I yanked my arm out of her clutches. “I don’t know—”
“Please?” She stuck her lower lip out and widened her eyes.
This was my chance to have a friend. An actual, real-life friend. A chance to be one of the girls I used to watch at school. Sometimes it looked like they were having fun, but I never really got why. I still wanted to be part of it though. To feel normal—for even a day.
“Let me grab my box,” I said, but a sick feeling had settled in my stomach.
Grandma would have a heart attack if she saw the inside of Naomi’s house. If they had carpeting or a kitchen counter, I couldn’t find them. Papers, clothing covered in animal hair, and dirty dishes were strewn throughout the living room and kitchen. As we headed upstairs, I nearly tripped over a tuxedo cat with green eyes and a hoarse meow.
“Hi, Lizzie Wizzie!” Naomi picked up the cat like a baby and rubbed its head. She led me down a stuffy hallway to another set of stairs. “It’s in the attic.”
The attic was like a closet with a pointed ceiling. A black drum set made the centerpiece, and the walls were lined with various band posters. One poster was The Cure, a band I really liked, but most featured new and mainstream rock bands—the kind with autotuned vocals and overly compressed, superloud mixes. The high frequencies and distortion rattled me from the inside.
“You really need better taste in music, Naomi.” I sighed. Every guy on her wall had a forced pose, shaggy hair, and a pout. Why was the world so obsessed with sameness?
“I know, right? We get shit for radio stations up here. Hopefully, you can introduce me to some cool stuff.”
“I’ve got about eighty gigs of music in almost every genre. I’ll make you some CDs.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Whoa, you rock. Thanks!”
Naomi’s excitement was strange. Nobody liked hearing that their music taste sucked, and just about everyone thought I was a dork—hence nobody ever got to know me at previous schools.
Naomi sat behind the drums, and Lizzie the cat made a beeline for me. She plopped on my feet and looked up, rolling on her back. I expected her to claw me or do something sinister.
“Wow, she likes you. She never pays attention to anyone but me,” Naomi said. “You can pick her up, you know. She doesn’t bite.”
I peered down at the purring creature nudging its body into the toes of my black boots. “Um, I’ve never really held a cat.”
“Now, that’s just weird.” Naomi shook her head and tested a couple of the drums with her sticks. “Ready?”
When I nodded, she started pounding out a solo. Her rhythm was a little shaky, and she went a bit overboard a couple times, but I was impressed. She had a really creative approach to the drums, often going into little tangents here and there; it made my head spin—but in a good way. Lizzie appeared to be completely detached from the whole thing. I’d think most cats would run out of the room in terror, but she stared up at me like she was floating on a cloud. I bent down to pick her up, praying I didn’t hurt her in some way. She wiggled in my arms for a second before nuzzling her head under my chin, her entire body vibrating.
Naomi tossed her drumsticks on the floor and wiped her brow. “What do you think?”
“It was a little rough, but you’re really good.” Lizzie hopped out of my arms.
“I actually trust that coming from you. I know you won’t bullshit me.”
She gave Lizzie some food and water before we went out on the porch to wait for Scott. The temperature was on the warm side, but the cool breeze on my cheeks made it perfect.
Naomi plopped next to me and held out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?” She pressed the end of her cigarette into the flame of one of those flippy-top lighters.
I shook my head. “Does your dad know you smoke?”
She shrugged, making an O shape with her lips. Ringlike bands of smoke floated around her face. “One more day until school starts—ugh. You’re going to Samish, right?”
“I think that’s the name Mom said.” Now I had to ask her something. Small talk was like a game of Ping-Pong. People got offended if I didn’t keep hitting the ball back. “What year are you?”
“Junior.” She held the cigarette over her shoulder and tapped the edge. “You?”
“The same.”
A breeze blew her pigtail away from her neck, revealing a couple of fading hickeys. She probably wanted me to talk about guys with her and get all giggly and excited, like the girls at school and my mom. But I’d never even kissed a boy, much less met a nice one—at least one who was nice to me. Not in person, anyway. She’d probably think that was weird too.
I stretched my lips into a smile and pointed at her neck. “Did Scott give you those?”
“Yeah. He’s kind of into the rough stuff.”
“Rough stuff?”
“You know—he likes to bite and stuff. But I’m a total masochist, so it’s all good.”
“Masochist” was the title of one of my favorite songs. I looked up the meaning once, and it baffled me. Why would someone enjoy pain? “Oh… I’m not.”
A toothy grin erased her dim expression. “I bet you have to fight guys off with a stick. You’re so pretty. Like a little pixie or something.”
I shrugged, running my fingers across the rough cement beneath us. “I thought I looked like a skinny frog.”
Naomi punched my shoulder. “Whatever. I could only dream of having an ass as small as yours.”
