Tara Kelly - Harmonic Feedback

“I don’t want them to escape,” Grandma said as I rounded the corner.

Mom stood in the kitchen with a grin and a yellow bottle in her hand. “They’re not going to escape if you flush them down the toilet. They can’t.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, wiping the crusties from my eyes.

Mom shook her head and tossed the bottle in the garbage. “Grandma kills ants in very creative ways.”

“All this yelling for ants?” I rolled my eyes. “And I’m the one who needs medication.”

I tried to spend the day unpacking and getting started on the wah pedal I was building for my guitar. If it was good enough, I could start selling them on eBay and hopefully avoid working in retail. I got fired from the one and only job I’d ever had—one of those budget movie theaters with stale hot dogs, relish that smells like formaldehyde, and flat soda. This guy insisted I put more butter on his popcorn after ten squirts in the middle and eight on top. He threw a fit when I asked him if he’d like me to dump the entire metal container on it.

I did okay buying cheap clothes at thrift stores, dolling them up, and selling them on eBay. It was amazing what people would pay for a unique skirt. But it wouldn’t be enough to get us out of Grandma’s, and I didn’t want Mom to depend on yet another guy. Some of her boyfriends were nice—one even bought me a guitar, but others thought money gave them the right to control our lives. One jerk offered to send me across the country to a “special school.”

Unfortunately, Grandma made concentrating on anything difficult. Her heels clanged down the stairs just as I was in the delicate process of soldering.

“What on earth are you doing? It looks like you’re running a repair shop down here,” she said.

“Not exactly.” I tightened my grip on the iron.

Grandma cocked her head, her thin lips stretching to form the words of whatever she was thinking. Her eyes traveled from the iron in my hand to the shells of old pedals on my desk and back to my face. “George used to fix TVs down here. I never thought I’d miss the smell.” Her face softened as she scanned the walls. “Well—don’t electrocute yourself.”

She straightened her back and headed up the stairs, nearly running into Naomi at the top. Naomi gave her an apology, but Grandma shook her head and kept walking.

Naomi jogged down the stairs, her purple pigtails bouncing. She wore a fitted tee that read trix are for kids. “Hey, your mom let me in. I thought you were going to come over.”

“I wasn’t sure if you actually wanted me to.”

She walked in front of me, her brow crinkling. “I invited you, didn’t I?”

“Sometimes people say things they don’t mean. And I don’t really know you, so—”

“Well, I meant it.” She reached for the board on my desk. “What’s that?”

I blocked her hand. “It’s the PCB for the wah pedal I’m working on. Don’t touch it.”

“Is that like a circuit board?”

“Obviously.”

“You make your own effect pedals too?” She raised her eyebrows. “God, you’re like the coolest girl I’ve ever met.”

I shrugged. “My mom says I should’ve been born with a penis.”

“No kidding. I’d totally jump your bones!” She laughed.

“Um, okay.” I turned off the iron and set it in the holder, my cheeks feeling hot.

“So I got us a ride from this guy, Scott. I met him at the mall a few weeks ago, and he’s hot, like, whoa. And he’s bringing a friend.”

My back stiffened. The last thing I wanted to do was get a ride from a couple of strange guys. “I thought it was just going to be me and you.”

Her grin narrowed a bit. “Well, my dad is out of town for the weekend, and he took the car.” She grabbed my arm. “Come on. Scott is leaving in a half hour, and I wanna show you my kit.”

I yanked my arm out of her clutches. “I don’t know—”

“Please?” She stuck her lower lip out and widened her eyes.

This was my chance to have a friend. An actual, real-life friend. A chance to be one of the girls I used to watch at school. Sometimes it looked like they were having fun, but I never really got why. I still wanted to be part of it though. To feel normal—for even a day.

“Let me grab my box,” I said, but a sick feeling had settled in my stomach.

Grandma would have a heart attack if she saw the inside of Naomi’s house. If they had carpeting or a kitchen counter, I couldn’t find them. Papers, clothing covered in animal hair, and dirty dishes were strewn throughout the living room and kitchen. As we headed upstairs, I nearly tripped over a tuxedo cat with green eyes and a hoarse meow.

“Hi, Lizzie Wizzie!” Naomi picked up the cat like a baby and rubbed its head. She led me down a stuffy hallway to another set of stairs. “It’s in the attic.”

The attic was like a closet with a pointed ceiling. A black drum set made the centerpiece, and the walls were lined with various band posters. One poster was The Cure, a band I really liked, but most featured new and mainstream rock bands—the kind with autotuned vocals and overly compressed, superloud mixes. The high frequencies and distortion rattled me from the inside.

“You really need better taste in music, Naomi.” I sighed. Every guy on her wall had a forced pose, shaggy hair, and a pout. Why was the world so obsessed with sameness?

“I know, right? We get shit for radio stations up here. Hopefully, you can introduce me to some cool stuff.”

“I’ve got about eighty gigs of music in almost every genre. I’ll make you some CDs.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Whoa, you rock. Thanks!”

Naomi’s excitement was strange. Nobody liked hearing that their music taste sucked, and just about everyone thought I was a dork—hence nobody ever got to know me at previous schools.

Naomi sat behind the drums, and Lizzie the cat made a beeline for me. She plopped on my feet and looked up, rolling on her back. I expected her to claw me or do something sinister.

“Wow, she likes you. She never pays attention to anyone but me,” Naomi said. “You can pick her up, you know. She doesn’t bite.”

I peered down at the purring creature nudging its body into the toes of my black boots. “Um, I’ve never really held a cat.”

“Now, that’s just weird.” Naomi shook her head and tested a couple of the drums with her sticks. “Ready?”

When I nodded, she started pounding out a solo. Her rhythm was a little shaky, and she went a bit overboard a couple times, but I was impressed. She had a really creative approach to the drums, often going into little tangents here and there; it made my head spin—but in a good way. Lizzie appeared to be completely detached from the whole thing. I’d think most cats would run out of the room in terror, but she stared up at me like she was floating on a cloud. I bent down to pick her up, praying I didn’t hurt her in some way. She wiggled in my arms for a second before nuzzling her head under my chin, her entire body vibrating.

Naomi tossed her drumsticks on the floor and wiped her brow. “What do you think?”

“It was a little rough, but you’re really good.” Lizzie hopped out of my arms.

“I actually trust that coming from you. I know you won’t bullshit me.”

She gave Lizzie some food and water before we went out on the porch to wait for Scott. The temperature was on the warm side, but the cool breeze on my cheeks made it perfect.

Naomi plopped next to me and held out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?” She pressed the end of her cigarette into the flame of one of those flippy-top lighters.

I shook my head. “Does your dad know you smoke?”

She shrugged, making an O shape with her lips. Ringlike bands of smoke floated around her face. “One more day until school starts—ugh. You’re going to Samish, right?”