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

by Cody Wagner

He cussed at me before I could hang up. I yelled something back, but my anger was hollow. Kyle may have been loud and obnoxious, but he didn’t lie. His brutal honesty usually got him into trouble. Something bothered me about this whole thing. The exchange was totally unexpected—I figured he’d finally admit to his stupidity and I could just let the whole thing go.

  Flustered, I got up and ran around the room to shake away my anxious residue. As I pivoted around the couches and over the coffee table, I couldn’t help but think of what else might have happened at the funeral. Now that the wounds were fresh again, my brain began trying to make a connection between this conversation and my meeting with Wolcott.

  I skidded to a halt.

  The chanting.

  Kyle mentioned hearing chanting before he went fuzzy. Wolcott specifically asked about it, too.

  Curious, I hopped onto the lone computer in the lobby and brought up the video on YouTube. This time, I skipped the part with Kyle and began skimming through earlier segments.

  No matter where I resumed playback, the singing was never audible.

  I squinted at the screen. The chant was definitely loud enough to be heard throughout the protest. Thinking I’d just missed it, I went back and watched the entire video. Nothing. No singing. I could hear everything else, but zero singing. It helped explain why Wolcott asked whether I’d heard anything, but I was as confused as ever.

  I thew up my hands, convinced the other sounds had drowned out the strange voice.

  Derp. Way to imagine something out of nothing.

  Feeling stupid, I went back to my room and, changing into some shorts, flew up onto the top bunk. After my thoughts settled a bit, I turned on my side and looked across the room. I needed to talk about something else.

  “Cassie.”

  “Yes?” she whispered, letting me know Jimmy was asleep.

  “What was the deal with Molly? She acted all weird when you pulled out the spreadsheets.”

  “She did.” Cassie said it as if the statement were fact.

  “Yes, she did.” I stared at her, annoyed by her nonchalance. “You sure seem OK with it.”

  “I understood what was happening.”

  “Care to fill me in?”

  “It’s actually a good thing.”

  “It is?”

  She groaned. “You can be really oblivious sometimes.”

  I wanted to hit her with a comeback, but had no idea what was going on.

  “Molly doesn’t want you to change,” Cassie said. “She hates what your parents are doing. When I pulled out my stuff, Molly thought I was betraying you. Or, should I say, who you really are.”

  Wow.

  “You’re lucky to have someone like that,” she said.

  I agreed, but didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt too fluffy. Instead, I said, “I hope they don’t change her.”

  “That will be largely up to you.”

  Again, she was right. I thought about it for a minute, then asked, “Did it bother you that Molly doesn’t like you now?”

  She laid back on her pillow. “Not really.”

  “Really? It would bug me.”

  “I know. But this is for the greater good. It means you get to stay here.” She paused for a second before adding, “You can’t be friends with everyone.”

  I turned and looked at the ceiling. “I guess. I just don’t like the idea.”

  “The ends justify the means,” she said.

  “Not always.”

  She didn’t reply and I didn’t push her. The last thing I wanted was to start a debate.

  Twelve

  The Poster

  A couple days after my parents left, Jimmy burst into the room with something hidden under his coat. I jumped at my desk, almost toppling over. Cassie screamed and launched a book over her head into the wall.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, panting.

  He couldn’t stop grinning. “I got us something.”

  “A replacement heart?” I asked, beating at my chest.

  He shook his head wildly and opened his coat. A small pine tree, about three feet tall, hung from his fist. And by pine tree, I mean the whole thing, roots and all. It was filthy and the inside of Jimmy’s coat dripped mud.

  He’d gone out and dug up a Christmas tree.

  I couldn’t help but laugh; even a dirty tree might help things look more festive. As it were, the room seemed drab. A day earlier, Jimmy and I tried putting balls of smushed construction paper on the desk and drawers to resemble ornaments, but the end result looked like we’d dumped trash around the room.

  “Where did you get that?” Cassie asked.

  “From the edge of campus,” said Jimmy, holding it out for us to see. The pine was kind of sad, like the one from that Charlie Brown show, especially when a pile of dirt built on the floor. Still, I couldn’t help but say, “Cool.” OK I know teenagers aren’t supposed to be into Christmas, but I liked it, and began clearing off the desk. Besides, any distraction from lingering thoughts of Pamata and protests was a good thing.

  “And you dug up the whole thing?” Cassie said.

  Jimmy shrugged. “I didn’t want it to die.”

  Cassie frowned. “Well you’re not doing a good job keeping it alive like that.”

  Jimmy blushed and, together, he and I began looking for a place to plant it, finally settling on a big rain hat in Cassie’s closet. She wasn’t too thrilled, but I had to admit, it was fun watching her face as we piled in frigid dirt and re-planted the tree. I imagined Roze “accidentally” smearing mud on the hat, and wished she was here. Unfortunately, she couldn’t get out of going home with her parents.

  I realized, taking a step back to admire our handiwork, I didn’t envy her, and that felt pretty good. Mom had asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to come home?” a hundred times before they left. I was worried I’d regret turning her down, but this felt like family, too. On the verge of humming a carol, I helped Jimmy place the tree onto the middle of the desk.

  OK, it wasn’t the most amazing scene ever; we had a floppy tree sitting in a plastic hat. But I thought it was awesome. Especially when Jimmy and I gathered the construction wads littering the room and hung them from the branches using paper clips. It worked well, mostly because the tree wouldn’t support anything heavier.

  When the tree was ready in all its trashy glory, Jimmy retreated to his bed and pulled a couple things from under his bed. Presents. My cheeks burned with guilt as he placed them near the tree. Jimmy was really about the most thoughtful person I’d met here.

  Then I watched, horrified, as Cassie pulled out presents of her own and placed them next to Jimmy’s. OK she was pretty thoughtful too, which made me feel like a huge jerk. My carelessness came out, and I blurted, “Are you kidding me? Where did you even get those, anyway?” The store in the classroom center was closed.

  “At the store a couple weeks ago,” Cassie said. “It wasn’t that hard.”

  “It wasn’t that hard,” I mimicked, grabbing my coat.

  “Where are you going?” Cassie asked.

  “To get presents,” I said, face red as ketchup.

  “Wait,” Jimmy said.

  Without turning back I said, “Yes?”

  “You might as well look for three.”

  I spun around, annoyed, which caused Jimmy to flinch. It made me feel even worse, as I was really just mad at myself. I softened my gaze and said, “Why?”

  “All the students who stay do a white elephant exchange on Christmas Eve.”

  “What’s that?” Cassie said.

  Jimmy and I stared at her. I shouldn’t have been surprised she didn’t know, but it was nice to put the grinch-like attention on someone else.

  “It’s a party where everyone brings a random gift,” I said, like the entire world knew.

  “Like a Secret Santa?” she asked.

  “No, this is way more fun,” said Jimmy, talking a hundred miles an hour. “You don’t know who your gift is for. They all go in
a big pile. At the party you draw numbers and pick a random present.”

  “And you can steal someone else’s present,” I added.

  “It’s really fun,” Jimmy said.

  “And the worst present you can bring, the better,” I said.

  Cassie looked at us with her usual weird stare, then jumped up.

  “I guess I need to get another present, too.”

  She grabbed a coat, hat, gloves, and scarf (which I thought was overkill) and, together, we made our way out into the snow. The sky was overcast and small flakes fell, slowly adding to the growing mush covering the ground.

  As soon as I took my first crunch into the snow, something hit me, and I turned away from Cassie and began walking the other way.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to get you a present.”

  “So?”

  “I want it to be a surprise.”

  At that, she smiled and practically ran away so I could begin my search.

  I grinned as I headed east toward the gym. Sure, I still felt guilty for forgetting gifts. But the idea of scouring campus for presents was fun, like a weird scavenger hunt. Also, because I was alone, I could hum Jingle Bells as I trekked through the slush. Halting, I realized it was the first time I’d sung a carol this year, and I took a deep, happy breath. The frigid air stung my nostrils but I didn’t care; it was invigorating. And if you weren’t cold, it really wasn’t Christmas.

  An hour later, my spirits had sunk considerably. I’d only managed to find a stuffed pink giraffe with bulbous eyes and a cracked plastic turtle. While the giraffe was a decent white elephant gift, let’s be honest—both gifts sucked. Grimacing, I imagined Jimmy presenting me with an Xbox, then opening his turtle. I flinched and promptly threw it into the trash.

  After another half hour, I had a plastic bag containing a paper bowl, three pine cones, a left shoe, and a pair of torn running shorts. My gifts reeked, literally and figuratively. Frustrated, I made my way to the gym and noticed a door open. Peeking around, I inched inside. The place was dark except for one light casting a cone over the nearest basketball goal. Hesitant, I walked over and grabbed a basketball. Other than the random free day in gym, I hadn’t had many chances to shoot (playing with my family didn’t count). I needed to do something to clear my head—that’s when the best ideas hit.

  Whispering, “The door was wide open, so I’m not breaking in,” I dribbled once, snatched the ball, and looked around. Nothing. I dribbled again. Nothing.

  Soon, I was spinning and driving up and down the court. I ran through some basic layup drills and, in the middle of a reverse layup, heard a throat clear. I yelped and launched the ball, which flew into the rim and back down onto my shoulder.

  I turned and saw Adkins trying not to laugh.

  “Intruding again?”

  “The door was wide open, sir.”

  “And it’s dark in here. What gave you the impression students were welcome to come and start making a huge racket?”

  I blushed. “Sorry. It’s just . . . ” my words trailed off as it suddenly seemed so stupid.

  He crossed his arms. “Yes?” His tone said, I don’t have all day.

  “I’m trying to find presents for my friends.” Oh man, that sounded so childish. I pictured a pacifier in my mouth and a baby rattle in my hand. In an attempt to distract myself, I looked around for the ball, which seemed to have vanished.

  “It’s under the bleachers,” Adkins said, already walking back to his office. Before making it two steps, he stopped and turned.

  “Pine cones and moldy clothes? Think outside the box, Trales.”

  How did he know? I looked at my plastic bag full of goodies. Everything had dumped out onto the wooden floor. A pine cone was still tittering back and forth.

  “Sorry!” I yelled, scooping up the garbage. I shoved the stuffed giraffe into my pocket and threw the rest in the trash. Feeling stupid, I made my way out, then stopped. Adkins had just given me advice. That meant he was trying to help, right? Only I had no idea what he was talking about. After a quick debate with myself, I jogged to Adkins’ office, telling myself, The worst he can do is make me leave.

  Stopping just outside Adkins’ office, I had the wherewithal to peak in and make sure he wasn’t doing something important. He typed at his computer, which didn’t seem too crucial. At least that’s what I told myself when I knocked quietly on the door frame. Without flinching, he said, “What is it, Trales?”

  I took a single step in and cleared my throat. “Sir, you said to think outside the box. I’m not exactly sure what you meant.”

  He gave me a look that said, You’re really interrupting me for this?

  I shrugged and said, “I just want to get them something good. They deserve it.”

  He exhaled and pushed his chair away from the desk.

  “How about this,” he said. “Why not think preemptively?”

  “Huh?”

  “I bet you just walked around campus hoping to stumble across something.”

  I winced and shrugged.

  “Instead, why not think about what they like first, then act on it.”

  He put way too much emphasis on the word “act” and I squinted at him. Was he implying something. He stared at me and said, again, “Act on it.”

  I jolted. Did he know Jimmy liked to act?

  “Act on it.” I said quietly.

  “Exactly,” he said, nodding. I stared blankly at his bookshelf for a second when an idea hit. Well, not so much an idea as a direction. It was worth a shot.

  Smiling, I thanked Adkins, bolted from the gym, and ran to the classroom center. As I sploshed through the wet snow, I couldn’t help but wonder how he knew about Jimmy’s acting. More than that, how did he even know we were friends?

  For a second, I wondered if I’d understood him correctly. What else could he have meant? Shaking my head, I jumped up and down for a few seconds, convincing myself this was the right decision, then continued my trek.

  Within minutes, I was jogging around the west side of the classroom center, which housed the drama and arts departments. Approaching the door, I realized I hadn’t spent any time there. It was like a foreign country, and I was a little nervous peeking in the window. I’d heard a small theater was inside but only saw closed doors down a hallway. Pulling away, I noticed a piece of green paper taped to the glass:

  Sanctuary Prep Academy Proudly Presents

  Too Many Secrets

  A short play written by our own Darrin Winborne

  Auditions will be held December 9th from 7:00 PM - 9:00 PM

  Audition monologue can be found in envelope below

  Rehearsals begin right after Christmas break

  See you there!

  I looked down and saw a standard envelope taped near the door handle. Peering in, I noticed it still held several slips of paper. I pulled one out and began reading. It was the speech Jimmy had delivered on stage the morning I trailed him! The flyer must have been posted a couple months ago, and Jimmy had found the monologue. Although he probably only had it for a few days, he sounded like he’d been practicing for years.

  I realized how talented Jimmy really was. Admittedly, the words themselves were also captivating. I glanced at Darrin’s name on the flyer. Of course, he’d be supremely creative. It explained why the stupid comics they made looked so good. I rolled my eyes and reread the audition date. Two weeks ago.

  Dammit.

  I squeezed the paper, thinking of a way around the missed deadline. My first idea was to talk to Darrin, but there was no way he’d let Jimmy audition. Besides, Jimmy couldn’t handle a one-on-one session with him. Maybe we could crash the first rehearsal? No, Jimmy would never go for it.

  Suddenly, the door opened and I flew back, screaming. Start paying attention, I told myself, as I looked up to see a woman glaring at me. I had no idea what she wanted, and she just stood there staring at me.

  “Hi,” I finally said.

  “Can I he
lp you?” She didn’t sound mean, just busy.

  “Um, I don’t think so.”

  “Then why were you rapping on the door like a machine gun?”

  I looked down at my hands. I must have been tapping on the glass while thinking. My face tingled and I said, “Sorry, it was an accident.”

  She turned around.

  “Wait!” I said, struck with an idea.

  She let out an exasperated groan and turned back. “Make up your mind, please.”

  “I’m really sorry, but are you the drama teacher?”

  “Yes. Ms. Burton. And you are?”

  “Blaize Trales.”

  I reached out a hand as a peace offering and she shook it.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” she said.

  “I’m new.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Interested in theatre?”

  “Not really.”

  I probably shouldn’t have said that. Her face stoned a bit, like I’d insulted her pet. Panicking, I blurted, “But my friend loves it and he’s really amazing.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Jimmy. Jimmy Blackwood.”

  Her lips grew thin. Did the teachers think he was weird, too?

  “He’s never performed here.”

  “I figured as much. He’s pretty insecure. But he’s really amazing. I watched him perform this monologue.” I help up the piece of paper. “And he was so good. He’s been working on it for months.”

  She looked vaguely curious, which I took as a good sign. Then she gave me a sympathetic smile, saying, “Auditions were weeks ago, sorry.”

  “Can’t you still give him a chance?”

  She held up a hand. “I appreciate your concern for your friend, but the cast has had the scripts since auditions. They’re already memorizing lines.”

  My face fell. I hadn’t thought about that. “Sorry, you’re right. I guess I hoped this would be something that could help him.”

  Her eyes focused on nothing for a few seconds. I didn’t want to wait for more rejection, so I said, “Thanks anyway,” and went to leave.

  “Hold on,” she said.

  I stopped and raised my eyebrows at her.

  “George, our lead, had to drop out. Grades come first.”