Tara Kelly - Harmonic Feedback

I turned, facing her. “What?” Mom used to tell me stories about Grandma making her scrub the kitchen floor until every inch sparkled. One time she forced Mom to remake her bed ten times.

“You heard me.” She smiled. It looked wicked. “I saw your mother doing your laundry last night. Sixteen years old and you don’t know how to wash your own clothes?” She clucked her tongue.

I shrugged. The truth was Mom never trusted me with the clothes. Not since I got bleach spots on half her jeans and turned every white pair of underwear pink.

Grandma pushed a folded piece of paper across her glitter-ridden table. “I wrote down what I want you to do today. And gave you directions on how to do it.”

I sighed and picked up the yellow paper. Her purple cursive neatly spelled out each step.

“I’d follow that to every crossed T if I were you. Because I’ll make you do each thing over again until you get it right.”

Hushed voices in the entranceway caught my attention. I peered around the corner to see Mom hugging some guy with dark hair and a white shirt. She held a blue robe tightly around her body and pecked him on the cheek.

“What are you looking at, Andrea?” Grandma’s voice was loud enough to get their attention. Mom pointed in Grandma’s direction and put a finger to her lips, telling me to stay quiet. The man smiled and waved before edging himself out the door.

I couldn’t believe Mom was sneaking around like she was my age. I wonder why they didn’t go to his place. Mom came up behind me, squeezing my shoulders. I pulled away from her because I could smell his cologne. Whoever he was.

“You’re up early,” she said to me.

“Did your guest leave?” Grandma asked. She scrunched her lips into a tiny circle.

Mom tucked a lock of messy hair behind her ear, and her cheek twitched. “My guest?”

“Yes, Juliana. The strange man who was going through my refrigerator at one a.m.”

“Oh, Mom.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled like it was no big deal.

“What were you thinking? He could’ve killed all of us in our beds. Have you checked your purse? He might have stolen your wallet.”

“He’s a local dentist, and he drives a Benz. I highly doubt we have anything here he’d want.”

“I don’t want strangers spending the night in my house. You have no idea—”

“Point taken. Let’s move on.” Mom rubbed her eyes and poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee.

Grandma cleared her throat. “I’ve given Andrea some chores today.” She shifted her glare to me. “You can start by vacuuming the living room and hallway.”

Mom took a sip of coffee, wrinkling her nose. “She can’t tolerate the noise.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I’ll do something else, but I’m not vacuuming.” Every time Mom vacuumed, I’d shut myself in my room and put headphones on. The high, whiny noise pierced every nerve in my body and made my hair stand on end. And the crackling sound really got to me. Like tiny electric shocks. When I was little, I’d cover my ears and rock in the corner until it stopped.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Grandma said. “This is why we have kids like Naomi Quinn running wild—no discipline. No responsibilities.”

“It’s not about that, Mom. Drea doesn’t process sound normally.”

I tossed the paper on the table and left the kitchen, heading right for the basement. They’d had this discussion at least six times since we moved in. Being spoiled versus having a disorder. I didn’t like either argument. What was so wrong with just being me? Disliking vacuum noise wasn’t any more bizarre than hating pickles or roller coasters.

I speed-dialed Naomi’s number on my cell and counted the seconds until I heard her voice. She’d make some joke about Grandma or tease me about Justin. But she never tried to fix me.

“Hello?” Naomi’s voice was hoarse and muffled.

“Hey, you should come over now.”

“Huh?” There was a loud rustling sound. “God, Drea. It’s nine a.m. Call me later.”

“I thought you wanted to hang out today.”

She cursed and sighed into the phone. “Yeah, later . I’ve been asleep for, like, three hours.” With that her breathing was cut off.

“Hello?” I glanced at my phone. Call ended, it read. I’d messed up again.

“Drea, honey?” Mom’s slippers padded down the stairs.

“What?”

She walked over to my bed and sat down with that squinty look in her brown eyes. Usually it meant we were moving again, or she’d lost her job. “Grandma’s not bending on this one.” She handed me the yellow slip of paper.

Chores to be done every morning:

Make your bed.

Clean up any mess you’ve made in the bathroom getting ready. That includes putting your dirty clothes in the hamper.

Unload the dishwasher. Then reload it with any dirty dishes before you leave.

This was followed by a page-long description of how to vacuum.

“Fine, I’ll do that other stuff, but I’m not vacuuming.”

Mom put her hand over mine. “Maybe you can wear some headphones—turn the music up real loud. I’ve got some ear plugs you can use.”

“Just tell her I’m not doing it.”

She rubbed her temples, exhaling sharply. “We need to keep the peace until I can afford a deposit on an apartment, okay?”

I nodded, knowing what she’d say next. Same old story. Compromise or live in her car.

Mom reached down and squeezed my hand. “You deserve better, baby.” Her voice was strained and muffled.

“Quit saying that.”

“I just wish I could give you more. The depression hit me bad in San Francisco. I couldn’t pull out of it. And I really am sorry.”

“I know.” I twisted my green quilt around my finger until it went numb.

She wiped her eyes. “I got that job at the law firm. Start Monday. We’ll be out of here soon. And I promise that we’ll stay put for a while. Do you want to finish high school here?”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Mom cupped my face with both hands, forcing me to look into her watery eyes. “I promise I’m going to do everything I can to keep us here. The paralegal there is retiring soon, and she offered to train me. That would be a really good thing for us.”

“Do you even want to be a paralegal?”

She dropped her hands and shook her head. “It’s a lot better than any other options I’ve had in the past. And the pay isn’t bad. Enough to live on our own—just you and me.” Mom sighed and tousled my hair. “I’m going in the shower. Let me know if you need any help.”

I could handle the vacuum noise for about five seconds before I had to shut it off. Even with sound-canceling headphones blaring my favorite songs, the squeal cut through, making me feel like I was being zapped from the inside. My skin itched, and I feared that the bulging bag would explode. I sat on the couch and hugged myself.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re making much progress out there!” Grandma called from the kitchen. She had a mini TV with antennas on the kitchen counter. The buzzing from the crappy signal filtered throughout the house.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and thought about calling Naomi. But she’d already hung up on me once. Justin’s name stared back at me from my address book. The letters alone made my stomach flutter. We’d exchanged numbers a couple days ago, but he’d yet to call me. Would it be weird if I called him?

I pressed dial and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Hello?” he answered.

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“Drea?”

“Um, hi!”

“What’s up?” His voice sounded deeper on the phone.