Free The Secret Life of a Teenage Siren by Wendy Toliver

“I know we just broke up, but I’m ready to do a little makin’ up. How about we go somewhere a little more … intimate?”
    â€œWhy?” he asks.
    Not so subtly, she rubs against him. “You
know
why.”
    Zach gently pushes her away, and I’ve never seen Eva the Diva look so mad. Is this how she looked when Amber got crowned Prom Princess? Man, I would’ve loved to seethat, but I had a bad case of No Date—itis. Grasping my flute, I smile to myself. I have a feeling Roxy Zimmerman will be going to next year’s prom, no problem.
    Eva storms back into the house and slams the door, the brass knocker clanking in response.
    â€œSo what do you say, Roxy? Wanna go out tomorrow night?”
    Aaaaaaah!
    â€œSure,” I say. Which is code for “Of
course
I do, you idiot!”
    Too bad Natalie isn’t here. She’d be so proud!
    But Natalie’s Sportage is long gone. There’s just an empty space where it had been parked. Should I have left when she and Alex did? God, everything happened so fast. Have I made a huge mistake, staying at this party?
    I look up at the midnight blue sky. Beyond the wispy clouds, the moon shines bright and silvery. Stars twinkle like crazy. It’s like when Chase flips the lights on and off as fast as he can, just to annoy me.
    â€œRoxy? You all right?” Zach asks.
    â€œUm, yeah. I’m just tired.” I pull out my cell phone.

    â€œWho’re you calling?” He stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets, looking überadorable.
    â€œI’m just calling—” But wait. If I ask my parents for a ride, they’ll want to know why Natalie isn’t taking me home. And I don’t particularly feel like explaining it to them. “Nobody. Um, just checking to see if … I have any text messages,” I lie.
    What if
Zach Parker
drove me home? Oh man, I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it. I bite my lower lip and conjure up the courage to ask, “Can you take me home?”
    â€œSure.”
    Inside, I’m screaming and jumping up and down, but on the outside, I’m just looking at him in what I hope is a superconfident I-knew-you’d-say-yes way. I follow Zach to his truck, which is parked in the driveway, and I can’t help but wonder if (and hope that) we’ve got an audience.
    He says, “It’s open,” and I hop in. In the few seconds that the interior light comes on, I see that the gray upholstery is dingy and sunflower seed shells are scattered all over the floor. An empty twenty-ounce bottle of Mountain Dew is tuckedinto the cup holder and there’s a nasty crack in the windshield.
    He blasts his Green Day CD and drums his steering wheel as if he’s Tré Cool. Too bad he’s not in band. He could actually learn a thing or two about rhythm. We go a few miles like this before I say (or shout, more like, seeing as how he’s got his stereo on so freaking loud), “Thanks for taking me home.” He’s got one of those CD holders on the passenger side visor, and it’s so overstuffed, the visor keeps inching its way into the down position.
    â€œHuh?”
    He’s not taking the hint, so I reach over and turn the volume down myself. “Thanks for driving me home.”
    The only other conversation we have the rest of the way is me rattling off directions, since he’s obviously never been to my house. I swear, I could find my way to his house blindfolded. Ha. Not like I’d ever tell him that. He’d think I was a stalker or something. Am I?
    His truck grunts and moans its way up my driveway, the headlights illuminating the marigolds and pansies ringing the mailbox post. The porch light makes the frontdoor seem more purple than red. Judging by the muted glow coming from my bedroom window, Mom must’ve turned on my bedside lamp for me.
    This is all so crazy. I mean, I’m actually sitting in Zach Parker’s truck.