The Accidental Siren (38 page)

* * *

Whitney Conrad scanned the faces of our
junior high classmates as they bickered over the fairness of
"Chinese cuts" in the lunch line.

"Scared?" I asked.

He scoffed. "No. I’m preparing my
introductions." He unzipped his infamous red bag to reveal
organized rows of candy.

I pointed to a cluster of kids we knew from
elementary. "What about Chris and the gang? They’re always good for
a Heath bar."

"I’m stepping it up this year," Whit replied.
"See those kids at the back of the lunch line? They’re carrying
cold, hard cash. I just need to convince them that sugar tastes
better than Meatloaf Surprise."

"Always thinkin’ ahead."

I expected Whit to muster his courage and
approach the kids in line, but he remained still. "Danny and
A.J...." he said.

"What about them?"

"I know how probability works." He paused.
Even Whit was having trouble finding the words to express the
impossible. "It wasn’t a coincidence, was it?"

"Why? Did you see something else that
night?"

"No. Did you?"

"No."

Whit scratched his elbow and continued to
face the dwindling line of kids.

"Have you and Mara been talking?" I
asked.

"The Greenfields are strict about the
phone–"

"Computer mail," I said. "You both have
modems now."

Whit shook his head. "Naw. I don’t think Mr.
G. knows how to work a computer."

I couldn’t tell Whit that I knew about his
betrayal. Not yet.

But someday.

He unzipped another compartment on the
outside of his backpack, then reached inside and plucked a baggie
filled with white powder. "Candy?"

* * *

There’s a heading in my creative writing book
titled “Understanding Theme: The Coming of Age Story.” In this
section, the author pinpoints the protagonist’s transition into
manhood at “the moment he accepts that there are forces of nature
he cannot control or comprehend. Victory comes when he ultimately
learns to smile.”

I’d like to say that my summer with Mara
taught me a valuable lesson; that I grew up, learned to smile,
forgot about my grade-school crush and moved on with my life. But
this isn’t that kind of story. Mara wasn’t an after-school special
or the catalyst for a textbook ascent into manhood. I belonged to
her. I would love her for the rest of my life. If these persistent
truths hampered my maturity, then so be it.

I could wait. I could be different.

And someday, I would succeed where the others
had failed.

EPILOGUE: LOS ANGELES, NOVEMBER 2004

It’s six AM and my book is complete.

I’m drunk, probably high, and I can hear last
night’s fling stirring in my bedroom.

Broken vertical blinds cast a row of orange
bars across my keyboard. I part them with my hand and peer at the
yellow-stucco apartment across the street. A light turns on in the
second story window. I imagine what she’s wearing and
ponder–again–her morning routine.

I’m not the only man who chased Mara’s
perfection across the continent. How many other boys awoke in the
City of Angels the same way one arrives at their destination but
can’t remember the drive? How many of my childhood peers are
walking the prickly shores of Venice Beach with a west-coast fling
in the crook of their arm, pretending not to scour every inch of
their peripherals for that body, that smile, that glance that once
dragged them into manhood and left?

My office door opens. The woman yawns and
scratches her thigh. “How’s the book?” she asks.

“Done,” I tell her.

“When do I get to read it?”

I ignore her question.

She shrugs. We kiss. Thirty seconds after she
leaves my office, I hear the shower.

Outside my window, the red convertible is
right on time. His usual parking space is taken, so he blocks
traffic and waits beside the yellow-stucco apartment.
Asshole.
He honks once and I watch her emerge; the light of
my waking dream, the muse of my prose. Down the steps she
runs–smiling–dashing between a pair of lemon trees and a rusty blue
gate, then into the car of a faceless man who will never understand
that Mara Lynn can’t be bought, that she’ll ruin his life,
or
that I saw her first.

REQUEST AND
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To the lovely person who just finished my
book,

Writing novels is a horrible way to make
money. I’ve been doing this for over four years, and I’m not even
close to making a living off my work... which sucks, because
writing is the only thing I’m good at.

I feel like I have a lot more to offer, and
I’m confident my dreams can come true with the help of my readers.
If you want to read more of my work in the future, please take a
few seconds to rate and review this book on any of the following
websites. It might seem like a silly request, but
one review
has the potential to launch my career.

Amazon

iTunes

Goodreads

Smashwords

I can’t wait to read your feedback!

Jake

______________________________

I hate my writing about 85% of the time. I
doubt my characters, I write the same words over and over, and I
wonder if my sentences will even make sense to readers. After six
months of exploring the same themes, it becomes impossible to see
the forest through the trees. Characters start to look the same,
the concepts I once found exciting begin to feel dull, and I feel
as if I’m merely transcribing a series of banal notes from my
bulletin board. Self-doubt is a struggle for any artist, and it’s
often the reason we fail.

Luckily we have family, friends, and
dedicated readers for support.

At the time of this printing, I am engaged to
the most loving and patient girl in the world. Allison listens to
me bitch about my writing all day, every day, and reminds me
constantly of the reasons I do what I do. It’s because of her
feedback that I see the good in my work. Her encouragement is my
biggest source of motivation.

My poor mother has put up with these creative
ups and downs for years. Nobody knows more about my fear of failure
than she does... and nobody has stuck with me for so long. If she
didn’t believe in her son, I would have abandoned my creative
aspirations with the piano, drums, painting, sculpting, filmmaking,
or screenwriting. Thanks to her, I have courage to go on.

My father was one of my biggest supporters
both financially and emotionally. Through his illness, I was given
the time to write four books while sticking close to my family.
Although my stories weren’t his usual cup of tea, he saw something
special in my words and always managed to tell me about his
favorite scenes.
The Accidental Siren
is my most accessible
book. I like to think he would have enjoyed it.

I haven’t seen Richard Vialet in person for
over three years, yet he maintains his commitment to my work and
ambitions. He knows when to build me up. He knows when to tear me
down. Our phone film discussions have been a tremendous learning
experience over the past several years. Whether we’re ripping apart
the last two seasons of
Lost
, or rehashing our hatred for
Indiana Jones 4
, our banter builds my confidence and I
constantly find myself applying our findings to my own work. This
has been the best ways to conquer feelings of inadequacy, and I
can’t thank him enough.

I also need to thank Kimberly Perkins (my
future mother-in-law) for her hilarious anecdotes that send me
scrounging for my notebook, and to my new friend Daniel Gateley for
our long discussions on philosophy, literature, and hopes for the
future.

I would like to give a special shout out to
those who responded to my Facebook cries for help. My sister Lori
answered my million questions about fostering within minutes... and
I had dozens of them! Also, thanks to Laura Franz, Bill Whirity,
Jodie Kok, and Mark Bottrell for using their unique expertise to
help me out.

Finally, I need to thank my amazing readers
on Wattpad.com. My time with this online community has been
immensely rewarding, and this is the only way I know how to show my
gratitude. Dozens of readers took the time to comment on my work,
to answer my questions, and to point out typos that I overlooked.
Not only has their feedback shown me that I’m on the right track,
but they’ve helped me re-discover the things that drew me to my
stories in the first place. I encourage you to check out their work
on Wattpad; it’s the least I can do to repay their loyalty!

TheDivineMissM (Emily Faith)

HuggingFeet (Emmy Chen)

AnnaxLove (Anna Gallegos)

KJColton

WhoShotKennedi (Kennedi Bates)

JamesClifton (James Clifton)

Hgreen

ANNEnonymous (Anne Pablo)

SurrealAndUnseen (Vinuthna Kante)

afearofcarpets (Kiera Howell)

biggie321hp

MillionLaughsAMinute

Other Novels By Jake Vander Ark

Lighthouse Nights

The Brandywine Prophet

The Day I Wore Purple

Visit The Accidental Siren Online