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

by Cody Wagner

  She didn’t blush or anything. “We’re going to have to put something on that.”

  “Well, not right now.”

  She froze, registering my exhausted, pallid face. I knew my eyes were dark from lack of sleep and nonstop nightmares about Jimmy. I hadn’t eaten much and my already loose jeans felt like an open parachute.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she said, “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  I glanced down but nodded at her. Patting my hand, she didn’t say anything else, and led me to the car where dad stood awkwardly. I think I took after him in that respect; I wasn’t comfortable with condolences either. We just nodded at each other a couple times.

  As we approached the open door, Molly yelled, “Shotgun!” and flew ahead of me into the back seat.

  “I don’t think you know what that means,” I muttered. Regardless, I grabbed a leg, pulled her out, and climbed in first, ignoring her playful shrieks.

  When we were all situated, I felt the air thicken with a strange anticipation. I couldn’t deal with it and withdrew, pulling out my headphones and putting them in. I knew Mom and Dad wanted to talk but they didn’t protest. Molly, on the other hand, dutifully put her head on my shoulder and began chatting. Not about Jimmy or Sanctuary or healing or school.

  She went on and on about food and cartoons and friends and completely nonsensical stuff, providing a nice, distracting humming in my ears. She seemed to sense I’d never turned the music on, and I leaned my head back, letting her words wash over me.

  It was probably rude of me but I didn’t say a word the entire trip. I never got anything to eat. I never spoke up when I had to pee. I didn’t even take off my headphones when we pulled into the driveway. The only thing I wanted to do was get inside.

  Racing into my room that night, a huge feeling of relief washed over me. I hadn’t had a space to myself in forever and could finally let myself breathe some solitude. The second I shut my door, I threw my suitcase on the bed and just fell on the floor. Closing my eyes, I stuck my arms out and made a squished snow angel in the carpet.

  It was nice for about two minutes when, without music or noise in my ears, images of Jimmy careened into my head. For the millionth time, I pictured him dying in the street again. Blood spread out in a pool behind him. He looked at me, so helpless. His eyes shone with terror. I could actually feel him grab my hand.

  You can’t let go of me until I die. His voice gurgled.

  I shot up and covered my ears. It was too much. The pressure in my chest was so intense, I couldn’t breathe. Even here at home, the feelings were just as strong at at Sanctuary.

  Shaking the image out of my head and delicately rubbing my ribs, I knew I couldn’t lay there and do nothing. Jimmy’s words would haunt me forever. It was a horrible thought, like I’d never find peace again.

  The suitcase caught my eye; I had to keep busy.

  The zipper stuck as I pulled it around. I noticed part of a shirt was caught. I pulled it free, shifted my weight, then finished unzipping and threw open the flap.

  A sticky note sat on top of my stuff. It read:

  Thought you might want this

  - Roze

  Under it was Darrin’s portrait of Jimmy.

  My entire body started trembling. Jimmy still glowed with energy as he stared up at me. It’s like he was looking into my soul. Seeing him was the last thing I expected, and the surprise crumbled the wall around my heart. For the first time, I didn’t see dying Jimmy in my head; I saw an alive vibrant version of him, so full of life.

  I collapsed on the picture and started sobbing. A couple drops fell on the paper and I leaned forward so my tears fell on the bed. I’d never do anything to hurt the portrait. I had something wonderful to remember him by, something that wasn’t tainted with death.

  I’m not sure how long I lay there but it felt like hours. And then, just as quickly as they’d arrived, the tears vanished. As did the weight in my chest.

  Wiping my nose, I leaned back and stared at Jimmy, larger than life on stage. Then I did something I never thought I’d do again: I smiled.

  It’s like the ocean of tears had weighed my heart down. Now that they were gone, I felt better. Not awesome, but better. I actually smiled.

  Then, instead of painful memories, happy ones entered my head. I thought of Jimmy climbing down the freakishly tall ladder and Jimmy trying to exercise and Jimmy in his fish underwear. Ok, I laughed at the image of Jimmy in his underwear.

  I looked into Jimmy’s eyes. They were full of his innocent joy. My vision blurred. My soul felt like it was full of him. Full of his wonder and his energy. I let out a long deep breath and stared at him. Then, without saying a word, I leaned in and kissed him, for the last time. None of the guilt from our first kiss invaded me. I smiled again and, wiping any smudges away, put my head on his and just breathed.

  The doorknob rattled.

  I shot up to my feet. I didn’t want my parents seeing me crying over Jimmy. In an instant, the moment was obliterated. A sliver of anger shot through me and, throwing my arms down in defiance, I turned.

  Molly stood there, holding her stuffed M&M bag. Her eyes were red and I knew she’d been crying, too. She probably heard me through the heater vent and joined in with sympathy tears. My anger melted.

  “Can you come back later?” My voice cracked.

  “Is that him?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  She took a few tense steps in and looked at the portrait. She smiled. “You liked him a lot.”

  I turned away from her, tears welling again, and nodded.

  She wrapped her hand around my waist and leaned against my hip. “Whatcha gonna do with it?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know. Hang it up somewhere. Maybe in the closet.”

  Molly shook her head and went to my desk. “Put it there. So you see him every day.”

  I let out an unsure breath. “I don’t know. Mom and Dad might wonder about that.”

  She stared at me with an intensity I’d never seen before. “So?”

  I smiled and put my hand on her head. She was right—Jimmy had spent enough time in hiding. I wouldn’t do that to him again. In complete and reverential silence, I lifted Jimmy’s portrait out and, together, Molly and I set about hanging it on the wall over my desk.

  About the Author

  Cody loves to create and is currently working on a bunch of stuff—including Book 2 of The Gay Teen’s Guide to Defeating a Siren—that will be out (relatively) soon. How’s that for vague?

  He’d share a pic, but doesn’t know how to smile for cameras. Cody lives in Phoenix, Arizona but half his heart is in Texas.

  You can read more about him at www.wagner-writer.com.