The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren

by Wendy Toliver

  London McGill, Envision’s runway coach, claps her hands together three times, and the models look up, giving her their full attention. In a hushed voice, she says, “Ladies, it’s time. Please line up like we practiced last night.”

  Since we’re in the mall, there’s not a “backstage” for us to hang out in until showtime. So we’re stashed behind a big gray screen with JADED painted in graffiti-style, jade-colored letters. Someone turns on the hip-hop music, and as it booms throughout the mall, I dodge a cloud of hair spray and give myself a quick once-over in one of the full-length mirrors. My makeup and hair look amazing, and in slinky silver pants and a tight winter-white cashmere sweater, I look every inch a supermodel. But I don’t feel like one.

  Even though I’ve been practicing my runway walk, I still don’t have it down. If I hadn’t played my flute for Mr. Valdez, London wouldn’t have placed me on Envision’s runway team. The other girls aren’t exactly Gisele BÜndchen clones, but they definitely walk circles around me.

  As I take my place at the end of the line, the stylist wraps a deep red loopy knit scarf around my neck. “Are you okay?” she whispers.

  I flash her a smile I hope exudes confidence. “Better than ever,” I say. Please don’t puke, I beg my stomach. Just a few minutes and it’ll all be over.

  “Three, two, one,” London calls, signaling the start of the show. The first girl disappears around the screen, followed a moment later by the second girl.

  The line of models is melting fast and I’m so not ready to do this. Oh no! I’m on! I graze one of the other girls as I step onto the runway, and she shoots me the evil eye. But there’s no time to apologize because I’m on. Where did all these people come from? Don’t they have jobs and families and other things to do? Can they see my knees shaking?

  I take a deep breath and take off, not really sure what my feet are doing way down there. All I know is these heels are impossible to walk in, and it’s taking every bit of effort to stay on top of them. Oh, God. I’m going to break my ankles—I just know it!

  I concentrate on what London told me when I started working with her just three days ago. Shoulders back, neck elongated, back straight, stomach in, hips rolled forward, arms dangling, legs crossing with every step, facial expression to match the theme of the show. I guess the theme of this show is edgy. Or is it casual? Or is it Colorado’s answer to haute couture? I really don’t know. Too bad it’s not “freaking out.” Or “kill your little brother.”

  Chase is in the audience, jumping up and down and making faces at me. Oh, great. I hope no one knows we’re related. Mom is standing beside him, trying to get him to settle down. She flashes me an encouraging smile and gives me a thumbs-up. Note to self: Never share fashion show schedule with family.

  Okay, I’m almost done. The end is in sight. Just a little further….

  Oh, wait. Isn’t that Amber Millan’s head poking out from all those shopping bags? Eva must be around here somewhere. Ah, there she is! They’re pointing at me and smiling. I hold my head up even higher when I walk past them, trying not to lose my rhythm, trying not to lose the modicum of poise I’m desperately hanging on to. Right before I’m back behind the screen, my heel gets stuck on the hem of my pants. Oh, crap! Tripping! I let out a shrill scream, landing awkwardly on the side of my left shoe. Thank God, I catch myself before I fall flat on my heavily made-up face. But my heel snaps and I have to limp the last few feet. Just kill me now.

  A moment later Mr. Valdez (Mr. Envision Modeling Agency of Denver himself) appears behind the screen, strutting around in burnished dark jeans and a soft green V-neck. “That was fabulous, everybody. Our best show yet.” The girls stop changing back into street clothes long enough to say thanks. He pauses in front of me. “Roxy, we have a photo shoot opportunity that you’ll be perfect for. Here’s the information.” He hands me a slip of paper with HOTAIR BALLOONING IN VAIL typed across the top and the address, date, and time scribbled underneath.

  “Okay,” I say, still a bit out of it. “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” he says. “And don’t worry about today. Some of our models are a mess on the runway, but really shine through in print ads.”

  He disappears before I have a chance to ask him to elaborate. Did he mean that I totally sucked today? Or was he just saying that doing print ads might be a more natural fit for someone like me? Nonplussed, I slide off the pointy-toed stilettos before they cause permanent damage to my feet (how some women wear high heels every day I’ll never know), slip on my Skechers, and hobble out into the open.

  Mom sprints over to me with Chase loafing behind her. “Oh, honey, you did such a great job! I’m so proud of you!” she exclaims, going in for a hug.

  Chase mutters, “Mom forced me to come and made me promise to say something nice when you were done. So here goes.” He clears his throat. “I’m glad you didn’t fall off the runway when you tripped.”

  And that’s precisely when Eva and Amber choose to wander over. “Hi, Roxy,” Eva says sweetly. “I didn’t know you were a model.”

  “Well, she just started,” Mom pipes in. “She did pretty well for her first time, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sure with a little more practice, she won’t look like she’s all constipated,” my mutant brother says.

  “Oh, and I suppose you go to so many fashion shows, you’re an expert?” I say, wishing I could just disappear.

  “Do you girls go to school with Roxy?” Mom asks, and I’m so grateful she changes the subject before it gets any more mortifying.

  Eva and Amber nod politely.

  “That’s nice. And what instruments do you two play?”

  Oh. My. God.

  “Pardon me,” a man says. “Would you mind moving over just a little?” Mom, Chase, Eva, Amber, and I shift our little Roxy Embarrassment Session over so a small group of people can carry the gray JADED screen away from the storefront. I recognize the man as Sebastian, the manager of Jaded. An idea pops into my head.

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to bail,” I say. “Um, it’s business.”

  Mom gives me a confused look and then says, “Okay, but don’t be home late. Your father and I would like to spend a little time with you before we leave for our trip.”

  I dart into the store, dodging fashionistas, racks of clothes, and shiny metal mannequins as I chase Sebastian through the store. “Hey, Sebastian!” I holler, and he whips around. After a beat, a smile spreads across his clean-shaven face.

  “Well, hello there. If it isn’t one of my best customers! So nice to see you.” He glances behind me. “And where is that lovely grandmother of yours?”

  “Out and about, as always. Hey, do you have a minute? I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Sure.”

  Taking Sebastian’s arm, I lead him into the back hall. We head to the employee break room, where a girl about my age is checking her hair in a compact mirror. When she realizes she’s not alone, she clicks her mirror shut and tosses her diet-bar wrapper into the trash-can. “I’m on my way out,” she informs her boss as she marches past us, eyeing me a bit suspiciously.

  Sebastian and I venture into the empty break room. I say, “This will only take a minute.” Or less. After all, Grandma already primed him. I take out my flute.

  He squints an eye, apparently thinking I’m crazy, but nods. I play for about fifteen seconds, until his eyes widen and gloss over. “My friend Natalie O’Brien would love to work here. Please arrange that for her.” I tuck my flute back into my purse and then jot down her name and number on the back of a sales slip that someone had left on the table.

  “A marvelous idea! Natalie O’Brien will be perfect,” he says, gazing at the sales slip as if it’s a winning Colorado Lottery ticket.

  “Oh,” I add as an afterthought, “and make sure she gets a seventy-five percent merchandise discount.” Ah, pure genius.

  By the time I’m finished with my chitchat with Sebastian, it’s pretty dark outside. I fold myself into the Boxs
ter and say “Natalie” into my cell phone’s voice-activated speed dial. I’ve been dying to tell her the good news.

  “Hey girl, guess what?”

  “Eva’s pregnant and she and Zach are having a shotgun wedding? Only the baby isn’t really Zach’s—it’s an alien’s.”

  “Ha-ha. No, seriously. You can quit your job at the grocery store. I’ve got something you’ll like a lot better.”

  “Ooooooh?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “The National Enquirer is hiring reporters.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “Actually, you’ve got a job at Jaded.”

  “Shut up! Are you serious? I’ve been calling every day to see if someone happened to quit, but they’ve got, like, a million applications.” She pauses and then asks, “How?”

  “I just talked to the store manager. I told him how perfect you’d be and he agreed.”

  “Oh my God, Roxy. This is too cool! You’re the greatest! You’re the best! You’re awesome!”

  “I know, I know.”

  “And did I forget to mention that you’re modest?”

  I laugh. We chat the whole drive home, even though she’s at work. (“Not like it matters if they fire me. I’ve got a job at Jaded!”) It feels so good to catch up with her. She’s so psyched to work at her favorite store. It’s like she just got crowned Prom Princess.

  Thirteen

  “Okay, so that’s twenty-one forty Harrison Avenue? Great. Thanks, Mrs. Parker.”

  I close my cell phone and stare at it until a black VW bug honks at me. “I’m going, I’m going,” I mutter, stepping on the gas and shoving the phone into my purse.

  When I called Zach, his mom told me he was at Eva’s house. All the gang is there, she said. She acted a little surprised that I wasn’t there already, and even more surprised when I told her I had no clue where Eva lived. Imagine how surprised she’d be if I told her that her son’s under my Siren spell, and that’s why we’ve been hanging out. What would she have to say about that?

  I pull up to the address Mrs. Parker gave me, and, sure enough, his muddy pickup’s parked on the steep circular driveway, along with Eva’s Mustang. I yank the parking break so the Boxster won’t roll down the hill, then grab my purse and hop out.

  The house is a white colonial-style with a gigantic weeping willow in the middle of the yard and a rainbow of geraniums lining the brick walkway. I clank the brass knocker on the dark green door until it opens, revealing Eva in her FHS short shorts and a bikini top.

  “Oh hey, Roxy. What’re you doing here?” she asks, fiddling with her necklace—a silver chain with a heart locket. Did Zach give it to her back when they were an item?

  “I’m here to see Zach.” I step inside before she has the chance to invite me in. You know, just in case she doesn’t invite me in.

  Eva peers over my shoulder. “Nice car. It’s not yours, is it?”

  I shrug. “It’s my dad’s, but he lets me take it whenever I want, so it’s pretty much mine.”

  “Wow, that’s cool.”

  The Nelsons’ house is all velvet and mahogany and wallpaper, smelling of Old English and old money. According to Natalie, Eva’s great-grandparents started the Snowflake Ski shops. And once Eva turns eighteen, she’s going to be Denver’s newest millionaire. Rough.

  Eva leads me down the hall, her bare feet slapping on the rose-colored tile. “Zach’s out back. Want anything to drink? A wine cooler, perhaps?”

  A lump the size of Jupiter forms in my throat. “Uh, I’ve been meaning to apologize for, um … spilling my wine cooler on your dress. I hope it didn’t stain.” Did I really think slinging my drink all over Eva would make me feel victorious? What had gotten into me that night at J.T.’s party?

  Eva waves her hand dismissively. “Bygones.” Then the weirdest thing happens. She actually smiles at me. “I’m really glad you stopped by, Roxy. Before we go outside, can I ask you something?” She takes my hand and leads me to a burgundy love seat in the living room. There’s an enormous oil painting of her family on the wall: The distinguished Mr. Nelson, his lovely and well-preserved surgeon wife, and a twelve-year-old Eva Nelson in a dark green sheath and pearls.

  “Uh, sure, I guess….” I perch next to her.

  “How does it feel?” She’s looking at me intensely, like she’s waiting for me to reveal the secret of life.

  “How does what feel?” Is she asking about Zach? Oh, God, I’ll die if she asks if Zach and I have had sex.

  “To be a model.” Eva leans forward, flinging her long blond ponytail behind her shoulder.

  My face heats up. “Oh.” I set my tote down at my feet. “It’s fun, I guess—”

  “You were so great at that Jaded fashion show. I was just standing there watching it and I was all, ‘I know that girl!’” A huge smile emerges on her face and she clamps her hand on top of mine. “So tell me everything! Don’t you dare leave out a single, teensy-tiny detail.”

  This is all so weird. I mean, Eva’s hanging on to my every word. I don’t think we’ve ever even made eye contact before, let alone had a tête-â-tête.

  Eva smacks her lips, a dreamy look in her blue eyes. When I wrap up the story of How Roxy Became a Model (leaving out the Siren bits, naturally), she says, “Awesome.”

  I nod.

  “Well,” she says, standing up, “I’m sure you’re eager to see Zach. I just wanted to live vicariously for a minute.”

  Huh? Did Eva the Diva just admit to being intrigued by my life? And what’s more, did she just use a five-syllable word? I’m still pondering these oddities when we go out the sliding-glass doors and find Zach, J.T., Devin, and Amber hanging out around an oval-shaped swimming pool. The yard is full of trees, bushes, flowers—oh, wow, and a barbeque setup that would bring a grown man to tears.

  Devin does a majorly splashy cannonball and drenches Amber, who’s sprawled out on a lounge chair, sipping lemonade. She screams, but by the look in her eyes, she doesn’t seem that upset. By the size of her bikini top, she doesn’t seem that modest, either. (If anyone ever wants me to model a bathing suit like that, I’m so saying no. Even though my boobs are pretty damn amazing, if I do say so myself.)

  J.T. spots me first. “Yo, Zachster. Look who’s here.”

  Zach swims to the ladder and climbs out of the pool, water dripping down his tan, muscular body. He looks like a hunk right out of those cheesy calendars, except he’s wearing knee-length board shorts instead of a banana hammock (which are totally disgusting, if you ask me).

  Eva tosses Zach a pineapple-patterned beach towel and he dries his eyes and hair. “Hiya, Roxy. What’s up?” He gives me a sexy smile and I can’t help but wonder if he’s going to be smiling after I do what I have to do.

  Everybody’s watching and listening to us. “Uh, I just wanted to talk. Can we go inside or something?”

  He shakes his head like a wet dog. “Sure.”

  I take him to the love seat where Eva and I were sitting earlier. “Uh, Zach? Maybe you should sit on the towel. You know, so you don’t ruin the upholstery? I think it might be an antique.” Not that I’d know, but it sure doesn’t look like something you can just pick up at American Furniture Warehouse. And I want him sitting down because I’m not sure how he’s going to react to what I have to tell him.

  “So, what’s up?” he asks again, spreading the towel between his wet trunks and the love seat.

  “Do you ever get the urge to hang out with me?” I ask, staring at the fancy chandelier-like light above our heads.

  “Sure.” He puts his hand on top of mine.

  “But everything that happens between us is ’cause I arrange it or ask for it or suggest it.” He looks at me as if I’m speaking Chinese. “I suggest we get something to eat, and we do. I ask you to kiss me, and you do.”

  He kisses me, and suddenly I feel nauseous. The kiss itself is fine. It’s the exact same kind he’s been giving me since the day I used my Siren powers on him and told him to kiss me like Enrique Iglesias. Is it
all he’s capable of? Like he’s a robot and can only do what I’ve programmed him to do? Can’t he be spontaneous? You know, mix it up a little?

  “Do you love me?” I bite my lip, wishing I hadn’t just asked him that. Talk about awkward. And not that I’m experienced with this, but I’d guess it’s not the best question to ask a guy right before you break up with him.

  “Of course I love you, Roxy.” He smiles lazily and runs his fingers through my hair.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you love me?”

  He’s still smiling and stroking my hair, but he looks kinda funny. Like he’s reading a Post-it that’s stuck to my forehead. “Because you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world.”

  Okay, fine. I’m not surprised he said that. But I guess I was hoping he would say something else, you know, besides me being pretty.

  He’s awfully cute, and he’s so athletic and popular. What girl wouldn’t want to be with Zach Parker?

  This girl.

  But I am fond of the guy. I’ve been crushing on him forever, and I do want what’s best for him. This breaking up thing is totally hard. How can I let him down easy? How can I release him from his Date the Siren duties in a way that leaves his dignity intact? Maybe I can fix him up with someone else—someone who’ll make him happy.

  I glance up at the painting of the Nelsons and a crazy idea bounces into my skull. What if Zach fell in love with Eva? I mean, they make such a terrific couple. The whole plan is so poetic!

  I dig out my flute and start playing, Zach’s eyes softening into light blue satin. “Zach, I want you to get back together with Eva.”

  Wait a sec.

  Will the whole act get old for Eva, like it has for me? I don’t want her to be stuck with a Robot Dream Guy for the rest of her life. I don’t want my gift of Zach Parker to become a nuisance or a curse.

  Eva needs an out. You know, just in case she’s not deliriously happy about a total hottie devoting himself to her. It’s the least I can do. “If Eva ever tells you she wants to break it off, be a good sport and follow her wishes.”