Harmonic Feedback

“Don’t start, Drea. He seems really sweet.”

“Of course he does. They all start off that way.”

“Who?” Grandma asked.

“Mom’s computer boyfriends.”

“Drea.” Mom squinted at me in the mirror.

“Computer boyfriends? Don’t you ever watch the news? A young woman was just found murdered near the border. And do you know who the prime suspect is?” Grandma poked Mom’s arm. The five- and six-o’clock news were her religion.

“I can’t imagine.” Mom shook her head.

“A man she met on her computer. And do you know what else they’re saying? People can get your social security number, your bank account information, and”—Grandma yanked on Mom’s elbow—“your address. They break into your computer and find all this.”

“Yeah, but it usually only happens to dumb people who respond to e-mail scams or download viruses,” I said.

“Viruses?” Grandma opened her mouth and closed it again.

“Anyway, he says they have a lot of vegetarian options, Drea,” Mom said as we pulled into a parking spot downtown.

Grandma gasped. “Juliana! We’re on Railroad Avenue.”

“So what?”

“Are you crazy? We’ll get mugged or killed. This is the worst part of town.”

Downtown Bellingham consisted of a few brick buildings and rotting Victorian contraptions. Most of the inhabitants were college students with rainbow-colored hair and grungy people with acoustic guitars and tin cans.

“This is nothing, Grandma. You should hang out in downtown Oakland sometime.”

“It’s fine.” Mom pointed across the street. “Look, there’s a couple pushing a stroller, and some kids playing in the fountain over there.”

“That’s where they keep the drugs.” Grandma lowered her voice and leaned toward Mom with wide eyes. “In the baby buggies.”

“Okay, how about laying off the news for a while, huh?” Mom snorted out a laugh and got out of the car.

Grandma’s sharp eyes didn’t miss an inch of Cafe Mars when we arrived after dropping off my new prescriptions. By the time the hostess offered to seat us, Grandma concluded that the place was run by misfits. After all, it lacked sticky booths and fake sugar at every table.

The hostess showed us to a narrow table with stiff metal chairs. Grandma scrunched up her face and held on to the back of the chair, inching her compact body into the seat.

A familiar laugh made me glance up from my menu, and I found myself looking straight into Justin’s eyes. Oh, God, no—of all places. He and Kari sat at a table in front of us, sipping milkshakes.

Kari looked over her shoulder and flashed me a quick smile. “Hi, Drea.”

I sucked in my breath, focusing on the colorful menu in front of me.

“Who’s that?” Mom whispered.

“Just someone from school,” I mumbled.

“Well, say hi back at least.”

“No,” I said through my teeth.

“Blue walls are for baby nurseries, not restaurants,” Grandma announced, scanning the room. “What kind of place is this, Juliana?”

Kari peeked over at Grandma and spun forward again, her back shaking with laughter. Justin stared at me, a half smile playing at his lips. I focused on my menu.

“Let’s not worry about the decor for a change, okay, Mom?”

“And why do they have someone’s trash all over their walls? That’s the last thing I want to see when I’m eating.”

Cafe Mars had records, photographs, magazine cutouts, antique toys, and even tires plastered to the walls. I’d been in a million places just like it in California—ever since Mom decided to go veggie.

“This can’t possibly be the menu. It looks like a child designed it, for Christ sake.” Grandma flipped it from side to side. “It’s not even written in English.”

Mom closed her eyes, sighing. “Yes, it is.”

“A chix salad? Chix?” She banged her knobby finger into the menu.

“It’s short for chicken.” Mom smirked. Truthfully, chix meant veggie chicken strips— as in soy. She’d failed to mention that Cafe Mars had an all-vegetarian menu.

“She’s going to know the difference,” I told Mom.

“The difference of what?” Grandma asked.

“It’s extra-lean meat here,” Mom said, giving me a warning look.