Harmonic Feedback

Her grin faded as she studied my face. “Duh. You’re real, you know?”

“Last time I checked.”

Naomi laughed and rested her head against my shoulder. It made me stiffen at first, but I relaxed as she spoke.

She told me about the cross-country roadtrip in her head. It involved a fast car with the top down. Didn’t matter what kind of car, just as long as it was black and fast. A guy with dark blue eyes and golden hair, not blond, would be driving. But he’d let her take the wheel at least half the time. They’d get lost in the mountains at least once and keep each other warm all night. And they’d take pictures of every cool moment. The trucker dives, the cheap motels, the scenery whizzing by—everything would be recorded forever.

“And when we fought,” she continued, “we’d have amazing make-up sex in the back seat.”

My body tensed at her words. That wasn’t something I wanted to picture.

“Then afterward,” she sighed, “we’d split a doobie and fall asleep under the stars—or on a rickety hotel bed. Whatever we could afford that night.”

“A doobie?”

“Yeah, yeah. No drugs for you, right?” She nudged me. “Little Miss Squeaky Clean.”

I looked away, clutching the cover underneath me. “Drugs don’t do for me what they do for you.”

“What’s your dream?” she asked.

“My dream?”

“Yeah, what is one thing you want to do before you die?”

I wanted to get through another day without being found out. I wanted Naomi and Justin to like me. I wanted to experience a real kiss and see those stars everyone talked about. “I’m pretty simple, really. I want to produce music and make it sound just the way I hear it. So many songs are missing that vibration, the kind that moves through my body and makes the world vivid. I want to see colors I never knew existed.”

She stared at me for a few seconds, running her finger along her mouth. “That’s exactly what I love about being high. I guess music is your drug of choice.”

I nodded and smiled. It was good to feel understood, even for just a moment.

After she left, I got back to work on my wah pedal. But my brain wouldn’t shut off enough to focus. I kept going over the whole afternoon with Naomi. How I could’ve acted cooler, more relaxed, like her. Words just flew out of her mouth. She didn’t have to think about what she said or make anything up. But I was constantly on edge, trying to cover my mistakes. I had to think about everything.

Keep my voice neutral. Sometimes people thought I was being snippy when I wasn’t. Remember to smile. Laugh when she laughs. Pretend to know about boys.

My entire body felt weak and my eyes scratchy. Trying to be normal was tiring. I sat in front of my computer and stared at the Google logo on my browser. I wondered what other people in my situation did.

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.