Tara Kelly - Harmonic Feedback

I headed for the back row again—the seat closest to the window. Justin didn’t follow me this time. In fact, he sat on the other side of the room near the front. I should’ve felt relief, but my chest felt heavy, and I slumped in my seat.

Our bald teacher fiddled around with a seventeen-inch laptop at his desk. Every now and then, he’d look up and smile at the students wandering in. The bell rang, and I glanced around at the half-empty class. The two boys Naomi called Dumb and Dumber were sitting in the back row whispering to each other. Casey passed a cell phone to some guy with spiky hair behind her, and the pierced girl who’d complimented me on my skirt wrote in a journal. Justin drummed his fingers against the desk, gazing at the ceiling.

“Okay, guys.” The teacher stood. He had buggy eyes and a lanky body, kind of like Gumby. “I’m Mr. Diaz, and obviously I’m new to Samish High.…”

He launched into a speech about teaching film at UCLA, and I stared out the window, tuning him out. Puffy clouds hovered over the dark blue bay, making my stomach growl. When I was little, I thought they were cotton candy.

“Why’d you come up here ?” a nasal voice snapped me out of my trance. It came from the blond emo boy Naomi hooked up with.

“I like Bellingham.” Mr. Diaz grinned at him. “Anyway, if you’re hoping this will be a breeze, you might want to find another elective. I’m not going to expect any less from you guys than I did from my college students.” He leaned against his desk and scanned the room. “How many of you like to watch movies?” When we all raised our hands, he continued. “Okay, how many of you like to see blockbusters at the big theaters?”

Justin, the pierced girl, and I were the only people who didn’t raise our hands. I didn’t like the crowds, the smell of the popcorn, or the stiff seats. Plus, the movies were always predictable.

Mr. Diaz nodded at Justin. “Why don’t you like them, Mr. Nike?”

A small laugh escaped my mouth, and Justin glanced over at me before answering. “They lack originality ninety-nine percent of the time.”

The teacher pursed his lips. “But hasn’t every story been done before?”

“Doesn’t mean it can’t be told in a different way.”

“Do you agree with him, Lilith?” Mr. Diaz motioned in my direction.

“My name is Drea,” I answered.

He leaned forward. “Didn’t hear you.”

“Drea—my name is Drea!” The class snickered, telling me I’d said it way too loud. Justin was the only person not looking in my direction.

The teacher’s eyes widened. “Fair enough. Do you agree?”

I looked back over at Justin, but he kept his eyes forward like I didn’t exist. I hated him for it. “Yes, but I think it’s kind of strange coming from someone wearing a Nike T-shirt.”

“Why do you think he called you Lilith?” Justin asked. “Because you’re so unique?”

“I don’t know.” I slumped farther in my seat.

“I suddenly feel like I’m in detention with Anthony Michael Hall,” Mr. Diaz said. “Interestingly enough, The Breakfast Club is one of the first films we’re going to watch.”

Yet another movie I remembered hearing about but couldn’t place. Several of the other students expressed their delight through muffled yeah s and hoots.

“Why do you think I called her that?” Mr. Diaz asked Justin.

“The black clothing, the pouting.” Justin turned to look at me. “Back row. Corner desk. Anti–brand name. Sounds like the stereotypical Goth to me.”

Laughter filtered throughout the room. A guy mumbled something about being owned .

“What does that have to do with calling me Lilith?” I shot back at him.

“He could’ve gone with Raven too,” Justin answered. “That’s an even more played-out Goth name.”

Mr. Diaz held his hands up and chuckled. “This is good. Because there will be a lot of disagreement this semester. Each of you sees the world differently, and movies are no exception. What one of you thinks is overdone and cliché, another thinks is groundbreaking.” He pushed himself off the desk and paced the front of the room. “I’m not going to test you or throw out pop quizzes. But I will be keeping track of attendance and class participation. The bulk of your grade is going to be your final project. A five-minute movie of your own creation. It can be horror, action, comedy, a documentary, or even a music video.”

“Sweet!” a guy with glasses said.

“Now,” Mr. Diaz continued, “I want everyone except Drea and Mr. Nike to get out a piece of paper and write down your three favorite movies. You’ve got one minute.” He looked down at his silver watch. “Go.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Justin asked.

Mr. Diaz raised his bushy eyebrows. “Sit tight.”

After the class handed their slips of paper to Mr. Diaz, he flipped through them with a smile flickering at his lips. “Now—here’s the catch. The school bought only two camcorders, but they are PD-170s, meaning you don’t want to break one. Trust me on that. And the lab will only let me reserve so many computers after school. Which means you’ll need to work with a partner.” He waved the papers in his hand. “Someone who has completely different taste than you.”

The class groaned in unison.

“And you two”—he pointed at Justin and me—“already matched yourselves up. Good luck.”

I glanced over at Justin, and he actually smiled and winked at me. Like he thought it was funny.

I was officially in hell.

THE LAST THING I WANTED was for Naomi to be there when Mom picked me up. I had a doctor’s appointment after school, and I didn’t want Mom mentioning it in front of her. The street in front of Samish High resembled the passenger drop-off area at a major airport. Horns honked, engines revved, and hands waved impatiently behind windshields. Most of the kids being picked up looked to be freshmen, no surprise there.

Mom’s faded green sedan was about a block down the street. I broke into a sprint, hoping I could dive into the car before Naomi saw me.

“Wait up, Drea!”

No such luck. My shoulders slumped as I spun around to face Naomi.

“You need a ride?” She approached me with Roger in tow.

“No, thanks.”

“Does your boyfriend always take other chicks home?” Roger asked, nodding at the street.

“What do you mean?” I glanced over my shoulder.

“Black BMW,” Naomi whispered in my ear. “We saw him pick up Kari in the parking lot,” she continued in a louder voice.

My eyes focused on a shiny BMW inching past us. I could make out Kari’s long hair in the passenger seat. He probably had a decent amount of horsepower in that thing. I used to be obsessed with car engines—drove Mom nuts.

“Twenty bucks says it’s Daddy’s car.” Roger smirked. “Want me to kick his ass for you? Slash his tires?”

“Why would I want that?”

Mom tapped her horn three times behind me. I’d recognize that urgent tinny sound anywhere. “That’s my mom. I have to go.”

“Do you want to hang out later?” Naomi asked.

Grandma’s voice echoed across the lawn, calling my name. “We have ten minutes to get to your appointment!” Of course Mom had to bring her.

“What appointment?” Naomi asked.

I sighed. There was no way out. “Just seeing a doctor.”

Her eyes widened. “What for?”

“Um… stuff.”

She nodded like she understood. “Oh, that doctor. Ew, I hate going there.”