The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren Read Online Free PDF Page A

Chase’s camo backpack and hisgrocery bag of last-day-of-school stuff, I almost trip on Pumpkin, who’s acting all excited to see me. “Settle down, boy! It’s just me.” I pat him on the head. His tail’s wagging so hard I’m afraid it’s going to fall off.
    â€œRoxy, is that you?” my mom calls from the kitchen. When I turn the corner, I hear her saying, “It’s just that I didn’t know you were coming, Mother. But I’m glad you’re here, really. What a pleasant surprise. And it smells wonderful. What are you making?”
    Is Mom going to freak out when she sees me like this? And how in the world is Grandma going to explain my transformation? I mean, hel
-lo,
people don’t turn from Plain Jane to Gorgeous Siren in the blink of an eye. This is real life, not Cinderella!
    I hover by the entrance to the kitchen. Mom is digging in the fridge for something, her brown hair frizzed even worse than usual. “Happy birthday, Roxy!” she says cheerfully, a carton of lemonade in her hand. When her eyes land on me, her mouth drops open, revealing rows of silver fillings. Chase, who’s sitting at the kitchen table, looks up from his bag of microwave popcorn, gawking at me like I’m an alien or something.

    â€œDoesn’t Roxy look lovely?” Grandma Perkins trills, beaming.
    Launching out of his chair, he pushes through Mom to get a closer look. “Holy
shit,”
Chase says, his cheeks chipmunked with all the popcorn.
    Mom shoots him a glare that would make 50 Cent pee his pants.
    â€œThose makeover artists in Palisades Square sure know their stuff,” Grandma says, her green eyes twinkling. “I hope you don’t mind, Merrilee, but I got Roxy out of school today and took her to the salon for her birthday gift. You only turn sixteen once!” She grabs a crocheted hot pad out of the drawer and heads over to the oven.
    â€œBut … but …” My mom licks her lips, apparently fumbling for words. “She looks like an entirely different person.”
    Grandma closes the oven and sets the timer. When she turns back around, she’s smiling confidently. “It’s about time someone brought out Roxy’s best features, wouldn’t you say?”
    â€œYo, Chase! Where are you, dude?” Porter, one of Chase’s soccer buddies, tramps in and stops dead in his tracks. He’slooking at me as if I’m a steaming hot Big Mac with extra pickles.
    I twirl around like Julie Andrews in
The Sound of Music.
Mom says, “Roxy, you … you … are so beautiful.” She hasn’t taken her eyes off me since she first saw me as a Siren. And is that lemonade permanently glued to her hand or what?
    I feel like dancing (well, I sort of am dancing). I feel like singing. I feel like knocking on Zach Parker’s door and saying, “Look at me now!” And he’d take one look at me and say—
    â€œShe’s freakin’ hot!” Porter exclaims.
    â€œDude, she’s my
sister,”
Chase pushes his friend out the door. “That’s just sick.”
    Dad has to work late tonight, as usual. When he stumbles over the threshold with a turquoise gift box, he takes one look at me and sticks his right hand out. “Hi, I’m Stan, Roxy’s Dad.”
    â€œDad, it’s me,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
    The gift drops and crashes on the tile floor, right next to his size-twelve Sears specials. “Oh, yeah. Right, honey. I, uh, just, uh, thought you were a new friend … ofyours. It’s just been … a really long day. Sorry about that.”
    â€œIt’s okay. I know I look a little different than I did this morning.” Poor guy. I’ve always felt sorry for engineer types. They’re great with numbers and techie gizmos, but put them face-to-face with another human being and they can’t string a coherent sentence together to save their