The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren by Wendy Toliver Page A

Chase is dusting the blinds in my room. I flop onto my perfectly made bed and watch him for a few minutes. It would be a shame to have to do these tedious chores myself. Especially when Chase does such a great job. I’ve grown rather fond of having my room and bathroom so sparkly clean and always having freshly washed and pressed clothes to wear. But I did promise my parents I’d talk to him.
    I whip out my flute and start playing. Once he’s under my spell, I say, “Chase, I want you to continue doing my laundry, keeping my bathroom and room so clean, and doing the dishes …” Did I forget anything? Oh, yeah. “… and feeding Pumpkin.But I need you to be very
secretive.
Don’t let Mom and Dad notice that you’re doing these things. And make sure you’re still doing your own chores, and next time someone invites you to a birthday party, go.”
    Chase’s eyes grow big, like when he was seven and I told him the tooth fairy was really a big ugly monster that would gobble him up if his teeth weren’t up to its standards. “But … what if I’m not done with everything in time?”
    I put my hand on his shoulder. “Birthday parties trump doing chores, got it?”
    He takes a breath and then smiles. “Got it.”
    â€œGood.” He turns around and continues his blinds-dusting. “And I really love your new haircut, Chase. Very handsome.”
    Grandma Perkins whizzes up to the front of the valet line and parks next to the curb. Honking and vulgar hand gestures follow in her wake. It’s totally embarrassing, but at least with Grandma around, I didn’t have to use my Siren powers on Dad to get him to cough up some spending money. I jump out of her Lexus while she waits for the man in the maroon valet suit to open her door. Shelooks me up and down and smiles that dazzling smile of hers.
    Another man holds the gigantic glass doors open for us as we sashay into Denver’s most elite shopping mecca, Designer Palace. In fact, it’s so high-end that I’ve never even stepped foot inside. “I am so pleased you called me, Roxy. I can’t remember the last time the two of us went shopping together.”
    â€œThat’s because we never have,” I remind her, trying to keep my jaw hinged. This place is amazing! It’s like we’re traipsing through a royal courtyard, and the stores themselves are part of a beautiful white castle. Above our heads, the ceiling is painted like a sky, complete with wispy clouds and birds.
    â€œWell, that’s a shame,” she says. “You’d have a much nicer wardrobe if we had.” We hop out of the way for a horse-drawn carriage. As it passes, I see two elderly women sandwiched between a mountain of shopping bags.
    Despite the hustle and bustle of the shoppers, we get our fair share of rubber-neckers. Will I ever get used to all this attention? Will I ever get used to being a Siren?

    Grandma Perkins waves down a guy in a reddish-brown BEAN THERE apron. “Son, would you please bring us one white-chocolate mocha and …” She holds her palm out to me, my cue to add my order.
    â€œA French-vanilla iced latte.”
    He looks at us bleary-eyed and says, “I’m sorry, ladies, but I’m off. The coffee shop’s just around the corner, by the big cherub fountain.” The guy nods to his left.
    Before he can get away, Grandma Perkins starts singing, just loud enough for him to hear. “We’ll be in Nordstrom, in the juniors department. You can bring our drinks to us there.”
    He turns around, gives us a big goofy smile, and literally sprints back to the Bean There shop.
    â€œAh, that’s more like it.” Grandma Perkins straightens a button on her tailored linen jacket and winks at me.
    â€œGrandma, we could’ve gotten the drinks ourselves. It’s not a big deal.”
    For a scary moment she looks like she’s going to