes, big as golf balls, began swirling in the wind as I approached the dorm parking lot. A voice in my head told me the people in the car were my parents, not villains. I supposed it was true, but it didn’t lessen the dread as I walked into the parking lot.

  Before dad could even get out and unload the trunk, Molly leapt from the car and threw herself into my arms. Her timing was perfect and I felt myself relax some. Thinking about it, I realized she reminded me a lot of Cassie, with her almost mystic empathy. I squeezed her back, and held her at an arm’s length.

  “Wow, you’ve gotten bigger,” I said, mimicking Mom’s voice. “You’re like a grownup dork now.”

  She beamed at me and said, “Whatever.”

  I wasn’t kidding, though. In just a few months, she seemed inches taller. She was going to be lanky, just like me. Our family portrait would look like the cover of The Nightmare Before Christmas.

  Mom got out of the car, stretched her back, and looked around. “Oh my. They certainly know how to do Christmas here.”

  She walked toward me in tense little motions. She’d probably never been around this many gay people—excuse me, healing people—in her life. She awkwardly filled the gap with, “You know, Christmas lights spawned from Christmas tree decorations in Germany. First, candles were placed on trees, then near trees, then on houses.” She made a circle with her arms. “It’s all connected.”

  She approached me and pulled me into a hug. Molly shot me a look that said, I have to put up with this by myself now. I grimaced. Mom was like the typical old-maid librarian. She certainly had the round glasses and prim posture for it.

  “Wow,” Mom said, squeezing my arms. “Someone’s been working out. I feel a definite improvement in your biceps.” She said it scientifically, like she’d been studying my muscles for years.

  I pulled away. “That’s . . . weird. But thanks.”

  Dad walked up and shook my hand.

  “You are looking fit. They’re whipping you into shape here, huh?” He threw a couple fake punches at me. I didn’t respond as I was trying to gauge exactly what he meant. Also, he’d never done anything like that before. My stomach tied itself into the perfect knot complete with a bow.

  When he stopped, I forced myself to smile and said, “Yeah, the gym teacher works us pretty hard.” Dad nodded appreciatively, and the four of us stood there in an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds.

  Suddenly, some of Wolcott’s speech drifted into my head. He said we shouldn’t seem distant from our parents. They might associate it with the school. “It’s also better to try to forge a healthy relationship,” he had said. I wasn’t sure about that last part, but he was right—my parents needed to like what I was becoming here.

  Taking a deep breath, I said, “I’m so glad you could make it. Especially today, with the Christmas decorations going up.” I shrugged. “I know it’s not much to look at, but I can’t wait to show you around.” I tried to sound pleasant and it worked. Mom and Dad perked up and nodded.

  “That sounds great, honey,” Mom said. Before taking off, though, she looked around as if embarrassed. “But first, I need to use th
e, um, facilities?”

  “Everyone pees mom,” Molly said. “Sheesh.”

  I couldn’t help myself, and said, “Maybe she has to do more than pee.”

  “I’m not hearing this,” Mom said, as Molly laughed.

  I couldn’t think of where else to take her, so I led Mom to the shower rooms in our dorm. My dad looked around, concerned.

  “I didn’t realize the bathrooms were public.”

  “They’ve always been this way. Trust me, it’s fine.”

  To appease him, I opened the Men’s door and led him inside as Mom and Molly went into their restroom. As soon as we entered, Dad nodded in relief, seeing the ceiling-to-floor barriers. I looked at him and, trying to sound serious, said, “I would have called you otherwise.”

  He seemed extremely heartened by the news. Truth be told, it wasn’t a total lie. If I had to live in a place with exposed, public toilets and showers, I’d definitely be uncomfortable. But I let him take it however he wanted as we left.

  A couple minutes later, Mom emerged, pleased, with something in her hands. It was one of the healing posters. I wanted to rip it away, when she said, “There’s a comma missing from this one. It should say, “I want to heal comma Mom.”

  Without thinking, I took the poster and said, “Maybe she wants to heal her mother. You know, like, ‘I want to heal Mom’.”

  Mom wasn’t amused but Molly giggled (although I don’t think she got it). I wasn’t thrilled either; those were the types of thoughtless comments that got me into trouble. Practically throwing the poster aside, I dragged them outside for an impromptu tour of the school.

  Lucky for me, the campus couldn’t have been more perfect. Christmas decorations were everywhere, a light snow fell, and everyone was on their best behavior. At one point, I passed Roze on the field near the auditorium. She strolled around with parents, who had a firm lock on each other’s hands, assuring everyone they were straight. Roze and I exchanged funny faces and continued on our separate ways.

  Despite our attempts at humor, I’m glad Roze’s family didn’t stop. I wanted to avoid contact with groups of people for as long as possible. To be honest, I was terrified I’d say something stupid (“Look how pink the flag shirts have turned!”). Every time an adult approached, my heart felt about twice as big. And not in the good Grinchy way.