Tara Kelly - Harmonic Feedback

“I think that’s the name Mom said.” Now I had to ask her something. Small talk was like a game of Ping-Pong. People got offended if I didn’t keep hitting the ball back. “What year are you?”

“Junior.” She held the cigarette over her shoulder and tapped the edge. “You?”

“The same.”

A breeze blew her pigtail away from her neck, revealing a couple of fading hickeys. She probably wanted me to talk about guys with her and get all giggly and excited, like the girls at school and my mom. But I’d never even kissed a boy, much less met a nice one—at least one who was nice to me. Not in person, anyway. She’d probably think that was weird too.

I stretched my lips into a smile and pointed at her neck. “Did Scott give you those?”

“Yeah. He’s kind of into the rough stuff.”

“Rough stuff?”

“You know—he likes to bite and stuff. But I’m a total masochist, so it’s all good.”

“Masochist” was the title of one of my favorite songs. I looked up the meaning once, and it baffled me. Why would someone enjoy pain? “Oh… I’m not.”

A toothy grin erased her dim expression. “I bet you have to fight guys off with a stick. You’re so pretty. Like a little pixie or something.”

I shrugged, running my fingers across the rough cement beneath us. “I thought I looked like a skinny frog.”

Naomi punched my shoulder. “Whatever. I could only dream of having an ass as small as yours.”

“You don’t have a big ass,” I said. “I’d tell you if you did.”

She laughed. “I know you would.”

A black mustang roared up the street, and the sinking feeling in my chest told me it was Scott. Sure enough, the car skidded in front of her house, tires squealing and all. I didn’t like show-offs.

Naomi squeezed my arm. “They’re here!”

The driver climbed out first, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He had shaggy blond hair and wore jeans a size too large. His friend tumbled out after him, laughing about something. He was dressed just like the driver, but was a bit shorter and had darker hair.

“What’s up?” The driver nodded at us. “Who’s she?” His light blue eyes fell from my face to my chest.

Naomi stood up to greet him, but I hovered behind her. “That’s Drea. I told you already.” She slapped his chest. “Drea, this is Scott.”

“Hey.” Scott nodded at me, his eyes still combing my body.

“Hi.” I looked at the ground, the sick feeling in my stomach almost unbearable.

“And I’m Roger.” His friend walked up to me and held out his hand. “Do you know the secret handshake?”

I backed away, keeping my eyes on the ground. “No.”

“That’s too bad. You can’t come with us until you know the secret shake.” Roger laughed.

“Don’t be a putz, Roger,” Scott said.

After Roger got into the car, Naomi mouthed “sorry” to me. I wanted to run back into the safety of my house.

Scott’s car reeked of stale cigarettes and something like burnt coffee. The sweltering leather seat gripped the backs of my thighs. Roger spread his legs apart until his knee was touching mine, making my muscles tense. I moved away, wishing I’d worn pants instead of the white skirt I’d made with safety pins and lace.

Scott wrapped his arm behind Naomi’s chair and jutted his chin at me. “So, you need to get paint or something?”

I turned away from his intense gaze. “Yeah. Home Depot is fine.”

“’Kay, I gotta make a stop first.”

Scott turned up a rap song, drowning out whatever Naomi said to him. I could see her frown in the passenger-side mirror. Scott shrugged in response and stomped on the accelerator. He seemed to enjoy gunning it every time we hit a green light or rounded a corner. My head was spinning by the time we merged onto the I-5 freeway.

Roger put one end of a green metal pipe between his lips and ran a lighter over the other end. His face turned red as he inhaled the smoke and held it in his lungs. I’d never watched a person get stoned before, unless movies counted.

He caught my eye and leaned into me. “You want some?” His hot breath on my ear made my palms sweat.

I shook my head and scooted closer to the window just as Scott exited the freeway.

“Put that shit away!” Scott glared at him in the rearview mirror. “There’s cops all over here.”

“You’re paranoid!” Roger yelled over the repetitive beat. Their shouting combined with the blaring rapper’s voice made me cover my ears.

Scott shot him the middle finger and sped up. His excessive speed was going to attract the police more than anything.

“I’ll be right back,” Scott said when we’d finally pulled up to a destination. We were in a dolled-up neighborhood with newer houses. The house Scott went into had a fancy glass design on the door and a yard full of rosebushes.

“Is this where he lives?” I asked.

Roger laughed. “Yeah, right.” He squinted at me with bloodshot eyes and a smirk. “You got a boyfriend?”

Before I could open my mouth, Naomi turned around and answered for me. “Yeah, and he’s the jealous type too.”

“Then why’d you tell Scott to bring a friend?”

Naomi bit her lip, and I tried to unglue my thighs from the seat. “I didn’t want her to feel like a third wheel.” She winked at me.

“He go to Samish?” he asked.

I nodded, not knowing what else to do.

His smile grew, showing off a crooked front tooth. “Cool, guess I get to meet him, then.”

Naomi squinted at him. “I didn’t know you went to Samish. I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m transferring from Blaine.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Why?”

“My dad got booked on possession again, so I had to move in with my aunt.”

“Bum deal.” She shifted forward when Scott opened the driver’s door and got back in. With red cheeks and a frown, he jammed the keys into the ignition and jerked the car away from the curb. Naomi kept stealing glances at him, chewing on her fingernails. Roger yanked his baseball cap over his eyes and slouched even farther into the seat. I wondered how I was going to explain my invisible boyfriend to him.

I didn’t realize how tense my chest was until we pulled into the Home Depot parking lot. The breath I was holding came out in almost a cough. Naomi had tried to comfort Scott several times, but he ignored her or shrugged her off. Either way—I was contemplating walking home. The only problem was figuring out which direction to head.

I stumbled out of the back after Naomi pushed her seat forward and ran into the store. A hand grabbed my shoulder as I searched the massive aisles for the paint section. “Hey, wait up,” Naomi said. “Roger is kinda gross, huh?”

I looked behind her for the guys, but they weren’t anywhere in sight. “They both are.”

“You don’t think Scott is cute at all?”

“Not particularly,” I said, keeping my eyes glued to the signs. “Guys like him are tornadoes—they shred everything in their path and then they disappear.” At least that was what happened to my mom every time she dated bad-boy types.

“Day-am, you got burned pretty bad, huh?” She pinched my arm. “Man, I can’t wait to hear all your crazy-boy stories.”

I walked faster and kept quiet. She sounded so excited. It would probably disappoint her that I had no crazy-boy stories of my own. And I liked that she found me interesting. It made the world seem brighter somehow, a little less alien. Besides, Mom said that giving people too much information, like the fact that I didn’t have any friends, would freak them out—that a little mystery would make me seem cooler, less clingy.

Mom was always giving me social advice. She used to write skits for my Barbies, and we’d spend hours pretending that plastic hunks with rubber legs were actual people. But I preferred using the dolls for other purposes, like putting them in the freezer to make Barbie ice cubes . It seemed like a fun idea at the time.