Harmonic Feedback

by Tara Kelly

  I typed in the words and bit my lip. Asperger’s community. Maybe there was nobody who completely understood. But I had to find out.

  I found a link to a message board that had many different sections, one being relationships. A thread called Friendship with an NT caught my eye, so I clicked on the heading and scanned the page. Apparently, NT stood for neurotypical, which was a term that referred to the so-called neurologically normal. I liked the second half of the word—typical. Some of the things people said about NTs made me nod and smile, especially when they talked about how an NT could be obsessive too. Why was it considered normal for a girl to live for fashion and makeup, but not car engines or bugs? And what about sports fanatics? My mom had a boyfriend who would flip out if he missed even a minute of a football game. Wouldn’t that be what doctors considered autistic behavior?

  My eyes caught the topic Coming Out. I clicked on the link, skimming the post.

  I told my NT friend about me yesterday. Now she’s asking a million questions. She keeps adding “do you understand?” at the end of her sentences. I told her I was the same person she met three months ago. She said she knows, but wants to make sure I get everything she says. And if I don’t, to tell her. I hate it. I hate that she treats me like a completely different person.

  I let my breath out slowly. Not what I wanted to read.

  Naomi decided to blow off our band practice for Scott on Friday, leaving Justin and me alone in the parking lot. This sucked, since Justin had offered to help us move her drum set to my basement.

  “Maybe I should give you those driving lessons instead,” he said.

  “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He opened the door for me. I was beginning to savor the earthy smell of his seats. “Why? Can’t drive a stick?”

  “Um—I have issues with the gas and the brake.”

  He smirked and pushed the door shut. This was the fourth time he’d given me a ride home. But Naomi was with us the last two times. She usually did most of the talking.

  Justin slid into his seat, still grinning. “Does your mom drive an automatic?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Would she let us borrow her car?”

  “Possibly, if we stay in a very empty parking lot. She said that’s the only way she’d get in a car with me.”

  He scrunched up his face and started the engine. “Ouch.”

  I was beginning to enjoy driving down Holly Street and watching all the people milling around on the sidewalks. Shopping bags, dreadlocks, grins, steaming coffee cups, and “give me money” signs—all of it streamed by like a peep show into another world. “We could work on a song. Naomi can do the vox later,” I said.

  “I’ll drop you at home so you can prepare yourself for a grueling driving lesson.” He looked over at me as we stopped at a red light. “Then I’ll run back to my place and get my keyboard. We’ll jam later.”

  “We can go to your place now.” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t need time to prepare.”

  “Nah, I live in the opposite direction. Take a shower or something—I’ll be back in no time.”

  I tilted my head to sniff my armpits. Did I remember to put deodorant on this morning? “I want to see your Bösendorfer.”

  “You will one of these days.” He shifted down and bit his lip. “My house is kind of a mess right now.” We made a right onto my street a little faster than necessary.

  I pushed the door open after he pulled up to the curb. “See you in a bit, then?”

  He winked. “Give me ten minutes.”

  I was going to head straight for the shower. Maybe he was hinting at something. People did that.

  But Mom greeted me at the front door. “Your friend has a nice car.”

  “I guess.” I pushed past her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Bathroom,” I said, picking up speed. “He’ll be back—we’re going to work on our film project.”

  “I see.”

  I looked over my shoulder and cringed at the grin on her face. It was like she knew exactly how I felt around him. She’d always told me that it would happen. One of these days, some lucky boy is going to give you butterflies in your stomach. Just wait. I’d told her to keep dreaming.

  Warm rays of water trickled down my neck a few minutes later. Part of me couldn’t help but think what if—what if Naomi was right and Justin wanted me? I’d think he would’ve told me or asked me out at least. Maybe Naomi was wrong. She was definitely wrong about Scott.

  By the time I got out of the shower, Justin was sitting at the kitchen table with Mom. Just great.

  “What are you guys talking about?”

  Mom gave me that knowing smile again. “I was going over the rules with your driver’s ed instructor here.”

  I glanced from her to Justin. He smiled at me like nothing was different, but I never did pick up on subtle body language. For all I knew, she had told him all about my refusal to take baths when I was younger. “You’re letting us borrow your car?” I asked Mom.

  She nodded.

  Justin downed the glass of water in front of him and drummed his hands against the table.

  “Can we go now?” I didn’t want to give Mom the chance to say anything more to him.

  “Sure,” Mom said. “And you’re welcome.”

  I looked away. “Thank you.…”

  “Be careful. Pay attention to what he says.” She stood up and tried to give me a hug.

  I pulled away from her. “Mom, please.”

  I studied Justin’s face after we got into the car. He handled her keys like they might break and carefully turned the ignition.

  “What did my mom say to you?”

  He gave me a sidelong glance. That dimple appeared on his left cheek. “She showed me some of your baby pictures. There was one with cake all over your face and one with bubbles on your head in the tub. Too cute.”

  “What?” If I had a picture with bubbles on my head, it needed to be destroyed immediately.

  He backed out of the driveway and chuckled. “I’m kidding. She told me to stick to parking lots only and to bring her car back in one piece.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “Why? Is there something she should’ve told me?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “No. She says stupid stuff sometimes, that’s all.” I looked out the window. We were heading uphill toward the freeway.

  “She worries a lot, huh?”

  “Did your mom freak out over letting you drive?”

  Justin didn’t look at me this time. He focused on the car in front of us. “I’m sure she would’ve.”

  “Would’ve?”

  We pulled up to a red light. “She died when I was twelve.”

  My mouth fell open to speak, but I didn’t know what to say. The only person I knew who died was my grandfather, and I knew him as the guy who sat in a wheelchair and wore diapers. I didn’t depend on him or talk to him every day like I did Mom. “Why? I mean, how—what happened?”

  “Lung cancer—and no, she didn’t smoke.” He drummed the steering wheel, still not looking at me.

  Sometimes I avoided eye contact when I didn’t know how to answer a question. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about his mom, like Naomi didn’t want to talk about hers. “Where are you taking me?”

  A little smile played at his lips. “You’ll see.”

  We headed south toward the mountains. Trees lined every inch of the highway. Some of the leaves were fading into shades of orange and yellow. Justin slowed as we neared a sign that read lake padden.

  “There’s a trail that goes around the lake. It’s really pretty,” he said.

  Walls of evergreens sheltered the parking lot we pulled into. A baseball diamond and tennis court sat in front of an oblong lake. The water resembled glass under the low clouds.

  Justin got out of the driver’s side to switch with me, but my legs froze. I couldn’t tell my left from my right when I got nervous. Sometimes
I’d start laughing or I’d go into a full-blown panic attack. I’d failed all six driving tests within the first five minutes.

  He held the door open for me, a comforting smile on his face.

  “Maybe we can go for a walk instead?” I suggested.

  “You can do this. Now scoot over or I’ll sit on your lap.”

  Before I could protest, he gripped the edges of the seat and moved toward me. Our faces were inches apart. He had gold flecks in his eyes. They were like spots of color in a black-and-white photograph.

  “I mean it,” he whispered.

  I lifted my shaking limbs over the shifter and settled into the driver’s seat.

  After we got the car home, miraculously in one piece, Justin deemed me a parking lot master. He’d made me park and back out what seemed like a billion times—then he had me do something called a donut. That was fun at least.

  We went down to the basement so Justin could rerecord the piano part to our first song. Naomi had decided to call it “Invisible.”

  “I think you’re ready to cruise the neighborhood,” Justin said, setting up his keyboard.

  I shook my head at him, a laugh escaping my lips. “Weirdo.”

  “I stockpile my cheesy lines just for you.” He smirked and sat down in front of his keyboard. “I’m ready when you are.”

  I created a new track in Logic and hit record. “Go ahead.”

  Justin dove right in, playing softly at first. I closed my eyes and allowed the melody to wash over my skin. Good music was something I could feel from head to toe. It calmed me, made me feel safe. I wouldn’t have minded if he wanted to do a hundred takes. But he settled for three.

  “I thought up a good band name,” I said when he finished. “M3—like your car. Since there’s three of us and stuff.”

  “It’s simple. I like it.” Justin picked up his chair and moved it next to me. “Naomi better finish the vocals. This song is going to be incredible.”

  “We should make a band page on MySpace and some other music sites. I belong to this indie music site called Slip Music. It’s a really supportive community.”

  “I’m game.” He nudged me and motioned to my computer screen. “So what do you do in Logic? Show me how a producer works.”

  I smiled—if there was one thing I had no problems talking about, it was music production and synthesis. I soloed Naomi’s vocals and explained how I’d go about making them sound better. “In this case I added reverb to the track—gives it more space. And then I added some delay, but automated it to only work on certain words.”

  Justin leaned in. The heat from his body made the hairs on my arm stand up. “I like that. It adds a lot of depth to her voice.”

  I clicked on the guitar track with a shaky finger. “There’s this program called Guitar Rig, which is like a virtual guitar studio. I can approximate most guitar sounds with it, but nothing beats playing through a loud amp.”

  “Cool.” His voice was soft, but inches from my ear.

  My breath quickened. I moved on to how I created synths. “I see sounds in colors, and oscillators are like my primary colors. I start mixing them together, then I add a filter or two and get the core sound. Effects, LFOs, and modulation matrixes—”

  “Drea”—he put his hand on my arm—“you lost me.”

  “Oh, sorry. Sometimes I get started and can’t shut up.” Another laugh escaped my mouth.

  “Hey.” He touched my cheek, running his fingers along my jawline.

  A shiver ran down my back. I hoped my breath didn’t smell like the Doritos I ate after PE. Mom always carried a pack of gum on dates.

  He dropped his hand and smiled. “I think you’re pretty damn amazing, regardless.”

  “Oh, um…” My knee slammed against my keyboard. “Thanks.”

  His lips parted as if he wanted to say something else.

  “So…,” I said.

  Justin stood up, looking at the staircase. “I need to take off. Thanks for the mini lesson though. I enjoyed it.”

  The air suddenly felt cold around me, and my shoulders sagged. I got up and tried my best to smile at him.

  Without warning, he wrapped his arms around my waist. I sucked in my breath, nuzzling my head against his chest. His thermal smelled sweet, like fabric softener.

  “Have fun this weekend.” His lips brushed against my ear.

  “You too.” I tightened my grip, not wanting to let go.

  “See ya.” He pulled away and headed up the stairs—two steps at a time.

  EVEN GRANDMA COULDN’T STOP ME from smiling Saturday morning. I devoured the grainy cereal she’d put in front of me and thought about Justin—how he made me feel.

  Grandma looked at my empty bowl, her eyebrows pinched together. She pointed to the pink capsule she’d set next to my food: my SNRI. “You haven’t taken that yet.”

  I put the pill in my mouth, choking it down with water.

  She narrowed her hazel eyes at me. “That helping you any?”

  “I don’t know. I just started taking it.” I took my bowl and put it in the sink.

  “What’s it supposed to do?”

  “Make me less anxious and depressed. But most of them just make me tired.”

  “I’m going to start assigning you chores, Andrea. My back isn’t as good as it used to be. Maybe that’ll wake you up.”

  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: