Tara Kelly - Harmonic Feedback

But I was still sitting on the couch when they came down a decade of minutes later. Like a good friend.

“Sorry, we got a little detoured,” Naomi said. The hair she’d spent hours curling and pinning up was a limp mess around her shoulders, and her lipstick had been smeared to one side. I didn’t get it. Why spend two hours getting ready just so some guy can obliterate it all in five minutes?

“Okay,” I said, looking down at my black sneakers.

Naomi plopped next to me with a compact mirror. She wiped the remnants of lip color off with the back of her hand and redrew a line around her lips.

Scott ruffled her hair. “We don’t have time for that.”

“Hang on,” she said. Her hands shook as she applied the lipstick. I wondered if he made her nervous.

Scott nudged her head forward so she missed her mouth by an inch.

“Hey, jerk.” She looked over at me and grinned. Her eyes looked like black saucers.

“Let’s go!” Scott headed for the front door and yanked it open.

Naomi jumped up, smoothing out her rumpled denim skirt. “Okay, cranky bear.”

Cranky bear didn’t even begin to cover Scott. I followed them out to the car, telling myself that it was good to be out on a Saturday instead of sitting at home online. Even so, I missed my computer, my pedals, and the berry candles I’d normally be burning.

Scott sped off with the same grace he had a couple weeks ago. The leather of the back seat gave me goose bumps. I should’ve brought a jacket.

We flew past the silhouettes of boats in Squalicum Harbor. They looked like rows of toothpicks under the full moon. Still and lifeless as if they’d been there forever. Railroad tracks ran parallel to us on the other side, disappearing into nothing but blackness.

At some point we merged onto the freeway, but we only drove a couple exits north before Scott got off and made a right. The streetlights evaporated, as did the stores and the gas stations. Scott floored the Mustang as soon as we hit a dark stretch of road, and the trees blurred into odd shapes and jagged edges.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Naomi asked him.

“Gotta save some energy.” He grinned at her, taking one hand off the wheel and resting it in her lap.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, laughing. “Come on, step on it.”

“You really want me to?”

We were already going so fast. Too fast. The white road bumps had become a solid line, curving into nothing ahead. “I think we should slow down,” I said.

But they didn’t hear me. Too much wind from the open windows. Too much drum and bass from Scott’s crappy speakers. I tapped Naomi on the shoulder.

“What?” Her eyes were sunken holes in her face, and the rest of her features were indistinguishable. She’d become nothing more than purple hair and pale skin.

“Make him slow down.”

“No way. Are you kidding?”

The tires skidded around a sharp curve. Trees swallowed the car, blocking out any remaining moonlight.

“Please,” I said. “I can’t see anything.”

“That’s because we’re in Hicksville. Only life around here is Farmer John and his harem of cows!” Naomi laughed again. It was too loud. Too out of control.

Warmth was building behind my eyes, and my chest felt tight with fast breaths. I rocked back and forth, telling myself that it was just another anxiety attack. Naomi and Scott weren’t monsters that were going to dump me in the woods somewhere. But it sure felt like it. The way he kept tugging at her arm. She’d try to bite his hand. And she kept talking so fast—like a tape stuck on fast-forward.

The engine growled, jerking my body left. Then right. Left again. My head slammed against the seat with every downshift, and the tires squealed a little more with every turn. Scott said something about a homestretch and crunched on the gas. The car sounded like a freight train. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact. But Scott hit the brakes, and I opened my eyes to a sea of headlights pointed in every direction.

NAOMI AND I HUDDLED under some trees with a few other people. Most of them were girls taking puffs of cigarettes or giggling about their boyfriends. One guy told another his money was on Scott. I inhaled the smell of cow crap and car exhaust.

Scott’s Mustang sat alongside some blond girl’s red Honda. Both cars faced a flat stretch of road that bled into the darkness. The blond girl peered under Scott’s hood, pointing at various things and laughing. Scott’s gaze dropped every time she bent over to look at something.

“Why doesn’t she just lift up her skirt and flash him already?” Naomi said through her teeth. Her eyes narrowed at the girl, and her fingers twitched against her denim skirt.

“Why would she do that?”

She rolled her eyes at me and took another sharp drag of her cigarette. “You ask really dumb questions sometimes.”

I sank back into the shadows of the trees. Her hands clenched into fists every time a girl talked to him—even if it was just hi. And her eyes were different too. Always darting from one thing to the next. Hungry.

“How long will this take?” I asked.

She shrugged, flicking her cigarette into the gravel. “I’m not a psychic.”

I hugged my body, shivering in the damp air. Autumn definitely hit Washington earlier than California. A police scanner bellowed out of a car nearby. Two guys sat inside—the neon dashboard made their faces look alien.

The racer girl gave Scott a playful punch in the arm, and Naomi edged forward. When he leaned in to whisper in the girl’s ear, Naomi walked up to them, gesturing wildly. Some of the people around me chuckled and talked about a catfight.

I moved forward until I could hear what was going on.

“Maybe you should get your girlfriend a leash,” the racer girl said, shaking her head at Naomi.

Naomi lurched forward, bringing her face within inches of the other girl’s. “Maybe you should wear a skirt that covers your fat ass.”

Racer girl swung at Naomi, but Scott and a guy in a baseball cap pulled the two girls apart. Scott pressed Naomi against his car and took off his hoodie. “I told you not to do so much. Go for a walk or something, okay?” He handed his jacket to her.

Naomi’s entire body shuddered like she was cold. “You promised,” she said.

“I didn’t do anything.” He gave her a stiff hug and patted her on the back. Kind of like the hugs I gave Grandma.

“You were flirting with her.”

Scott laughed at this. “We were just talkin’.”

“I’m ready when you decide to lose the ball and chain,” the racer girl said, getting into her car and slamming the door.

Naomi spun around to say something, but Scott squeezed her face with one hand and lowered his voice. “I’m not gonna deal with this psycho-bitch shit.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, nuzzling her face into his hoodie.

He dropped his hand. “Get off the car.”

Naomi moved away and looked at me for the first time. Her eyes were like oil slick in the headlights.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my legs shaking.

She wrapped her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. “No.”

A guy with a walkie-talkie strolled past us and stood between the two cars. Both engines revved like dueling bass lines.

Naomi’s heart pounded against my chest, and her breaths were shallow. “I’m so jacked up, Drea,” she said. “I can’t even breathe.”

The guy stuffed the radio in his belt and held his hands up like a conductor. I stroked her hair, hoping it would calm her as it did me. “What did you take?” I asked. “Do you need a doctor?”