Kiera Cass - The Siren

“No. Nothing has sounded worth eating lately.”

I nodded. “We should hit up a new state soon. Or a new country. Sometimes the smell of a different place will make me want to eat, you know?”

“I do! We should make some plans for where to go next. Sometimes our moves are too spontaneous for my tastes.”

“Yeah,” I said, shifting the weight of my purse. “A strategy would be good.”

Miaka smiled and looked at my clothes again. “Well, maybe we can talk about a lot of things when you come back.”

I said nothing but was sure my smile was as damning as my skirt. Oh, well. So much for secrets.

I got the groceries and lugged them all the way to Akinli’s dorm, running slightly behind because I couldn’t get into the building on my own. The university required ID cards to get into the dorms after six, and since I wasn’t an actual student, I had to wait for someone else to come along and scan his so I could piggyback in.

“You need some help?” the boy asked, his eyes lingering on my mouth.

I shook my head no.

“Aww, come on. That’s way too heavy for you.”

He came closer, and again I cursed our natural appeal. I wasn’t in danger exactly, and I knew that, but it didn’t make these encounters any less uncomfortable. I shook my head again.

“No, really, which floor are you on? I can—”

“Hey, Kahlen!” I looked up to see Akinli walking down the hall. His button-up was open over the gray shirt beneath it, but I was thrilled to see that he’d at least put one on. “I was starting to worry. Hey, Sam.”

“Hey.” The boy gave Akinli a look and headed toward the stairwell, his displeasure at Akinli’s arrival clear. In the meantime, I felt my mood lift significantly. I was now officially on my first date.

“Here, give me one of these.” Akinli took a bag from my hands and led me to the elevator. “The kitchen’s just up here. Now, I did some practicing this morning,” he said proudly.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Yep. I made eggs. They were terrible.”

I held in a laugh as the elevator dinged, delaying a moment before actually opening to the second floor.

“I think the problem was that I had no supervision, so this will probably go much better.”

We turned into the small kitchen area, and I saw that he’d done some prep work. A whisk and a bowl were already out, as well as two different-size circular pans. He put down his bag and picked up another item.

“I took this off our door. My roommate was a pain about it, but if you need anything, just scribble it down.” He passed me a whiteboard that had already managed to take a beating in the first few months of school. It was such a thoughtful gesture, I nearly cried.

I watched him as he carefully took out the eggs and sugar and flour, lining up everything along the back of the counter to give us room to cook.

“Is this almond extract? This is fancy. Again, I ruined food today, so remember, you’re going to have to walk me through every step of this.”

Wordlessly, I pulled out the printed instructions and laid them beside the bowl.

“There we go,” he said, picking them up to study. He went over the multiple steps, his face looking more and more worried the closer he got to the end. He pulled himself together and peeked sheepishly at me over the top of the paper.

“Okay, Kahlen. Teach me to cook!”

“Have you always lived in Florida?”

I shook my head and cracked another egg. It wasn’t one of those things I could easily explain without speech. I waved my hand in a circle and made an exasperated face.

“All over the place?”

I nodded.

“Are your parents in the army or something? I only got to spend a year with one of my best friends in high school before his dad was stationed somewhere else. I hear that’s pretty fast, though.”

I watched him, listening intently, not really confirming or denying anything about my parents and hoping he wouldn’t press any further.

“I grew up in this tiny town in Maine. Port Clyde. You ever heard of it?”

I shook my head, and he passed me the sugar he’d measured out. I took my finger and brushed the extra heap off the top into the sink.

“Oh, is that bad?” he asked.

Baking is science, I scribbled on the board.

“Huh. Okay, I will tuck that lesson away. So, yeah, Port Clyde. It’s really small and mostly known for its lobster. There’s also an artist residency there, so we get some creative types coming through town. That’s why I thought you might have heard of it. You were drawing the other day, so I didn’t know if that was something you were into or what.”

I made a so-so gesture with my hand. Even with the whiteboard, it would be hard to explain that I really liked drawing because of my sort-of sister and that I wished I was half as good at seeing the world as she was.

“My parents are there, dying for me to come home. I’m an only child, so they’re kind of lonely without me around. My mom calls me literally, like, every day. I told her she should get a puppy, but she said I was better than a dog, which is good, I guess. Am I talking too much?”

He paused, staring into my eyes, genuine worry coloring his face.

I shook my head. No, I thought, I’d listen to you talk about nearly anything. You make phone calls sound like an adventure.

“Okay. She’s also worried because I’m still undeclared. I don’t think that’s a huge deal. Not yet anyway. Do you?”

I snapped my first two fingers and thumb together quickly, the ASL sign for no. Realizing he might not understand, I shook my head as well.

“Cool. What are you studying? Is it art?”

I didn’t have another answer, so I nodded.

“You’ve got an artist vibe,” he said knowingly.

I looked down at myself, then back up at Akinli, questioning him with my eyes.

“No, really. I’m not sure what it is, but you look like you’ve made and broken a lot of things and then made them all over again. Which makes no sense, I’m sure. But trust me, it’s there.”

I started whisking the batter. I was glad he didn’t know how much I’d actually broken in my time—ships that cost millions of dollars, lives no one could put a price on—but I liked the idea that maybe, somewhere deep inside me, I was also capable of fixing things.

I passed the bowl to him, really hoping he’d participate.

“Oh, my gosh. Okay.” He took the whisk in his hand. “I got this. Okay …”

He started whisking.

As he worked, I added in a few drops of the almond extract, and after a moment he looked up at me. I tilted my head questioningly. What?

It took him a second to snap out of his stare. “Oh. Sorry. Nice teamwork there,” he said, then winced as if he thought he’d said something dumb. “Speaking of teamwork,” he added, his voice lighter, “I think you could maybe help me with something.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Hear me out. See, if you’re not talking, you spend almost every second of your life listening, taking things in, right?”

I nodded. That was all I did.

“I feel like, because of that, you’re probably very perceptive. So as an experiment, I’d like to know what you think I should be studying.”

I gawked at him.

You mean pick your major? I wrote.

“Exactly. I’ve had a few friends weigh in, but I think they were joking. Someone said musical therapy, and I’ve never so much as touched a kazoo.”