Tara Kelly - Harmonic Feedback

I swiveled to look at his grinning face.

“Smile, I’m only kidding.”

I didn’t find it very funny. He obviously had no idea how hard this was for me.

“But I’m only joining on two conditions,” he said. “One, I get to use my keyboard. And two, nobody shows up to practice wasted.”

“Fine by me,” I said.

“Hey,” Naomi pouted, “I sang better today than I ever have.”

“That’s what it seems like. Trust me, I’ve been in bands before. It always becomes a problem.” He looked down at his hands. “Anyway, I’m digging our sound so far. Reminds me a little of Portishead.”

“What did you play before?” I asked.

“You name it. Mostly metal, though.”

“With a piano?” Naomi picked up the water bottle and took a big gulp.

He shrugged. “Why not? Sounds like you need to expand your horizons.”

“She does.”

Naomi held her hands up. “Hey, I already told you I’m clueless, Drea.” She scanned the room. “So, why aren’t these walls painted yet?”

“I was going to pick up some paint this weekend and do it.”

“Okay, I’m so helping! I’ll bring Ferris Bueller —we’ll make a slumber party out of it.” She smiled at Justin. “Wanna join us?”

He chuckled and stood up. “No, thanks. I’ve gotta work.”

Her eyes widened. “You work?”

“Yeah, believe it or not. The rich boy works. Speaking of which”—he looked down at his watch—“I’m already running late.”

“How’d you score a job here so fast? I’ve been looking all summer,” Naomi said.

“My brother-in-law runs a computer repair shop on Lakeway. I’m his newest tech.”

I ejected his CD out of the computer and handed it back to him. “Well, um, thanks for the Black Lab and the ride and stuff.”

He studied me for a moment, his eyes intense with something I couldn’t even pinpoint.

“She’s kind of adorable, isn’t she?” Naomi asked.

I focused on his tennis shoes. Dirt was caked around the rims, and one of his laces was coming loose.

“Yeah, she’s kind of a lot of things.” His voice was soft, like he meant it as a compliment. But a lot of things could mean, well, anything .

“You should double knot your laces.” I pointed at his shoes.

Naomi giggled and plopped on my bed again, and Justin let out what sounded like a soft laugh. I looked up at him hesitantly.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, smirking. “I’m off Friday, though. We should—”

“Make out!” Naomi shouted.

Justin rolled his eyes. “Practice. And come up with a name for our band.” He brushed his fingers against my arm. “See you later.”

“See ya.” The sensation of his brief touch traveled to my fingertips.

Naomi had the decency to wait until he left before announcing her thoughts. “Oh my God, he totally wants you! You are so lucky.”

ON WEDNESDAY, Naomi insisted on getting a pint of cookie dough ice cream after Justin dropped us off. I hated that he had work. All I’d wanted to do since Monday was make music with both of them.

Naomi kept trying to tickle me as we walked to the grocery store. It made me feel like crawling out of my skin.

“Stop!” I said finally.

Her hands went up. “God, you don’t have to freak out like that.”

“I really hate being tickled.”

She kicked a rock in front of her. “I feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

My heart sped up a little. We got to the end of our street and rounded the corner. “What do you mean?”

She moved a little closer to me. “Well, if you ever want to talk about, you know, whatever, I’m here, okay? You can tell me anything.”

Right then, I wanted to tell her. But the thought of trying to explain everything I wasn’t made me cringe inside. All it would take was for her to hear the term autistic . And she’d think the worst, like that kid in my class last spring. What if she thought I was retarded? I couldn’t risk it.

Naomi decided she wanted rocky road when we walked into the ice cream aisle. She grabbed a pint, studied it, and then put it back. “Actually, cookie dough still sounds better. You like that, right?”

“It’s got chocolate chips in it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, what kind will you eat?”

“I like vanilla.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “But what do you put on it? Granola? Strawberry sauce?”

“I just eat it plain.”

“Oh my God, no! That’s so boring. I’ll go crazy.”

“Then get whatever. I don’t need to eat it.”

She grabbed a vanilla pint out of the freezer and tossed it in the basket. “No way am I pigging out alone. I’ll just get some chocolate sauce to put on mine.”

I plucked it out. “You shouldn’t grab the first one.”

“Okay, why ?”

This wouldn’t be easy to explain. It was just something I had to do. Somewhere along the line I’d convinced myself that the first package on every shelf was contaminated or damaged somehow. The SNRI the psychiatrist prescribed was supposed to help with my more obsessive behaviors, but antidepressants took weeks to start working. “This one was leaking,” I said, shoving it back in the freezer and reaching for the next pint.

She took it from me, shaking her head. “It looked just fine to me.”

“Wait.” I snatched the pint back and scanned it. “You should always check the date on food before you buy it.”

“Drea, it’s ice cream. It doesn’t expire.”

“Yes, it does. See? Right here.”

“Awesome, can we move on now before it melts?”

I nodded and tried to mimic one of her wide smiles. She didn’t grin back that time.

When we got back to my house, I made Naomi go downstairs. If Grandma saw us eating ice cream before dinner, she’d flip out. Not to mention, no food was allowed outside the kitchen.

I had about two spoonfuls before the nausea set in, and I sat against my headboard. The new adhd meds had yet to improve my appetite.

Naomi devoured another bite and squirted chocolate sauce in her mouth. “No wonder you’re so skinny. You never eat.” She sat on my bed and licked the remaining sludge from the spoon.

“I eat. I’m just not hungry right now.”

She took another bite, closing her eyes. I wished I knew what that felt like—to really enjoy something. Grandma’s cooking was horrid, but liking something meant I tolerated it. The texture or spices didn’t make me gag.

Naomi put the ice cream on the floor and scooted next to me, close enough so our shoulders touched. “Want to make out?” she asked with a smile.

“No.”

“Gee”—she leaned harder into me—“tell me how you really feel.”

I moved away so we had a few inches of space between us. “I just did.”

“I was only kidding. You don’t do it for me, either. Can we still be friends?” She giggled.

I looked at her. The sparkles on her eyelids matched her blue irises. “Of course. You want to, right? Be my friend?”

Her grin faded as she studied my face. “Duh. You’re real, you know?”

“Last time I checked.”

Naomi laughed and rested her head against my shoulder. It made me stiffen at first, but I relaxed as she spoke.

She told me about the cross-country roadtrip in her head. It involved a fast car with the top down. Didn’t matter what kind of car, just as long as it was black and fast. A guy with dark blue eyes and golden hair, not blond, would be driving. But he’d let her take the wheel at least half the time. They’d get lost in the mountains at least once and keep each other warm all night. And they’d take pictures of every cool moment. The trucker dives, the cheap motels, the scenery whizzing by—everything would be recorded forever.