Guess what today is!

Ugh. What does Daisy want? The kids aren't even at school yet and she's already bugging me.

Wednesday?

Besides that.

I give up.

It's the day you're going to talk to Maggie!

NO.

YES. Helle told me when she visited on Monday. She also told me about your life, Burly-Q. Now get over here so I can make sure you're adorable.

Are you really encouraging a manwhore to chat up an innocent young lady?

DON'T SASS ME, BOY.

Once inside, she drags me upstairs and to my bedroom.

"Take off your clothes." she orders. I obediently strip down to my underwear, and that's when I really register how dirty my clothes are. My jacket isn't too bad, but it has some grime embedded in the creases. The shirt I stole from the bassist still has bloodstains, and the hems of my mutilated jeans are muddy.

I patiently stand next to the bed, watching as Daisy flits about, planning my outfit. It's like it's my first day at kindergarten or something.

"Hmm, I like these jeans; they have both hige and honeycomb fading, and they're not all ripped up. But then these dark ones here are so clean-cut…"

Jeez. Is it really that difficult? I normally choose my clothes based on what's cleanest.

"Daze, I don't think I need help with this."

"Oh, yes you do." she answers sternly as she decides on the hige-honeycomb pair and throws them on the bed. "Go take a shower. I'll have everything ready for you when you get out."

With an eye roll, I head to the ducky-themed bathroom. After turning on the water, and, of course, playing with the rubber ducky while the water warms, I get in and scrub up. As I close my eyes and lean back so my face is under the flow, I hear a loud peep.

I look down and see Colonel Quack-Quack staring up at me. How did he even get in?! I closed the door; I didn't even hear it open. Was he hiding in here? That creepy duck.

Peep!

"Um, get out."

He shakes his head. No, really; he actually shakes it. Did I mention that Chimeras understand human language?

"Dude, you're making me uncomfortable. Get the hell out."

He ignores me and flaps his little wings, enjoying the water that splashes on him. I give up and try to pretend he's not here.

When we get out of the bathroom, the Colonel waddling ahead of me, Daisy sees him and starts cooing like an idiot.

"Aw, did my widdle Quack-Quack take a shower, too?"

"He snuck in. Will you please tell him not to do that again?"

But Daisy's not listening; she's picked him up and now she's walking back into my room. Irritated, I follow after her.

My clothes are all laid out: my leather jacket, which she cleaned with a soapy rag; my emerald green t-shirt; the jeans she picked out; and a pair of boxer-briefs. She's also dumped most of my stuff from my screwed-up nylon backpack into my new leather one.

"Thanks, Daze, but I can get my own underwear."

"Whatever," she says with a shrug before ripping off my towel and walking away. I think the duck is laughing at me.

"Daisy!"

"Good luck today, sugar!"

By the time I got done, the kids were at school. So I headed to Smithson.

You need to start listening for the kids at 10:30.

K why? Carl replies.

I have to do something.

Are you meeting Maggie?!

Maybe.

Yay! Are you excited?

I'm afraid I'll say something stupid.

Then don't talk too much. After all, you've got your looks.

Thanks.

Your pretty face.

What?

And don't underestimate the importance of body language.

Yeah, that's helpful. Lay off the Disney, buddy.

Oh, and remember: you gotta create the right kind of mood.

You can stop now.

I sit in bird class, feeling a little bit better after Carl's Disney dorkiness, even though he just had to quote that particular movie. He knows how much I despise Mermaids. Those despicable, nasty Infernals.

Maggie's sitting with Henry and Jasper, and I'm trying not to look at her, which should probably be easier since I'm always trying not to look at her. She's wearing skinny jeans and a light, fitted blue sweater. I like her in blue.

Oh, great; I'm staring at her. In need of a distraction, I sneakily snatch two stuffed birds off a shelf, make them invisible, and start playing with them.

You dare challenge me? I am lord of the skies! I built my nest from the bones of my enemies! CAW CAW!

Crap. It's ten thirty. Am I sweating? I think I'm sweating.

Once I'm in the museum, I go to the vacant men's room and turn visible. A total nervous wreck, I check my reflection in the mirror.

Oh… wow.

As a Shroud, I forget to use mirrors since I'm invisible so often. Even when I was at Daisy's I just didn't pay attention, so I haven't really seen what I look like in months.

I've really been missing out.

Astonished, I run my fingers through my hair, which Daisy did a very good job cutting. It looks like I just rolled out of bed, but in a good way. In a sexy way. And my skin is flawless. There's not a single bitty blemish; one of the many reasons it's good to be Immortal. No bags under my eyes, either. And my teeth are straight and white and perfect; Immortals don't even need to brush. And have I always had this nose? It's such a cute nose. And my lips, too; I make a kissy face at the mirror. MWAH!

Damn, I am gorgeous.

I hear the door open and decide it's time to leave. Feeling better, I practically strut out into museum. Reaching into my backpack, I grab my shades and slip them on. Then I find that red iPod classic I got on Halloween. I'd like to see what's on it.

Earbuds in, iPod on. Hit shuffle. The first song is "I Wanna Be Sedated" by the Ramones. That's better than I expected. I nod to the music as I meander through the crowding corridors, trying not to sing along like I usually do. Knowing Maggie's on docent duty, I'm getting antsy every time I see someone in maroon. She's not around yet, though; I mean, altogether the National Museum of Natural History is the size of eighteen football fields. Maybe I won't run into her at all, which I guess won't be my fault.

I wander into the Sant Ocean Hall, and there's a GIGANTIC whale hanging from the ceiling. By the time I stop dead in my tracks to stare at it, "Decepticon" by Le Tigre is blasting through my earbuds. I'm standing right under this massive marine mammal, taking in its size. It would be so cool to ride that thing. Maybe I could vanish and—

Someone taps me on the shoulder just as I get to the best part of the song ("Who took the Bomp from the Bompalompalomp?"), which I was accidently singing along to. I pop out an earbud to see who's interrupting my whale musings and it's… ah… um… I quickly and clumsily turn off my iPod.

"Sir? The custodian said you needed help. Do you have any questions?" says Maggie, sounding very professional.

The custodian? I glance behind her and spot wrinkly old Melville Smithers—also known as Carl—leaving the exhibit. I'm not sure if I'm going to thank him or punch him in the face.

"Sir, do you have any questions?" she asks again patiently.

I can't talk. I forgot how. And I'm staring at her like an idiot.

"Are you lost?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

I shake my head.

"Would you like to know more about the whale?"

"I like the whale." I blurt, because I am clearly a social retard.

She smiles, and I'm pretty sure she thinks I got here on the short bus. "It's not real; it's a life-size model of a North Atlantic right whale that's being tracked by marine biologists at the New England Aquarium in Boston. Her name is Phoenix."

Of all the things for her to be named… I can't help smiling wide as I look back up at the model, and then at Maggie. Is she blushing? I'm not sure.

"Why did they name her that?"
Unemotional and standing tall, Maggie explains. "She survived a life-threatening entanglement with fishing gear in 1997. She 'rose again', like the mythical bird."

Mythical. Right.

"I want to hug it." I almost say, but by some sweet miracle I stop myself. "How old is she?"

"Phoenix was born in 1987, so twenty-three."

"That's just a year older than my guardian."

"Your guardian?"

"She's a florist. She can speak Whale." Oops. I just vomited up more stupid.

Maggie bites her lip, trying not to smile. "Your guardian is a florist who speaks Whale?"

"Um…" I look down at the ID card clipped to the lapel of her maroon blazer. "So your name's Maggie Winnock?"

"Yes it is," she replies, folding her arms. "And what's yours?"

"Dimitri."

"Dimitri, what?"

I grin at her. "It's really long and really Russian. I don't think you want to know."

She gives me a challenging smile. "I think I can handle it. Tell me your full name."

Oh boy. "Dimitri Mstislavov Unikschtuzhenegigantski."

Maggie blinks, wide-eyed and very surprised.

"Told you,"

"Do you mind repeating that very slowly?"

"MSTEE-slov-ov Oo-nik-SCHTOO-zhe-neh-gee-GAUNT-skyeh."

"Wow."

"Yeah,"

We stand in somewhat awkward silence for a few seconds, gazing at the whale.

"Interesting meaning, too." Maggie remarks. So she speaks Russian? I like that.

"You know what it means?"

"Well, the first one's easy—it's a patronymic name meaning 'son of Mstislav'. Your surname is… pretty weird, actually."

"You think so?"

"It means 'destroyed by the giant'. Your family must have a strange history."

"They were normal, as far as I know." Oh wait, crap!

"Were?"

"Uh, so do you like the whale?" I ask, slipping back into my mentally-challenged state.

Maggie gives me that same indulgent smile. "I think it's beautiful."

"Beautiful," I mutter, and when her smile softens I realize I'm staring at her. I look at the whale. "Yeah, it is." I quickly add. Could I be a bigger idiot?
"Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?" Maggie waits a beat before asking. She sounds a little suspicious.

I take my shades off and look at her questioningly. "Am I not allowed?"

There's a brief, tiny moment where she looks at me with an expression I can't name—Surprise? Fear? I can't be sure. And now… Is… is she mad? She looks a little mad. What did I do? Why is she bristling?

"I'm sorry, sir, but I have to go lead a tour." Maggie says, her expression now impassive. It feels like the temperature just plummeted thirty degrees. "Have a nice day."

She strides purposefully away, leaving me confused and self-conscious. Seriously, what did I do? I thought things were kind of okay and then all of a sudden WHOOSH! Ice Queen is back. Am I annoying? Am I weird? My shoulders slump and I look to the floor as I ponder everything that I could've done wrong.

I guess the Alphas can't be right all the time. Not even Helle.

What just happened?! Maggie thinks as she speeds out of the Sant Ocean Hall. Her heart is beating so hard that she can feel it rapping on her sternum. And she feels all… funny. Like a lightheaded sort of funny. It isn't the kind of funny she's used to feeling. And her cheeks—she gently puts her fingers to them—they're burning. This is ridiculous. Margaret Winnock blushes for no one.

Her id blows a raspberry. Not anymore, you don't.

You hush up! cries her Superego, You shouldn't even BE here! You belong—

In my cage, where Maggie's had me locked up since she was eight years old? Uh-uh. No. I've been discounted and neglected for long enough! Praise that dorky, beautiful boy for finally letting me out of my cage!

One look, ONE look! Superego shakes her head and takes her glasses off to clean them. So Maggie melts a little and you're suddenly free—

Well, it was more like three looks, really. Or were you not paying attention?

Superego growls.

See, first there was that dazzling smile when he learned the whale's name, and that really got my attention. Id scowls. Which got your attention, and you cock-blocked me and told Maggie to remember that he's probably retarded. And after that came the "beautiful" remark, which pissed you off. But THEN—she sighs happily—Oh, those eyes! Those sexy baby blues! They did the trick! That beautiful boy got Maggie all hot and buttery like no guy ever has, and I was FREE! Then her scowl returns, fiercer than before. And that drove you crazy, so you threw a raging bitch-fit and made Maggie snub him!

Superego's jaw twitches. It was for her own good. She needn't be wasting precious energy on boys, much less that one. She raises an eyebrow. What happened to Henry? Haven't you been whispering to her about him all this time?

Oh, sweet Henry, Id tosses her long, softly curled hair. He's beautiful, too. But he just doesn't have that, I don't know, that THING. That unnamable thing that Dimitri has. There's just not the same flame with Little Indy Jones that I saw with Blue-Eyed Boy. Henry's feels like the soft warmth and glow of a candle, but Dimitri… "Lord Almighty, I feel my temperature risin'!"

Thoroughly peeved, Superego narrows her eyes. Don't you DARE start—

"Higher and higher, it's burnin' through to my soul!" Id sings into an imaginary microphone. "Boy, boy, boy—"

ENOUGH! Stop encouraging her! She probably won't ever see him again anyway!

Id shrugs. Yeah, probably. He might not even be from D.C.

Superego blinks, surprised to be agreed with. Right. So there's no point—

But if Maggie DOES see him again, then she'll talk to him!

What? No! She'll have nothing to do with him!

You wanna bet?

I do not BET.

Why not? You said she'll probably never see him again. Aren't the odds in your favor?

I… uh… Superego ponders this for a moment. Then with a confident smirk, she nods her head. Alright, fine! You're on!

So Maggie decided. If she ever saw Dimitri again—which was incredibly unlikely—she would talk to him. Reassured and no longer fretting over her anomalous reaction to a boy, Maggie resumes her quick pace and strides to the museum entrance.