Harmonic Feedback

Asperger’s is an autism spectrum disorder, which makes most people think of the guy in that Rain Man movie. But I’m nothing like him. I don’t go ballistic in airports, and I know better than to tell anyone I’m an excellent driver. After all, I’ve failed six driving tests.

All I know is I make sense to me—it’s other people who seem complicated.

I WOKE UP the next morning to the sound of raised voices upstairs. It was like Mom and Grandma never left the kitchen. The sun streamed through the narrow window above my bed, telling me it was still rising and therefore too early. My body felt heavy and achy—the way it always did when I skipped a day of meds. It would be nice to go a day without needing to give in. But the withdrawal effects were unbearable, especially the little electrical zaps in my head.

I stretched and climbed the stairs, tuning in to their conversation.

“Give them to me!” Grandma hollered.

“Why are you putting them in a margarine bottle?”

“So they’re all in one place and they can’t get any air.”

“Oh. Okay,” Mom said. There was a rustle of bags.

“Not in the garbage!”

“Why are you saving them, Mom? It’s not healthy.”

“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.”