The Siren. Kiera Cass
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still nearly six months away, I dreaded it like it was coming tomorrow. It felt as if my very soul was being chipped away at every time it happened. Eighty long years gone. Twenty more to go. And each day felt as if it were never-ending.
Monday morning, I got out of the house as fast as I could. I grabbed one of Miaka’s many sketchbooks and shoved it into my bag along with some pencils. I’d dabbled in painting and drawing ever since Miaka came home with her first canvas, and while I would never be the artist she was, the idea of occupying my hands for a while sounded good.
I made my way to campus, taking the quietest roads I could find, and crossed onto the main area near the fountain and library just as people were making their way to class. Part of me felt bad for being so hard on Elizabeth and Miaka. They blended in at bars and clubs. I blended in at the library. Maybe their way of handling things didn’t work for me, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t valid.
I settled under a tree and pulled out the sketch pad, thinking I’d draw some of the outfits I saw. I loved seeing how fashion changed over time, and though I preferred a more classic style, it was fun to see how a headband or the height of a shoe or the cut of a neckline would bring back something I’d come across twenty years before.
I’d seen this as a problem for my fair share of people, though. I’d watched some get stuck in the eighties, doing unthinkable things to their hair, or wearing bell-bottoms when it wasn’t the best idea. Maybe staying in a favorite era was like a security blanket, something you could keep when everything else changed. I fanned out my circle skirt and figured that was true.
Then, unexpectedly, someone settled in next to me under the shade of my tree.
“Okay, so I was thinking you were a culinary student, but this has me considering art instead.”
It was the boy from the library, Akinli.
“I’m undecided, personally. You’re not judging me, are you?”
I smiled and shook my head. I liked that he just started speaking as if we were already in the middle of a conversation.
“Good. I’ve been considering a few things. Like finance sounds like a smart way to go, but I’m about as bad with money as I am at cooking.”
I smiled, scribbling in the corner of my page. But isn’t that why people study? To get better?
“That’s a good argument, but I think you’re overestimating my skills.”
He grinned back at me, and I remembered how normal he’d made me feel the first time we’d met. Here, once again, he wasn’t bothered by my silence. And I suddenly realized what made me feel so uncomfortable about Elizabeth’s exploits. The people she attracted were drawn to the same thing everyone else was: our glowing skin, dreamy eyes, and air of secrecy. But this boy? He seemed to see more than that. He saw me not just as a mysterious beauty, but as a girl he wanted to know.
He didn’t stare at me. He spoke to me.
“So did you make that epic cake this weekend or what?”
I shook my head. I went to my first club, I wrote, pleased with how normal that confession seemed.
“And?”
Not really my thing.
“Yeah, I was a designated driver on Friday, and I seriously can’t stand the stench of bars. It’s like there’s an old-cigarette smell clinging to the walls even though you can’t smoke in them anymore.” Akinli scrunched up his nose in disgust. “Plus, even though I like the guys on my hall, I don’t like them enough to be okay with cleaning puke off two of them. I think my days as a chauffeur are officially over.”
I made a face and shook my head. I understood that babysitter feeling a little too well.
“Any classes left today?”
Nope!
“See, I’m totally jealous. I thought afternoon classes would mean sleeping in, which was a brilliant plan on my part because I’m in a serious relationship with sleep.”
Me too.
“Well, I think I’d let the relationship suffer a little if it meant I could do more in the afternoons. Look at you. You’re free to sit in the sun and creepily draw pictures of people you don’t even know. How great is that?”
I smirked. I often thought of myself as kind of creepy. This was the first time it sounded like a good thing.
It’s the clothes! I argued, pointing to the pages.
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. But don’t mind me. I’m just jealous. I can’t draw at all. The only thing I know how to make is a frog. I learned how in the first grade, and I never forgot. The key is starting with a football shape,” he said, his voice full of mock expertise. “If you get that wrong, the whole thing goes downhill.”
Can’t cook. Can’t draw. What can you do?
“Excellent question. Um … I can fish. Family thing, much like the terrible, terrible first name. I can text in complete sentences. Oh, yeah, it’s a skill.” He smiled, proud of his accomplishments. “And, thanks to my mom being a competitive dancer as a teen, I know how to do the Lindy hop and the jitterbug.”
I sat bolt upright, and Akinli rolled his eyes.
“I swear, if you tell me you can jitterbug, I’m going to … I don’t even know. Set something on fire. No one can dance like that.”
I pursed my lips and dusted off my shoulder, a thing I’d seen Elizabeth do when she was bragging.
As if he was accepting a challenge, he shrugged off his backpack and stood, holding out a hand for me.
I took it and positioned myself in front of him as he shook his head, grinning.
“All right, we’ll take this slow. Five, six, seven, eight.”
In unison, we rock stepped and triple stepped, falling into the rhythm in our head. After a minute, he got brave and swung me around, lining me up for those peppy kicks I loved so much.
People walked by, pointing and laughing, but it was one of those moments when I knew we weren’t being mocked; we were being envied.
We stepped on each other’s toes more than once, and after he accidentally knocked his head into my shoulder, he threw his hands up.
“Unbelievable,” he said, almost as if he was complaining. “I can’t wait to tell my mom this. She’s gonna think I’m lying. All those years dancing in the kitchen thinking I was special, and then I run across a master.”
We sat back down under the tree, and I started collecting my things. That was a pretty little moment, and I was almost afraid another minute in his presence would break it.
“So you didn’t make that cake yet?”
I shook my head.
“Well, since you’re swearing off clubs, and I’m swearing off driving for drunks, and there’s really not an appropriate venue downtown to show off our dance skills, why don’t we make it this weekend?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Look, I know what I said about being a bad cook, but I think you could keep me from ruining it.”
Now who’s overestimating skills?
He laughed. “No, seriously, I think it’d be fun. If all else fails, I’ve got some Easy Mac in my room, so we’ll at least have something to eat.”
I shrugged, dubious but tempted. Elizabeth could regularly go to a stranger’s apartment, be as intimate as two people could be, and live to tell the tale. So, maybe I could bake in a dorm kitchen without murdering someone?
“You seem nervous. You got a boyfriend?”
He said the last as if he was only belatedly realizing the obvious.
I wrote NO in big letters