Kiera Cass - The Siren

“But what if I mess up?”

She squeezed my hand. “You’re too good to mess up. And if you did, you are the most likely to be pardoned. She loves you. You know that.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Any time. I’ll come visit soon.”

She trotted back into the house, and I considered her advice while I watched her through the window as she began the process of making another pie.

I smiled to myself. Aisling had nothing to lose or gain by telling me to change my habits, which made me trust her. So I held my feelings and worries and questions in my heart, considering if maybe there was a way for me to make my final stretch of this life any easier.

I spent the majority of the following evening letting Miaka curl my hair. I didn’t understand the way my sisters lived their lives, and I wasn’t sure it was wise, but I’d never really tried to walk a mile in their heels. Tonight, I would.

“What do you think of this one?” Elizabeth held up another dress. Basically, everything she showed me looked like a short tube of fabric, only in a different color.

“I don’t know. It’s not quite my style.”

She cocked her head. “That’s kind of the point. You can’t go to a club looking like a fifties housewife.”

I wrinkled my nose. “It’s a bit … revealing, don’t you think?”

Miaka chuckled as Elizabeth widened her eyes in frustration. “Yes. Very. Just put it on, okay?” She tossed the dress at me, and it landed in a heap on my lap. “I’m going to get dressed,” she called, rushing out of the room.

I held back a sigh. After all, I was trying to be enthusiastic. Maybe tonight would usher in a new beginning in my life.

“We should do your hair like this more often,” Miaka said, prompting me to turn to the mirror.

I gasped. “It’s so full!”

“A few hours of dancing will deflate it.”

I leaned in, studying my face. I’d gotten used to the natural beauty that came with being a siren. Miaka’s artful strokes of eyeliner and lipstick magnified it by ten. I could see why boys practically formed a line for Elizabeth’s attention.

“Thanks. You did great.”

She shrugged. “Any time.” Then she leaned in toward the mirror to do her own face.

“So what do we do when we get there?” I asked. “I don’t know how to act in a crowded room.”

“There’s not a step-by-step program on how to go out and have a good time, Kahlen. We’ll probably get a drink and scope out the crowd. Elizabeth will be looking for someone for sure, but you and I can just dance with each other.”

“I gave up understanding how young people dance about thirty years ago. The Electric Slide was the final nail in the coffin for me.”

“But dancing’s so fun!”

I shook my head. “No. The jitterbug was fun. But actually having rhythm and holding your partner’s hand isn’t popular anymore.”

Miaka pulled the mascara wand away from her face, trying not to poke her eye while she laughed. “I swear, if you try to whip out the jitterbug tonight, Elizabeth will kill you.”

“Good luck with that,” I muttered. “Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that I might not be on the dance floor too much.”

Miaka’s gaze met mine in the mirror. “I’m happy you’re going somewhere that isn’t a library or a park, but I’m not sure it’s really taking a chance if you just sit there.”

“Ta-da!” Elizabeth sang, bursting into the room. Her dress was black and short, and she was wearing the shoes she referred to as “stripper heels.” “So?”

I smiled. “What can I say? You could stop traffic.”

She beamed, fluffing her hair with a hand. “I found this,” she said, bringing something over to me.

It was another short dress, but it had a thin layer of tulle from the waist down. And, yes, it was covered with sequins, but it was closer to my style than anything else she’d shown me.

I smiled. “Thanks. This is the one.”

Elizabeth threw her arms around me. “I’m so happy you’re coming! The only thing better than being the two prettiest girls in the room is being the three prettiest!”

The bouncer was under Elizabeth’s spell from the moment he saw her coming, and I had the feeling that even if our fake IDs hadn’t said we were twenty-one, we would have been walking through the door without Xs on our hands anyway.

I cringed away from the blaring bass, already second-guessing my choice to come. Perhaps sensing that, Miaka looped her arm through mine, pulling me to the bar. She typed out our drink orders on her phone, and we carried our glasses carefully through the crowd.

This is supposed to be fun, I told myself. Just try. This makes life better for your sisters. It could do the same for you.

“How can you think in here?” I whispered into Elizabeth’s ear.

She placed her lips next to my ear and answered, “The point is not to think.”

“Relax,” Miaka signed. “This is no different than walking down a crowded street.”

And I tried; I did. I had two drinks, hoping to take the edge off my nerves. I danced with Miaka, which was fun until we garnered so many admirers intent on pressing themselves against us that it lost all its charm. I even tried just focusing on the music, something that should come naturally to a siren, but the way it blasted through the speakers turned it all into noise.

I watched the strange way some people moved toward Elizabeth as if she were a magnet on the dance floor. It was no surprise that she could hook someone without a word. We truly were the most beautiful girls in the room, and when Elizabeth turned her full attention on a boy, he was helpless. First, she picked one who was eventually pulled away by his friends to hit up another bar. Even without her song, he put up a little fight to stay until they wrestled him out the door. Her second choice had more to drink than she realized, and he passed out at their table.

But after two miserable hours, she came walking by again, an obviously drunk guy on her arm. “Don’t wait up,” she signed, disappearing with him out the door.

I turned to Miaka, eyes pleading. She grinned and nodded, and with that we headed home.

“You tried,” she signed as we walked down the sidewalk. “I thought we’d lose you before we got in.”

“You nearly did,” I confessed. “Now I know for sure: the club scene is not for me.”

“Do you think you’d come to a house party or something? We get invited to lots if we walk across campus at the right time.”

My signs were hesitant. “Baby steps.”

Clicking down the row of clubs in our heels garnered whistles from some and applause from others. I subconsciously placed a hand over my cleavage, though it really did no good. Miaka grinned to herself, standing a little taller as she walked, and I wondered if part of the charm of this lifestyle for my sisters was simply being seen. Most days, we kept to ourselves, and during our singing, the picture we painted was nothing but a lie. At least, like this, someone saw us live. Though, for me, it felt less like being seen and more like being viewed.

When we got to the house, I didn’t bother to take off Elizabeth’s dress before running out the back door and hopping into the water.