Harmonic Feedback

by Tara Kelly

  “You’re hard to please,” he whispered. “What look should I try tomorrow? Raver? Punk? How about a skater cowboy?” He set the book down on my desk and smiled.

  Mr. Duncan tore back into the classroom and passed out the remaining books. Justin turned around and flipped through the pages.

  A shadowed eyeball peered at me from the black cover. The face reminded me of Mom after she gets dumped. Her dark eyes get shiny and flat at the same time. I flipped to the first page and scanned what looked to be a journal entry. Whoever wrote it sounded young—my age maybe. She thought she had something worthwhile to say—but instead the diary had become nothing, like the rest of her life.

  Naomi wasn’t waiting outside my biology class. I found her at the fountain having an in-depth conversation with Justin. Seeing her throw her head back and laugh made my stomach hurt. Whatever he said couldn’t have been that funny.

  I marched up to him, preparing the perfect speech in my head. Something that would put him in his place and send him on his merry way.

  Then he smiled at me and patted the space next to him, and I forgot how to speak English.

  “You,” I said.

  “Me,” he answered.

  “Go away.”

  “And leave you to Roger? Never.”

  Naomi giggled. “Guess what? Justin plays piano.”

  I sat on the other side of her and ripped my lunch bag from my backpack. “I know.”

  “And he plays bass too. I was thinking—he could join our band. With him, we’ve got every instrument covered.”

  “I can play the bass just fine,” I said, unraveling my jelly sandwich.

  “But do you play the piano?” Naomi asked.

  “Don’t need to. I’ve got a midi keyboard and piano samples. I can just program the notes.”

  “And it sounds cold and robotic,” Justin said. “Even electronica can use that human touch sometimes.”

  “Are you going to haul a piano into my grandma’s basement?”

  “How about a keyboard? My Bösendorfer isn’t very travel friendly.”

  I dropped my sandwich in my lap. “For real? You have a Bösendorfer?”

  He looked down at his hands. “Yes.”

  “Okay, what’s a Bösen-dopper or whatever?” Naomi asked.

  I gritted my teeth. “It’s a really nice and expensive piano. But I have some samples of one on my computer.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Justin snorted. “That’ll beat the real thing.”

  “Are your parents, like, off-the-charts rich, or what?” Naomi asked him. “Because you’ve got a real nice ride too.”

  He bit into his sandwich and shrugged. “Something like that.”

  “Well, you’re either loaded or you aren’t,” Naomi said. “Which is it?”

  “My dad’s a rap star.”

  Naomi rolled her eyes and elbowed him. “Okay, fine. Don’t tell me.” She whipped out her cell phone, pressed a couple buttons, and handed it to me. “Give me your digits. I wanted to hang out last night, but I was afraid your grandma would eat me if I dropped by too late.”

  Justin laughed softly into his sandwich, turning his face away.

  “Where’s Kari?” I asked him, punching in my cell number.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, I heard you guys hooked up last night.” Naomi wiggled her eyebrows at him.

  He squinted at me, shaking his head. “Having food at a café doesn’t equate to hooking up. She offered to show me around town—I thought, Why not?”

  “I didn’t ask,” I said. “Why are you here anyway?”

  “I invited him. We’ve got fourth period together.” Naomi took her phone from me and grinned at the number I’d plugged in.

  Justin leaned around her to look at me. “I figured if we have to make a movie together—we might as well be civil. But I’ll leave if you’d like.”

  “Okay,” I said, pretending to savor a bite of my sandwich. The chunk felt more like a rock edging its way down my throat. I didn’t really want him to leave, but I was afraid to let him stay. His presence gave me this tightness in my chest. Like I couldn’t breathe. And I hated how I kept looking at his lips when he spoke—wanting to touch them.

  “Don’t go,” Naomi said to him.

  I could feel both of them looking at me, waiting for a response. All I could do was count the cracks on the pavement. Most of them were faint, but a couple were large and gaping. Ready to swallow me.

  “It’s cool.” He crumpled up his bag and zipped up his backpack. “I’ll see you in film, Drea.”

  “Call me!” Naomi yelled after him as he walked toward the steps.

  He gave her a small wave before going into the building.

  “What’s your deal?” she asked. I didn’t like the tone of her voice—it sounded more cutting than usual. Higher in pitch.

  “He’s a jerk.”

  “I haven’t seen him be anything but nice to you. Confess already, huh? Who broke your heart?”

  I stuffed my half-eaten sandwich into the bag, willing my mind to think of a brilliant answer. The thought of telling Naomi the truth made my teeth grind. She’d probably see me like everyone else did—sad, lonely, weird, even pathetic. When in doubt, I could always use Mom’s experiences. “He cheated on me—well—a couple of them did.”

  She put her hand on my knee. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” The warmth of her hand reminded me of our kiss, something neither of us had mentioned since it happened.

  Roger sauntered up to us and tossed his backpack on the cement. “What’s up?”

  “Lunch is half over. Where the hell have you been?” she asked him.

  “Got held up by my math teacher.” He nodded at me. “What’s up, Drea? You dump that loser?”

  “He wasn’t my boyfriend in the first place,” I said.

  He raised an eyebrow at Naomi, but she shrugged. “Guess it was just a fling,” she said.

  Roger leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “Scott got some killer bud last night. It’s in my car.”

  “Sweet. Let’s go.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me with her.

  I held back. “I-I don’t—”

  “Come on!” Her hand tightened around mine.

  “But I don’t want to go anywhere. We’ll be late for—”

  She rolled her eyes. “Chill, Drea.”

  Naomi and Roger scanned our surroundings as we walked around the side of the main building. Our shoes sank in the muddy grass.

  “How long will this take?” I asked.

  Instead of answering, she jogged after Roger toward a row of evergreen trees. They ducked behind the low branches, but I could still see Naomi’s rainbow laces and Roger’s dirt-smeared tennis shoes. The wet grass was like ice under my boots.

  “Hurry up, Drea! You’re gonna get caught,” Naomi hissed.

  Each step made me teeter to the left or right. I held my arms out for balance and took short, fast steps until I reached the trees. Then I dove under the branches and inhaled deeply. The air smelled like maple syrup and cigarette smoke.

  A few students stood in the shade of the evergreens. Kari and Casey leaned against a trunk, narrowing their eyes at Naomi. Lipstick-stained cigarette butts smoldered near their feet. Kari met my gaze and leaned into Casey, whispering something. Both girls laughed, high and shrill.

  “Ignore them,” Naomi said, leading me through a break in the trees.

  We passed a lip-locked couple—all tangled fingers and soft laughter. I wondered how that felt.

  Roger’s car was cream colored and shaped like an egg. The inside reeked of stale ashes and engine oil. Mom had a car like his once—even the brown upholstery was the same. Like cheap bath towels.

  Roger reached over Naomi’s knees and snagged his green pipe from the glove box. Then he pulled out a plastic baggy filled with what looked like herbs.

  “Ooh, that looks good.” Naomi grinned.

  “Yeah, it’s real smooth.” He stuffed a pinch into the pipe and shoved the ba
ggie back into the glove box.

  “Good, because Scott’s been getting bunk lately.”

  “You’re still hanging out with Scott?” I asked. The contents of my stomach crept into my throat. Why did she insist on hanging out with these guys?

  “He might’ve dropped by last night.” She smiled wide and took the pipe from Roger.

  He squinted at her. “He hooked up with Kelly this weekend, you know.”

  She bit her lip, shrugging. “So? He already told me.”

  “He was scoping out Drea on Saturday too.”

  “And he told me he was totally joking.”

  I swallowed hard and focused on the motor oil bottles below my feet. “Didn’t sound that way to me.”

  “Do you buy everything he tells you?” Roger asked.

  “Yeah, he said you’d say that too.” Naomi thrust the pipe in front of me. “You get to do the honors, Drea.”

  “No, tha—”

  “Why are you so into him?” Roger spoke over me.

  Naomi rolled her eyes and wiggled the pipe at me. “You smoking or not?”

  I took it from her, letting the cold metal sink into my palm. She settled back in the front seat and gazed out the window.

  “Hey, there’s Justin,” she said.

  “Where?” I asked, scanning the parking lot.

  “In his fancy car. He’s, like, taking a nap or something.”

  Justin’s black BMW was two cars down, facing us. He had his seat reclined, and his head bobbed slightly—like he was lost in a song.

  “Do you think he smokes?” Naomi asked.

  “Yeah, right,” Roger said. “He’s got Momma’s Boy written all over his sorry ass.”

  “Shut up. He’s nice,” she said.

  He shook his head at her. “Is there anyone you don’t want to bone?”

  “Yeah—you.”

  Roger shifted in his seat and drummed his hands against the steering wheel. “Whatever.”

  Naomi slapped my knee. “Come on—use it or lose it, babe.”

  “You go first,” I said, handing it back to her.

  She stuck the pipe between her lips and ran the lighter over the end. Her face turned bright red before she finally blew the smoke out. The pungent odor stung my nostrils like Mom’s overheated coffee.

  “Nice.” Her voice sounded hoarse. She squinted at me when I hesitated to take the pipe from her. “Why do you look so freaked?”

  “I don’t know.” I took the pipe and the lighter from her. The warmth of the metal burned into my hand this time. Naomi and Roger watched me with half smiles—as if they knew I had no clue what I was doing.

  And then the bell echoed from the school. “We should go,” I said, dropping the pipe in Roger’s lap.

  “Watch it,” he said.

  Naomi rolled her eyes. “You got time for a toke, hon.”

  My throat tightened and my chest felt heavy. All I wanted to do was get out of that car. I fumbled with the lock, but the door didn’t budge. “Let me out.”

  “Uh—you locked it,” Roger said, shaking his head and clicking it open again.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Naomi asked.

  “I can’t breathe in here.” I shoved the door open and flung my backpack over my shoulder.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” Naomi said.

  I slammed the door shut and weaved through the parked cars. The drizzle had thickened into a soft rain, making me shiver. I was about to make a run for the school when someone grabbed my elbow and pulled me behind an SUV.

  “Hey”—Justin spun me around—“it’s just me.”

  I sucked in my breath and tried to break free, but he tightened his grip on my arm.

  “Do you not see security standing about fifty feet away?” he asked.

  I peeked around the rear of the large silver vehicle he was leaning against. A man and woman in blue rain jackets stood at the parking lot entrance. The man spoke into a two-way radio, and the woman began walking in our direction.

  “She’s coming,” I whispered.

  “Shit, I hate closed campuses.” He slipped his hand into mine, leading me around the front of the SUV. I wondered if he’d been to as many schools as I had.

  Rain tapped the hood of the car, drowning out the sound of the woman’s footsteps. We squatted down beneath the headlights. Justin’s cheek was only a couple inches from mine, but somehow it didn’t feel close enough.

  “What now?” I asked, my heart racing in my chest.

  He put his finger to his lips as the sound of heels passed us by. I peered around the side of the SUV. The security woman moved slowly, glancing at the spaces between the cars. I looked back at Justin. Droplets had formed on the tips of his eyelashes, making them look even longer.

  He met my gaze. “You smell like a concert.”

  “So?”

  The beep of a two-way radio echoed nearby. “All is clear on my end,” the woman said.

  The radio crackled again, and a man’s voice broke through. Most of his words were too distorted to make out. “Okay… check the… and bathrooms.”

  The hissing of the radio and her footsteps faded into the distance. Justin peered over the hood and stood up.

  “They’re gone,” he said, ruffling his wet hair.

  I used the bumper to hoist myself up, but my shaky legs made me stumble back.

  He smirked. “Need some eyedrops?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a pretty straightforward question.” He tilted my chin, gazing at me. His left cheekbone was smeared with eyeliner. “Nah, you’re good.”

  “I need to get to class.”

  “So go to class,” he said softly, dropping his hand. His lips twitched like he was about to laugh.

  But I didn’t want to go to class. I wanted to ask him what was so damn funny, or if he really liked Kari, or if he’d ever smoked pot. Anything, really. “What were you listening to in your car?”

  His smile faded, and he shrugged. “Probably someone you don’t like.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “So you can hate me more?”

  “I don’t… never mind.” I brushed past him and headed toward the school, but he didn’t follow.

  “‘Bus Stop’ by the Hollies,” he called after me.

  I was glad he couldn’t see the cheesy grin on my face. Mom always played that song when she was in a good mood. And we’d sing an off-key rendition on every road trip. It was the number-two most-played song on my iPod.

  M onday, September 10

  History is boring. My teacher talks too fast. What am I supposed to write about? I’ve been at Samish High for a week now. Naomi is my only friend here. She doesn’t treat me like I’m a freak. And she loves to talk and sing. Her words fill the gaps in my mind. She’s always smiling too. But I don’t think she’s that happy.

  My mom is broke, so we’re stuck living with my grandma. But I don’t really feel like writing about Grandma. I see her enough.

  There’s this boy

  “Andrea Horvath?” the teacher asked.

  I glanced up, dropping my pen. “Yeah?”

  “You’re wanted in Jackie Bartlett’s office. Take your things, please.”

  Great, the school counselor. I’d rather have listened to Mrs. Heinz’s skewed perception of U.S. history.

  Justin was leaving when I got to Jackie’s office. He hadn’t dressed like me again, thankfully. But he had a slightly different look every day. Almost like he fished things blindly out of a suitcase. Today he wore a gray thermal and a pair of tattered jeans.

  I wondered why he had to see the counselor—maybe he needed help picking colleges or something. He gave me a small smile and brushed past me. Like I was just another student. Nobody. And for some reason, I wanted to matter to him.

  “Hi,” I said.

  He turned around and raised his eyebrows. “Am I hallucinating?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t looked at me all week.
”

  “I—never mind.” I turned on my heel and headed into Jackie’s office. It was true that I buried my face in Go Ask Alice during English class and hid out in the library when Naomi ditched campus at lunch. But I didn’t know what to say when I felt his eyes on me. Everything I thought of sounded stupid—like I couldn’t possibly be interesting to someone like him.

  “How are you, Andrea?” Jackie asked. She was lanky with dark hair and big teeth.

  “Call me Drea.” I slid into the plastic orange chair, but kept my backpack on.

  “Fair enough. Feel free to dump your backpack. Can’t be comfy sitting there like that.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, looking at the array of pictures on her desk. Everything from black-and-white arty photos to smiling teens in the sunshine.

  “Twix bar?”

  “I don’t like chocolate.”

  “Ah.” She banged her drawer open. “I’ve got SweeTarts for the chocolate haters.”

  I took a couple packages from her—at least she had good taste in nonchocolate candy.

  “So, you’ve been here about a week now. How’s it going for you?”

  I ripped at the paper and dropped a green SweeTart into my mouth. “It’s fine.”

  “Getting used to all the rain?”

  I sank into the chair. “Can we skip all the preliminary questions? I’m not having any problems in my classes. I’ve found my way around school just fine, and I’ve even made a friend.”

  “Have you seen a lot of counselors before?”

  “Of course. You guys think people like me always need the extra help.”

  “People like you?”

  I hated it when they pretended not to know what I was talking about. “Yep, I’ve got AS and ADHD—and whatever other acronym assigned to me. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  Jackie leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “And what do those acronyms mean to you?”

  “They’re a constant reminder that I’m a freak. That there’s something wrong with me.”

  “Do you think there’s something wrong with you?”

  “I feel like…” I shut my eyes, trying to think of the words. “Like I can’t be me if I don’t want to be lonely. Nobody takes me seriously when they know.”

  “Do you feel singled out?”