Sound of Sirens by Jen Minkman (new reading txt) 📖

By the time I get home, I’m dead beat from all the walking and the elation of the entire evening, but I still have trouble falling asleep. When I finally do, I dream about Sirens calling my brother out into the waves as Royce plays his strange, electric piano at the seaside. And I just stand there and watch, frozen in time.

––––––––

The next morning, I’m actually glad to be woken early by my faithful albatross. Since we still have leftover pancakes, I won’t have to worry about breakfast, so I might have some time to cycle back to Stortum and take a closer look at the mysterious hut Sytse was hanging around in.

“Hi there,” I say softly. The bird, now perched on the table next to our front door, cocks its head and observes me with its yellow eyes. When I extend my hand to offer the animal a bit of pancake, it hops backward and lets out a soft screech, almost as if to say: “Really?”

“Fine. Go catch some fish, then,” I reply, stuffing the rest of the pancake into my mouth.

The albatross lifts off and swoops around the house in a majestic circle before taking off in the direction of Stortum. My destination before I go to school.

By daylight, I feel much more confident on my way to the old village. If I bump into someone I don’t trust, I’ll just dish up some story about doing research for a history project. In fact, Mr. Buma still needs me to pick a topic. I might just as well do my essay about Stortum so I’ll have a reason to hang around here all the time.

I get off my bike next to the hut and swallow down my nerves.

From the outside, the shack looks as though it has fallen into disrepair, but when I gently push the door open and peer inside, it’s totally different. Neat and modern – very Current. I see a strange device on the table that is clearly electric, and my eyes linger on the two shelves lining the walls next. The books on them are antique. Is this some kind of secret library? And what’s with that thing on the dinner table?

No sign of anyone living here. Sytse’s mysterious friend must have left after him. I take a few hesitant steps inside and gawk at the book spines. These volumes were printed a long time ago. Some of them even seem to be hand-written. A leather tome with gilded lettering on the spine catches my eye. “From A Watery Grave,” it reads in the old Skylger tongue. I pull out the book and almost drop it because it is far heavier than I expected. I don’t think this is paper. The pages are more like the old parchment I saw once, at the museum in Brandaris.

When I open the book, I see that the handwriting looks ancient, too. This old-fashioned alphabet is no longer used by anyone. The Skylgian text in this tome must be at least three hundred years old, if not older.

A tiny tremor of excitement runs through me. I want this book. Just like I want to listen to the forbidden LP and hang out with a boy that’s out of my league. I want to be brave.

With trembling hands, I slip the book into my school bag and hoist it onto my back. Wincing, I wriggle my shoulders to make the weight more comfortable, but that’s pointless. The best thing would be to drop it off at home before going to school, but I’m running out of time. I’ll have to drag it with me to Brandaris and hide it in my room later.

“So, did you study your vocabulary lists?” Dani inquires when I hit the brakes and stop next to her. She’s eating an apple while balancing a German textbook on the left handle bar of her bike. Her forehead is creased with worry. “I think I’m gonna flunk this one.”

Great. I haven’t even opened the book last night, so that means I’m going to get a bad grade too. “Well, I tried,” I half-heartedly lie.

Dani shoots me a sideward glance. “Why are you blushing?” she inquires, perceptive as ever. Sometimes I hate my best friend.

I look away. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are!” She stares at me and I feel the red on my cheeks intensify. “What’s up? Enna! Did you brush me off for a date without telling me?”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t a date.”

“Then what?”

My voice catches in my throat. The book in my bag suddenly seems to weigh a ton. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone,” I whisper at last, even though there’s no one around to overhear.

“Of course.” Dani’s eyes widen with eager anticipation. She loves gossip and secrets, but she’s true to her word – if she says she won’t tell, she’ll keep her mouth shut. That’s why she’s my best friend.

“You know Royce?”

She nods gingerly, her brown eyes suddenly alarmed. “Duh. Did you... don’t tell me...”

“He wanted Sytse’s gift,” I interrupt her. “I didn’t tell you, but Sytse brought me an LP. Because he loved the music on it, and he said I might have an opportunity to listen to it some day. And that opportunity knocked sooner than I could have dreamed. Royce Bolton wanted to buy it off me, but I refused.”

Dani giggles. “What? You refused the unofficial prince of Brandaris?”

“Well – yeah.” I shoot her a grin. “I told him where he could stuff his wallet. But then he suggested listening to it together instead, so we could share it. In secret.”

Dani’s bug-eyed stare makes me shift uncomfortably.

“You went to his house?” she squeaks.

“No, no.” My hand dismissively waves her anxiety away. “He owns a cottage in Stortum where he goes if he wants peace and quiet. He’s got an LP player there. So he invited me to go there and enjoy my present with him.”

Dani has turned pale. “He could have reported you,” she hisses. “The Baeles-Weards will arrest you for this.”

“Of course he’s not going to report me.” I roll my eyes. “Come on, he offered. If he rats on me, he’s going down with me. He’s not supposed to share electricity outside the Current community.”

“Okay.” Dani breathes out slowly. “That’s true. But holy Fosta – Enna, what did you guys do all evening? I mean, wasn’t it majorly awkward?”

“We just enjoyed the music,” I shrug. “It was magical. I can see where Royce gets his inspiration from. We didn’t talk much, but we talked some. About his family and mine, mainly. He’s not that bad once you get to know him.”

“But you’re not supposed to get to know him,” Dani says firmly. “A guy like that is going to hurt you sooner or later. You know what happened with me and Hank. Imagine what would happen if you and Royce – you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” I say grumpily. “We’re just music buddies. That’s all.”

Dani cocks her eyebrow skeptically. “Uhm, yeah. I can totally see how you can be platonic besties with a drop-dead gorgeous guy like that.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I get on my bike and point at the dyke. “We should go. If not we’ll be late.” Without waiting for her answer, I hit the pedals and take off.

“Hey, wait! Enna!” She follows me and catches up with me after a minute. “Don’t be upset. I just wanted to help.”

“If you want to be useful, you can help me memorize some German words now,” I say a bit snappily.

“Okay.” She shakes her head almost imperceptibly before droning: “Das Fenster. The window. Das Meer. The sea.”

––––––––

By the time we get to school, the words are stuck in my head. I suspect I have a knack for German because I listen to Marlene Dietrich a lot. The words sound familiar – and of course they’re also similar to Skylgian.

“I’ll help you out if you get stuck,” Dani says under her breath as we both slip into our chairs at the front of the classroom. We already figured out a long time ago that these are the best seats for tests we haven’t studied for. Mrs. Atsma always paces around in the back of the room during tests because that’s where the slackers are. It pays off to have an impeccable track record.

One of our fellow pupils hands out the test papers, and silence descends in the room. Quietly, I try to concentrate on the words and sentences I need to write down, prompted by Dani every now and then when she sees me hesitate. I am done fairly quickly because I unfortunately don’t remember that much after all, so I use the extra time to slyly observe the other students in the room.

To my left is Alke. He’s a repeater – he failed his exams last year, and most teachers use him as an example whenever someone is found out not having done their homework assignments. “You want to end up like Alke?” they’ll say. It’s pretty mean. A good thing Alke doesn’t care that much. He goes his own way and doesn’t mingle with the other students much. He’s eighteen now, so he probably feels much too grown-up to hang with them. I dated him for a few months last school year after having been friends for ages, but we were still mostly just friends. I didn’t feel that kind of click with him.

Not like with Royce.

The unbidden thought makes me blush. What is wrong with me? I’m making stuff up because he’s hot, I know that. I mean, I didn’t exactly bond with Royce. I was angry with him half of the time we were talking. He’s so infuriatingly above all of us. So different from me.

The best thing would be to stand him up on Friday, but I know I’ll be back in Stortum. I can’t wait to listen to Jyoti again. Maybe I’ll even bring some of my own records so I can play them on that fancy turntable of his.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Dani sighs when the bell rings and our teacher picks up the tests. “Come on, let’s hurry so I can grab a sandwich before second period. I kind of skipped breakfast.”

Fortunately, the canteen is still quiet at this hour. With a groan, I drop my bag onto the floor next to the counter, almost squishing Dani’s toe.

“Ouch!” she cries indignantly. “What the hell is in your bag? Bricks?”

“No, just books.”

“Ah. You got the Book of Brandan in there?”

I bite back a giggle. “No.” I edge closer and continue more quietly: “I found a book in Stortum this morning. Something ancient.”

Dani’s brown eyes light up with interest. “For real? Can I see?”

“Not here.” I watch as she shuffles forward to pay the kitchen lady for her food. “Maybe after school?”

“Count me in.” She takes a bite of sandwich and pulls me along to our next class.

The rest of the day goes by without any trouble. No pop quizzes, no angry teachers punishing me for sneaking out early yesterday. I pitch my Stortum idea to Mr. Buma and he loves it. I bet I can really milk it if I go for the ‘punished-by-being-flooded’ angle in my essay.