Tara Kelly - Harmonic Feedback

“I have to vacuum.”

“That’s… nice?”

“Does your family ever drive you insane?”

“All the time.”

“Andrea, I still don’t hear that vacuum!”

He laughed softly. “I dig your grandma.”

“Why? I want to buy her a muzzle.”

“I like how she just doesn’t care. But I can see how she’d drive you nuts.”

“You’ve never met her.”

“What can I say? The comment about garbage on the walls at the café won me over.”

Silence. He was probably wondering why I called him.

“You and Naomi still doing that movie night thing tonight?”

“I think so. She’s asleep.” Ask questions, Drea . “Are you doing anything after work?”

“Why?” His voice got softer. “You asking me out?”

My heart jumped in my chest. “Like on a date? No, I wouldn’t do that. I mean—I’ve done that, but I wasn’t asking you. Um…” It was official. I sucked at the phone thing.

“So let me clarify. That’s a no, right?”

“No. I mean—yes. Yes, that’s right.”

He chuckled again. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

I swallowed hard. “Is that bad?”

“No and—yes.”

“Um…”

“No, because I really like that about you. And yes. For the same reason.”

“Huh?”

He sighed into the phone. “Nothing. It’s not bad, Drea.”

Grandma appeared in the living room, hands on her bony hips. “Mobile phones don’t vacuum living rooms. Get off right now.”

“Sounds like you should go,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, bye.” I flipped the phone shut and looked at Grandma. “I can use this phone when I want to—it’s mine.”

“And that’s a big part of your problem. You’re used to getting your way all the time.”

“If that was the case, we wouldn’t be living with you.”

Grandma’s mouth dropped open, but Mom walked in before she could speak. “She didn’t mean it. Right, Drea?”

“She needs a good paddle on the behind,” Grandma said.

“Give me that phone,” Mom said, holding her hand out to me.

“What? No.” I hid it behind my back.

“I said give it to me!” Her voice made me jump. She rarely yelled like that.

I slowly held the phone out to her, avoiding her dark eyes.

Mom ripped the cell from my hands. “You’ll get it back when you finish your chores. And only then.” I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off. “Apologize to Grandma.”

“For what? She interrupted my phone conversation.”

“Say you’re sorry, or Naomi can’t come over later.”

What was the point of that? It wasn’t like I’d mean it. “But I’m not sorry.”

Grandma shook her head. “You should make her stay in her room for the rest of the weekend. And unplug her computer too.”

“Mother, please. Just let me handle this, okay?”

“I’m not going to tolerate this in my house, Juliana.” Grandma retreated into the kitchen, turning up whatever news program she had on.

Mom walked over and knelt in front of me. “Drea, please,” she whispered. “Stop pushing her.”

“Don’t make me say things I don’t mean.”

“Remember what we talked about in San Francisco? About letting things go? Apologizing to her will keep her out of your hair.”

“I don’t care.”

“Drea, she took us into her home, and she didn’t have to. Do you understand that? She’s tough to be around, yes. But right now, she’s all we have.”

I understood why I was supposed to appreciate Grandma. And I did—a little bit. But it didn’t mean she could force me to do things. “Fine, I’ll do it. For you .”

“Thank you.”

“But I’m not vacuuming. I can’t. It hurts.”

She sighed. “Okay, I’ll talk to her. But you have to finish the rest of your chores.” She held up my phone. “Then you’ll get this back.”

Grandma ignored me when I walked into the kitchen. That’s how I knew she was really angry. She almost always had something to say.

I focused on the beige tile below my feet. Pale brown lines carved out triangles and squares. “I’m sorry I said that to you. I appreciate you letting us stay here.”

She nodded but kept her eyes on the television. Her shoulders were hunched, and her mouth turned down at the corners.

I waited for a few moments. Nothing. She didn’t even look in my direction. It made my stomach hurt. “I said I was sorry.”

“I heard you,” she said, still not looking at me.

“Okay.” I turned around and left to clean the bathroom.

My day didn’t get much better when Naomi finally showed up. She insisted on dragging me to the mall with her, which was as bad as Grandma making me scrub the bathtub three times—if not worse.

“I hate malls,” I said, avoiding eye contact with the hordes of people walking in the opposite direction. All the faces and chatter made me dizzy.

Whoever came up with the idea of food courts needed their head examined. The smell of sugary dough did not mesh with teriyaki sauce. Add cheap tomato sauce to the mix, and it had the same effect as ipecac.

“Scott wants to hang out tonight. I need something sexy to wear.”

“What about painting and the movie?”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “It’s only five thirty. Scott isn’t coming to get us until at least eleven or midnight.”

“Us?”

She grabbed my arm, pulling me close. “Yep. He’s racing tonight.”

“Racing?”

She let me go and bit her lip. “You’ll see. There will be lots of hotties there.”

“I’d rather just stay home like we’d planned.”

“What? And do each other’s makeup and hair all night? God, Drea, I was only kidding about the slumber-party thing. We aren’t ten.”

A lump formed in my throat as I followed her into a store filled with fancy underwear, bras, and lingerie.

“I know you think he’s this big jerk,” Naomi said. “You know how guys are, though—they talk like pigs to each other, but they don’t mean anything by it.” She rummaged through the piles of underwear, plucking out a lacy red pair. “Justin might like these.” She thrust them into my chest, grinning.

I dropped them back into the pile. “Well, I don’t like them.”

Naomi tore a silky black slip from a hanger and held it against her body, fingering the plastic security tag. “What do you think? Pair it with some thigh highs maybe?”

I checked the price. “It’s almost fifty dollars.”

She leaned into my ear. Her breath smelled like mint gum and cigarettes. “No worries—they’ve got the cheap non-ink security tags here. Easy to remove.”

“Can I help you ladies with anything?” a girl with bleached teeth asked. She eyed Naomi from head to toe, pausing on her baggy jeans.

Naomi grabbed a pink gauzy thing and what looked like a doll gown off the rack. “Yeah, can you start a fitting room for us?” She handed the garments over to the clerk.

“Certainly—two rooms?”

“We can share,” Naomi said.

The girl scanned me up and down before flashing a quick smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.” She walked away.

“Okay, bitch,” Naomi whispered. “Did you see the way she looked at us? It’s why I don’t feel bad ripping them off.” She glanced at the other clerk before stuffing the black slip down her jeans. “I just wish this place was busier. It usually is on Saturdays.”

“What are you doing?”

“Shhh.” She looked over her shoulder before cramming a white lacy slip down the other side of her jeans. The oversized band T-shirt she wore covered the bulge.

Mom said she’d never resort to stealing. Even if that meant living on gas-station food. I picked up a silky corset with fraying laces—$110. “I could make this stuff for a lot cheaper. You don’t have to steal anything.”