The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren Read Online Free PDF

lives. They can’t dress worth a damn either, but that’s another rant. My dad’s only saving grace is his car. He drives a red Porsche Boxster. It’s pretty old, but it’s still one of the coolest cars in the neighborhood.
    Dad loosens his überugly tie and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck. “Did you have your hair done?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    I grab his hand and take him into the dining room, where everybody’s waiting. We all sit in our usual spots, and Grandma Perkins heaps food onto our plates. Baked chicken with lemon sauce, spinach salad, and almond couscous.
    We don’t talk all that much, but there’s a lot of staring going on. I don’t blame my family for wanting to look at me all night. Ican hardly tear my emerald green eyes off my reflection in the window.
    Dad, Mom, and Grandma Perkins sing “Happy Birthday,” which sounds like a trio of Adam Sandler, Roseanne Barr, and Céline Dion. (Chase thinks he’s too cool to sing.) I close my eyes and make a wish. This year, it’s a no-brainer. I wish I really am a Siren.

Four
    To be completely honest, I’d rather stare at my gorgeous self in the mirror than at the squiggles inside this so-called
Siren Handbook.
But I may as well get some questions answered. Plus, I admit I’m curious. What does this strange little book have to say about the new me?
    I take out my flute and stick it together. I lift it to my lips and blow slowly. My bedroom fills with the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. It’s sort of new agey, like Enya, but way cooler. Actually, it sounds like the rain outside. Soothing and mesmerizing. Smooth as liquid. Sweet as a kiss. At least, how I’d imagine a kiss.
    I rub my hand over the cover of the bookand in lavish script, the title
The Enchiridion of the Seirenes
appears like magic. Like something out of a Harry Potter book. Not that I’ve read one, but Chase is totally into them. Last year I had to chaperone him and two of his snotty-nosed minions at the bookstore for this big “Ode to Harry Potter” bash. They even dressed in black robes and round glasses. And he thinks
I’m
a geek!
    Ah, well. Now I have my own magical book to read. I open it and start at the first page.
    Long ago, when legends were born, many a ship entered the Tyrrhenian Sea and drew near the infamous Anthemoessa Island, which was encircled by a wall of jagged black rocks. Beautiful, mesmerizing music wafted o’er the still waters and silent winds, enveloping the mariners like a soft mist. As they rowed even closer still, the sweet, melancholy, girlish voices of the Sirens took possession of their hearts and souls. Willing ears were promised that after a brief visit to the enchanting island, they would continue their journey not only charmed, but bearingwisdom that only the gods possessed.
    Alas, the men could not resist. They threw themselves into the deep waters and swam through the dark swell, their sights set on the mysterious Sirens who leaned over the crag, beckoning them closer still. The creatures they saw had angelic faces framed with long, silken locks, eyes as green as emeralds, and lips yearning for the kiss of true love.
    Their encounter with the Sirens, the enchanting yet deadly sea nymphs, was so heavenly, the men entered the world of the dead with joyous hearts.
    Wow. Talk about bizarre. What are Sirens, some sort of femme fatales?
    There’s a picture of a Siren on the facing page. I run my fingertip across it. Her hair floats around her head like the waves in the ocean. She’s curvy, but not fat, and completely nude. The Siren sits on a rock, her bottom half covered in feathers. I’m about to turn the page, but something catches my attention. Something about the eyes. Though the picture is black-and-white, her eyes are a piercinggreen. I look even closer, holding the book up to my face. The eyes are shimmery, luminous,