Harmonic Feedback

Naomi’s heart pounded against my chest, and her breaths were shallow. “I’m so jacked up, Drea,” she said. “I can’t even breathe.”

The guy stuffed the radio in his belt and held his hands up like a conductor. I stroked her hair, hoping it would calm her as it did me. “What did you take?” I asked. “Do you need a doctor?”

She sniffled into my ear. “No, I…” The growl of the cars drowned her voice out.

The conductor guy dropped his hands, and both cars skidded off, leaving us to choke on the stench of burnt rubber. The crowd shoved past us, shouting and hooting like a bunch of baboons in a cage.

Naomi’s breaths quickened, and I pulled her away from the street. She squatted in the darkness, chewing on her ring fingernail. “My heart won’t stop pounding, Drea. It won’t stop.”

I sat on the grassy roadside and winced as a cold wetness seeped into my ivory skirt. “Just sit down.”

“I can’t—I can’t sit. I can’t do anything.”

I reached for her hand and pulled her toward me. “Lay your head in my lap and close your eyes.” It was the only thing I could think of. Whenever a noise would bother me as a kid, Mom would tell me to lie in her lap. She’d sing to me or stroke my hair and talk about something that made us both laugh. Usually all the practical jokes she played on Grandma when she was little.

Naomi put the hoodie in my lap and rested on top of it. I ran my fingers through her damp hair, and she clenched her jaw.

The crowd’s cheers were off in the distance now. Someone had won, but I didn’t really care who. “You know what my mom did to my grandma once?”

“What?” she asked weakly.

“Grandma would always go on these cleaning rampages. Tear the whole house apart and put it back together again. And the whole time she’d be complaining about everything. Anyway, Mom decided to record her one time. Then she put this happy organ music to it—like the kind on a merry-go-round.”

“Oh my God—I can totally hear that.”

“She made a series of these things. Even gave them titles and stuff. “Mom and the Plunger,” “Mom’s Thoughts on Hairballs.” I could feel Naomi’s chest shake with laughter. Her breathing slowed some. “Then she wrapped them up and gave them to Grandma for a birthday present, telling her it was this old blues singer she loved. Well, they had some dinner guests over—neighbors mostly. Grandma puts it on, and the first thing everyone hears is her yelling about dirty sheets.”

“Your mom is awesome. Seriously, you’re really lucky.”

“Sometimes I don’t feel that way.” I let her hair sift between my fingertips.

“Everyone wishes they had different parents, I think. But at least you know she cares about you—like when she told you to keep the windows open tonight. That was cute.” She exhaled slowly. “I can’t even remember the last time my dad bothered to ask where I was going.”

“Do you guys ever eat together or watch TV?”

“I got him to watch the first five minutes of CSI a couple months ago. Then he fell asleep. It was easier when my brother was around—I had someone to share my misery with.”

“Where’s your brother now?”

“Who knows? Probably somewhere a lot more exciting than this place.” Naomi reached up and squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you.”

“It’s—” I was interrupted by what sounded like a herd of horses. People were running to their cars and slamming doors.

Naomi grabbed the hoodie and jumped up, her eyes darting around the street. “Shit, they must’ve heard something on the scanner. We gotta find Scott.”

Cars sped off in every direction as we jogged along the side of the road. I was sure at least one would end up hitting us. Naomi ran into the street just as a black Mustang approached us. It skidded to a stop, and she yanked the front door open.

“Hurry up!” Scott said.

I dove into the back seat, and Naomi barely had enough time to slam the door before Scott floored the gas.

Scott insisted on taking us back to his apartment. He claimed that he was beat, and our houses were too far. Even though they weren’t more than ten minutes away. Naomi didn’t put up much of a protest.

“Don’t worry—he’s got a comfy couch,” Naomi said as I got out of the car.

Scott headed upstairs to his apartment without speaking to either of us. Most of the ride here consisted of him bragging about winning the race, and Naomi nodding and staring out the window.

“I want to go home.” I checked the time on my cell. One thirty a.m. My mind was racing, but my body felt achy and weak. I needed sleep. “Maybe we can call Justin.”

She put her hands on my shoulders, grinding her teeth. “He’s probably asleep. Look, I need to talk to Scott for a few minutes, and then I’ll see if I can get us a ride. Roger is probably still up.”

I followed her up the cracked steps to Scott’s apartment. Naomi pushed the door open and let me in first. A gigantic flat-screen TV with massive speakers sat opposite a black leather couch. The kitchen bar was lined with bottles of wine and hard liquor. He even had art hanging on the walls—which struck me as odd. The apartment complex itself was pretty ghetto. The kind Mom and I could only stay in for so long.

“Nice digs, right?” Naomi smirked.

“How does he afford all this?”

She raised her eyebrows. “How do you think?”