Harmonic Feedback

HARMONIC

FEEDBACK

TARA KELLY

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY

NEW YORK

Henry Holt and Company, LLC

Publishers since 1866

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, New York 10010

www.HenryHoltKids.comHenry Holt^® is a registered trademark of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.

Copyright © 2010 by Tara Kelly

All rights reserved.

Distributed in Canada by H. B. Fenn and Company Ltd.Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Kelly, Tara.

Harmonic feedback / Tara Kelly.—1st ed.

p. cm.

Summary: When Drea and her mother move in with her grandmother in Bellingham, Washington, the sixteen-year-old finds that she can have real friends, in spite of her Asperger’s, and that even when you love someone it does not make life perfect.

ISBN 978-0-8050-9010-9

[1. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 2. Emotional problems—Fiction. 3. Self-perception—Fiction. 4. Asperger’s syndrome—Fiction. 5. Drug abuse—Fiction. 6. Rock music—Fiction. 7. Bellingham (Wash.)—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.K2984Har 2010

[Fic]—dc222009024150First Edition—2010

Printed in the United States of America1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

ONE IN THIRTY-EIGHT. Bet on a single number in roulette, and those are the odds of winning. Getting struck by lightning is a little more difficult—one in seven hundred thousand. Winning the lottery? Forget it.

But the odds of me ending up homeless were pretty good. Moving in with Grandma Horvath was Mom’s worst idea yet.

“It’s beautiful here, don’t you think?” Mom asked, cutting the engine.

I shrugged and looked out the passenger window at Grandma’s house, a turn-of-the-century shack the color of pea soup. My initial impression of Washington was simple—they had trees here. And as far as I could see, that was about it.

I pushed open the squeaky door of Mom’s Toyota Corolla. It was late August, and we’d just driven the 896 miles from San Francisco to Bellingham with a broken air conditioner. Even my toes were sweaty.

“It’s past six,” Grandma Horvath called out to Mom as she scurried out the front door. “You said you’d be here before five.” I hadn’t seen her for five years, but she looked exactly the same—frizzy gray hair, sharp eyes, and a pointy mouth smeared with her favorite pink lipstick.

“I’m sorry. We got caught in rush-hour traffic.” Mom gave her a quick embrace.

“And you couldn’t use that mobile phone you waste your money on?” Grandma pulled back, taking in Mom’s outfit. “You’re too old to be wearing such revealing shirts.”

Mom ducked away and opened the back of the trailer we’d towed. “My battery died back in Portland.”

“Andrea, give me a kiss.” Grandma’s wedding ring scratched my arm as she pecked my cheek, and I cringed because she smelled like perfume in a public bathroom.

“My name is Drea.”

“That’s not what your birth certificate says.” She reached for my blue lunch box. “What does someone your age need a lunch box for?”

I shoved it behind my back. “It’s my purse. Don’t touch it.”

Grandma made a clucking sound with her tongue and joined Mom at the back of the trailer. “My neighbor recommended a good doctor for Andrea’s behavior problems.”

“What about your behavior problems, Grandma?”

“Drea, please.” Mom rubbed her temples, which meant another migraine was coming on.

Grandma’s lips formed a thin line. “You spoiled her, Juliana.” She turned on her heel and walked away. Her shoulders were nearly up to her ears by the time she got to the porch.

I’d promised Mom I’d be good. Ignore her, she said. It will make our stay a lot more peaceful, and we’ve got nowhere else to go right now. Did we ever? We always found somewhere, though; Mom either moved in with a guy or managed to stay at a job longer than six months. Even living with her last boyfriend was a step up from Grandma Horvath. He stole my razors to shave his chest and obsessed over his twenty-nine-inch waist, but Mom dated all kinds of guys. The one thing they had in common was they went away—whether they left her or we left them.

“Did you take your meds?” I knew Mom’s eyes were narrow behind her shades. She did this squinty thing when she asked a question I didn’t like.

“Nope. I don’t feel like being a zombie today.”

“Yeah, well.” Mom set my acoustic guitar case on the ground. “You’d feel a lot better if you took them every day like you’re supposed to.”

I opened my lunch box and grabbed one of three orange bottles. “This is speed in a bottle.”

“It gets you to think before you speak. I call that a miracle in a bottle.” She tied her wavy blond hair into a ponytail, but strands stuck to her neck.

“You can’t fix everything with pills.”

Mom held her hand up, fingers spread wide. Her stop sign. “I’m not getting into this right now, Drea.”

“You never want to get into it.”

Mom sighed and put her hand on my cheek. “I know you’re mad, baby. But we’re stuck until I find a job.” She nodded toward Grandma’s house. “And Grandma is helping us out a lot. Medi-Cal won’t cover us up here. She’s offered to pay for your doctor visits and meds for now. So, please, please don’t antagonize her, okay?”

“She talks to you like you’re five.”

Mom rubbed her temples. “She’s difficult—yes—but she means well.”

“Living out of your old pickup truck was better than this.”

Mom smirked and handed me a box of effect pedals for my guitar. “Oh, yeah? Do you miss Cheetos that much?”

My stomach turned at just the thought. Mom decided to go to some campground in California once where the only sign of life was a dirty gas station. I lived on cherry cola and ninety-nine-cent bags of Cheetos because I didn’t trust anything there that didn’t come in a sealed bag or bottle.

“I’m going to take these in,” I said, right before colliding with a strange girl standing behind me.

She looked about my age but stood a couple inches taller. Judging from the band on her T-shirt, she had horrible taste in music. “Hi, you’re Andrea, right?”

“It’s Drea.”

Mom heaved a sigh behind me. She thought I was being rude when I didn’t offer a bubbly hello and plaster a big smile on my face. Strangers made me nervous; I always ended up saying too much or too little.

The girl grinned even wider, and her blue eyes sparkled despite the dark eye shadow around them. “I’m Naomi. I live in that light blue matchbox across the street.” She nodded to an aging house with an overgrown yard. “My dad sent me over to ask if you needed any help.”

“Definitely. Thanks for offering.” Mom smiled and held out her hand to Naomi. “I’m Juli. It’s nice to meet you.”

Naomi tucked a lock of tangled purple hair behind her ear, revealing a skull stud. “You too.” She glanced back at me, her eyes falling on my guitar case. “Dude, you play guitar?”

“Yes.” I played a mean rhythm, but processing and manipulating sound through my computer was my passion. Unfortunately, most people didn’t understand the concept of sound design. Mom told me not to bring it up unless someone asked.

Naomi grabbed a box and followed me into the house. I caught a whiff of something that smelled like boiled cabbage and potpourri. “Don’t ask me what that smell is because I have no clue,” I said over my shoulder, heading downstairs to the basement.

Naomi giggled. “It’s cool. You should see it when my dad tries to make egg salad. He burns the eggs every time, and our house smells like a sewer for a week.”

I yanked the lightbulb cord so we didn’t trip over anything. The basement reeked of mildew, but it was roomy and dark. Just the way I liked it. “My grandma thinks liver and mustard sandwiches with boiled milk make a tasty dinner.”

Naomi wrinkled her nose at me. “Boiled milk, for real?”

I set my guitar case and box of effect pedals on the floor. “Yeah, it gets this layer on top that looks like crusty skin and—”

“Stop!” She winced. “Where do I put this?”

I motioned for her to put it next to the stuff I set down and tried to imagine how the basement would look once I made it mine. Lime-green walls, purple Christmas lights strung around like ivy, and my small collection of instruments circling the bed. Sure, Grandma would have a fit—but it would be after the fact. Sometimes it paid off to be a night owl.

Naomi chewed on her thumbnail. Bits of turquoise nail polish flaked off into her mouth. “My brother left me his old drum set when he took off last year. I’ve been dying for someone to jam with. We should start a band or something.” She pulled a strip of polish from her tongue.

“Do they have edible nail polish now?” I asked. The thought of playing with other people terrified me. It was hard enough collaborating with other people online where we just sent files back and forth.

Naomi peered down at her frayed shoes, cramming her hands in the pockets of her gray cords. “I kinda forgot I had it on, but it’s no biggie. I’ve ingested worse.”

“Like what? Paint thinner?”

She let out a laugh and looked up at me. “You don’t screw around, do you? Most girls are all fake and shady.”

“People are fake in general.” I headed back up the stairs and Naomi followed.

“I guess you’d know better than me. I’ve never lived anywhere but Bellingham. Did you grow up in San Francisco?”

I held open the front door and waved her outside. “No, we just lived there for the last two years—which is a record. We’ve covered every major city in California, plus Vegas, Denver, Salt Lake City, and—”

“Bellingham must be a big change.” She nibbled on her ring fingernail this time.

“You have no idea.”

In my sixteen years on earth, we’d never lived more than a thirty-minute drive from a big city. Urban chaos was intense stimulation for a mind that didn’t have an off switch—jarring sirens, drunk people fighting with their lovers on cell phones, six-inch robo-heels chasing the bus, and the scent of piss on newspaper. Watching humans on any downtown street corner was no different than watching a group of sea lions fight over that perfect spot at SeaWorld.

Naomi stuck around and helped us with the rest of the furniture and boxes. Luckily, we had learned early on that the less we kept, the easier the moves got. Mom sold her bed back in San Francisco because she knew Grandma would insist she use the bed in the guest room.

After we shoved my mattress down the stairs, Naomi leaned against a wooden beam and watched as I opened my guitar cases and put the guitars on their rightful stands.

“So you never answered my question about starting a band.…”

“Music is something I’ve always done alone. And we don’t even know each other.”

“What—you don’t think I can play anything?”

I turned to face her. “If I thought that, I’d say that.”

“You just look at me like I’m stupid or something. But it’s fine. Whatever.” She grinned, making it impossible to tell if she was serious or not.

What was with people and their obsession with looks? Sometimes I was in a bad mood. It wasn’t personal.

I unpacked my didgeridoo and laid it across the mattress.

She came up behind me. “What the hell is that? It looks like a funky telescope.”

“A didgeridoo. My mom brought it back for me when she went to Australia with her last boyfriend.”

Naomi picked it up and stroked the tribal etchings. “How do I play it?”

“Just blow into it, but keep your lips relaxed.”

She pulled it to her mouth and snickered. “This would make a great bong.”

“Okay.” Being a loner most of my life, I wasn’t too up on the party scene. Sure, there were drugs on every campus and the girls who got stoned and popped little pills in the bathroom, but I never talked to them. The last real friend I had was a boy named Adam in the fourth grade. We’d reenact our favorite movie, The Terminator, on the monkey bars every morning at recess. He wanted to be Sarah Connor, and I preferred being the Terminator, so it worked out.

“I bet you got the good shit in California.” She blew into the mouthpiece, but the only sound was her breath.

“Pretend you’re doing a raspberry.”

Her second attempt was even worse. “Oh, man, I think more spit than air came out that time.” She shoved the didgeridoo at me. “Show me how it’s done.”

“I think I’ll wait till it dries first.” I put it back on the mattress, taking note to clean it later. I was the messiest person on earth, but saliva, snot, and other bodily fluids made me want to bathe in sanitizer.

“Drea!” Mom called from upstairs. “Dinner’s ready.”

Naomi looked in the direction of Mom’s voice and smiled. “Your mom is really pretty. You look a lot like her.”

This was news to me. We were both about five-two, but that was where our physical likeness ended. My curly hair was the color of a penny—too orange in my opinion, and my freckles were a little too dark on my pale skin. Nothing like Mom’s golden complexion. With oversized green eyes, I got called names like frog girl and leprechaun. Nobody ever called Mom that.

“Well”—I looked away—“I guess I have to eat dinner now.” Grandma embarrassed me enough without an audience. I didn’t want the first potential friend I’d made in years to hear all about my “behavior problems” over whatever monstrosity Grandma had cooked up. And even if Grandma didn’t bring it up, Mom would. She loved to tell everyone about my issues.

Naomi raised her eyebrows at me, smirking. “It’s cool. You don’t have to invite me. Your grandma kinda scares me anyway.” She headed up the stairs. “You should come by my house one of these days. I can show you my drum kit.”

“Where can I get green paint?”

Naomi stopped on the second to top step and spun around. “What?”

“I want to paint the basement this weekend. Is there any place in town that—”

“Drea,” she interrupted, “we might be close, but we aren’t in the North Pole. There are stores here, like Home Depot. Come by tomorrow and I’ll take you.” She waved and left.

I stared at the empty doorway, wondering why this near stranger was being so helpful. Did she really want me to drop by tomorrow? Or was it like saying call me without meaning it? A therapist told me that people said these things to be polite but their invitation wasn’t always sincere, which made no sense. Why invite someone if you didn’t want that person to show up?

Like the first day of seventh grade. I’d never forget that. These two girls asked me to eat lunch with them, and I felt this surge of excitement run through my body. I couldn’t stop laughing or smiling, even after they kept asking what was funny. But I’d calmed down after a few minutes, and we had what I thought was a good conversation. I started telling them all about my favorite car, the McLaren F1—how it was the fastest in the world. And they seemed interested enough.

I sat with them every day that week, but they talked to me less and less. Finally, one girl rolled her eyes. “God, Drea, can’t you take a hint?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

She exchanged this glance with her friend, and they giggled. “Why do you keep sitting here?”

I remember my stomach tightening up in these knots. “You invited me.…”

“Yeah, once. We didn’t know you’d be such a clingy freak.”

My face felt hot, and my breath quickened. A response didn’t come to me, not words anyway. I just wanted to stop them—their shrill laughs and wide, amused eyes. I grabbed a handful of red Jell-O off my plate and hurled it at their laughing faces. This got me cleanup duty and a note sent home for Mom to sign.

Mom didn’t yell, though—her eyes looked sad. She hugged me and said it was never good to seem too anxious for friends. Neediness scared people. That an invitation wasn’t always an offer for friendship, and I’d overstayed my welcome.

I never wanted to feel that level of embarrassment again.

Grandma eyeballed the forkful of boiled cabbage and onions I pushed around on my plate. The smell alone was setting off my gag reflex.

“You need to put on some weight,” Grandma said.

As if I could help the fact that I was lucky to break a hundred pounds in winter clothing. I never got why so many people prayed for a fast metabolism. It was annoying when everyone accused me of being anorexic.

“Well, boiled vegetables aren’t going to help. Got any ice cream that isn’t sugar free and coffee flavored?” When Grandma was diagnosed with diabetes, her taste in food got exponentially worse.

She nodded at Mom. “Juliana was picky too. I’d find pork chops and broccoli stuffed in the crevices under the table. Sometimes she’d try to leave the kitchen with lumpy socks.”

Mom scrunched up her nose. “I had to vomit on my plate before she believed the pork chops actually made me sick.”

Grandma shook her head and swallowed a bite of mushy carrots. “My father would’ve beat me black and blue if I did that. Nobody could afford to be picky during the Depression.” The only response heard was the scraping of our forks against the plates. Neither of us wanted to get Grandma started on her “When I was a little girl…” tangent.

Grandma twirled noodles around her fork, her eyes growing softer. “George loved pork chops.” An image of Grandpa’s white hair and big smile flickered through my mind. He suffered brain damage from a massive heart attack the year before I was born. Even so, he always beat me at Old Maid.

Mom patted her hand. “I know.”

Grandma took care of him for twelve years—changing diapers, spoon feeding, bathing, and everything else in between. He died of pneumonia five years ago, and she still hadn’t forgiven herself.

“Was that Naomi Quinn I saw here earlier?” Grandma asked, picking up a crumb that had fallen off her plate. I didn’t even know how she could find it on a table painted with gold glitter. Between the Tiffany lamps, TV with bunny ears, and earthy color scheme, this house was stuck in the dinosaur age.

“Yeah, she helped us move all our stuff. Sweet girl,” Mom said, poking at the cabbage with her fork.

My stomach growled for In-N-Out Burger. Their fries had the right amount of crispness on the outside.

Grandma shook her head, frowning. “Her father is never home. And every time I look out my window, she’s out there smoking. With boys.” Her hazel eyes widened at Mom.

Mom chuckled into her cup of water. “Oh, no. Boys.”

Grandma got up and rinsed her plate in the sink. “You should stay clear of her, Andrea. She’s trouble.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Drea is about as interested in boys as you are. I don’t see her bringing one home anytime soon.” She winked at me. “But it would be nice.” If I’d learned anything from her, it was that boys were to be avoided. I certainly didn’t want the roof over my head to be dependent on one.

“Good, she should be spending time on her schoolwork.” Grandma wrung out a sponge. “Not running around with boys like you did.”

“That hasn’t changed,” I said.

Mom nudged my shoulder before joining Grandma at the sink. “I’ll take care of the dishes. Go relax.”

“Just give them to me.” Grandma yanked the plate from Mom’s grasp and returned to scrubbing a saucepan.

I got up to put my plate in the sink, but Grandma snatched it before I could. “It’s terrible the way you both waste food. Just terrible.”

“Then make better food,” I said.

She dropped the sponge and gaped at me openmouthed. I didn’t see what the big deal was; she said blunt crap all the time.

“Drea!” Mom’s dark eyes tore into mine before she turned to Grandma. “It’s been a really long day, and she didn’t take her medication.”

“I’m so sick of you saying that to everyone. Are little blue pills the only way I can be taken seriously?”

“Calm down, baby. I’m just saying—” Mom reached for me, but I pulled away.

“I’m not a migraine you can cure with one of your pain pills.” I left the kitchen before she could say anything else.

Between Mom’s kaleidoscope of boyfriends and the dozens of head doctors she forced me to see, I could write a book about psychological disorders. The doctors always threw around the term social awareness, basically saying I needed more of it. They pinned me with ADHD, a.k.a. Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder, when I was in kindergarten, mostly because I preferred coloring and banging on a xylophone to story time and the stupid games the teacher made me play. As if anyone liked being forced to do something. How was that abnormal?

One time I told the doctors about Mom stomping around and cussing whenever she had a big bill to pay and asked them if she had ADHD too. Mom didn’t like that much. She made me promise not to say anything like that again. I asked her why for a month straight, but she never gave me a real answer.

It wasn’t until junior high, the third day of seventh grade to be exact, that one doctor suspected Asperger’s syndrome. Mom wasn’t convinced, so she got a second opinion—that doctor didn’t agree. He said I had bipolar disorder. Mom didn’t agree with that either. She made me take ridiculous tests and got seven more opinions, the last one from a doctor in San Francisco a teacher recommended. In the fall of my freshman year, that doctor also labeled me with Asperger’s syndrome, but he said I displayed only mild symptoms and I’d “learned to cope well,” whatever that meant.

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.”

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.”

“You don’t have a big ass,” I said. “I’d tell you if you did.”

She laughed. “I know you would.”

A black mustang roared up the street, and the sinking feeling in my chest told me it was Scott. Sure enough, the car skidded in front of her house, tires squealing and all. I didn’t like show-offs.

Naomi squeezed my arm. “They’re here!”

The driver climbed out first, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He had shaggy blond hair and wore jeans a size too large. His friend tumbled out after him, laughing about something. He was dressed just like the driver, but was a bit shorter and had darker hair.

“What’s up?” The driver nodded at us. “Who’s she?” His light blue eyes fell from my face to my chest.

Naomi stood up to greet him, but I hovered behind her. “That’s Drea. I told you already.” She slapped his chest. “Drea, this is Scott.”

“Hey.” Scott nodded at me, his eyes still combing my body.

“Hi.” I looked at the ground, the sick feeling in my stomach almost unbearable.

“And I’m Roger.” His friend walked up to me and held out his hand. “Do you know the secret handshake?”

I backed away, keeping my eyes on the ground. “No.”

“That’s too bad. You can’t come with us until you know the secret shake.” Roger laughed.

“Don’t be a putz, Roger,” Scott said.

After Roger got into the car, Naomi mouthed “sorry” to me. I wanted to run back into the safety of my house.

Scott’s car reeked of stale cigarettes and something like burnt coffee. The sweltering leather seat gripped the backs of my thighs. Roger spread his legs apart until his knee was touching mine, making my muscles tense. I moved away, wishing I’d worn pants instead of the white skirt I’d made with safety pins and lace.

Scott wrapped his arm behind Naomi’s chair and jutted his chin at me. “So, you need to get paint or something?”

I turned away from his intense gaze. “Yeah. Home Depot is fine.”

“’Kay, I gotta make a stop first.”

Scott turned up a rap song, drowning out whatever Naomi said to him. I could see her frown in the passenger-side mirror. Scott shrugged in response and stomped on the accelerator. He seemed to enjoy gunning it every time we hit a green light or rounded a corner. My head was spinning by the time we merged onto the I-5 freeway.

Roger put one end of a green metal pipe between his lips and ran a lighter over the other end. His face turned red as he inhaled the smoke and held it in his lungs. I’d never watched a person get stoned before, unless movies counted.

He caught my eye and leaned into me. “You want some?” His hot breath on my ear made my palms sweat.

I shook my head and scooted closer to the window just as Scott exited the freeway.

“Put that shit away!” Scott glared at him in the rearview mirror. “There’s cops all over here.”

“You’re paranoid!” Roger yelled over the repetitive beat. Their shouting combined with the blaring rapper’s voice made me cover my ears.

Scott shot him the middle finger and sped up. His excessive speed was going to attract the police more than anything.

“I’ll be right back,” Scott said when we’d finally pulled up to a destination. We were in a dolled-up neighborhood with newer houses. The house Scott went into had a fancy glass design on the door and a yard full of rosebushes.

“Is this where he lives?” I asked.

Roger laughed. “Yeah, right.” He squinted at me with bloodshot eyes and a smirk. “You got a boyfriend?”

Before I could open my mouth, Naomi turned around and answered for me. “Yeah, and he’s the jealous type too.”

“Then why’d you tell Scott to bring a friend?”

Naomi bit her lip, and I tried to unglue my thighs from the seat. “I didn’t want her to feel like a third wheel.” She winked at me.

“He go to Samish?” he asked.

I nodded, not knowing what else to do.

His smile grew, showing off a crooked front tooth. “Cool, guess I get to meet him, then.”

Naomi squinted at him. “I didn’t know you went to Samish. I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m transferring from Blaine.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Why?”

“My dad got booked on possession again, so I had to move in with my aunt.”

“Bum deal.” She shifted forward when Scott opened the driver’s door and got back in. With red cheeks and a frown, he jammed the keys into the ignition and jerked the car away from the curb. Naomi kept stealing glances at him, chewing on her fingernails. Roger yanked his baseball cap over his eyes and slouched even farther into the seat. I wondered how I was going to explain my invisible boyfriend to him.

I didn’t realize how tense my chest was until we pulled into the Home Depot parking lot. The breath I was holding came out in almost a cough. Naomi had tried to comfort Scott several times, but he ignored her or shrugged her off. Either way—I was contemplating walking home. The only problem was figuring out which direction to head.

I stumbled out of the back after Naomi pushed her seat forward and ran into the store. A hand grabbed my shoulder as I searched the massive aisles for the paint section. “Hey, wait up,” Naomi said. “Roger is kinda gross, huh?”

I looked behind her for the guys, but they weren’t anywhere in sight. “They both are.”

“You don’t think Scott is cute at all?”

“Not particularly,” I said, keeping my eyes glued to the signs. “Guys like him are tornadoes—they shred everything in their path and then they disappear.” At least that was what happened to my mom every time she dated bad-boy types.

“Day-am, you got burned pretty bad, huh?” She pinched my arm. “Man, I can’t wait to hear all your crazy-boy stories.”

I walked faster and kept quiet. She sounded so excited. It would probably disappoint her that I had no crazy-boy stories of my own. And I liked that she found me interesting. It made the world seem brighter somehow, a little less alien. Besides, Mom said that giving people too much information, like the fact that I didn’t have any friends, would freak them out—that a little mystery would make me seem cooler, less clingy.

Mom was always giving me social advice. She used to write skits for my Barbies, and we’d spend hours pretending that plastic hunks with rubber legs were actual people. But I preferred using the dolls for other purposes, like putting them in the freezer to make Barbie ice cubes. It seemed like a fun idea at the time.

“There’s the paint,” I said, spotting the sign. “Are your friends waiting in the car?”

“I don’t know. Let me go check—I’ll be back.”

I nodded and scanned the paint cards for the perfect lime green. It didn’t take long to narrow it down to three slightly different shades. Finding the right color was a lot like getting the perfect amount of salt in a recipe. Even a little too much could overpower the meal, and the wrong shade would give me a headache or make the room drab.

Roger’s wheezy laugh distracted me from my comparison. “Where’d they go?” he asked.

“They said they were getting paint,” Scott said.

As their footsteps got closer, I darted into the next aisle and huddled behind a large open box.

“Don’t see them,” Roger said.

“You know chicks and hardware don’t mix. They probably got lost.” Scott chuckled. “What do you think of Drea?”

“She’s all right. Kinda stuck up.”

“She’s pretty cute, though—nice tight body,” Scott said.

“I like them thicker, like Naomi. She’s hot, man.”

“Yeah, but she’s clingy as fuck. Calls five times a day.”

Roger snorted. “Every chick calls you five times a day.”

“I bet Drea still has her v-card.”

I hugged my body at Scott’s words, my breath quickening.

“Oh, dude, don’t go there,” Roger said.

Scott’s laughter was like thorns on my skin.

“There you guys are,” Naomi said. “Where’d Drea go?”

“Thought she was with you.”

The back of my neck felt damp, and my heart pounded. I stood on shaky legs and walked into the next aisle. Naomi looked at me with wide eyes. “I need to get home,” I told her.

“Jake’s having a party tonight. We were gonna head over there after this,” Scott said to Naomi.

“Aren’t you getting paint?” she asked me.

I shook my head, eyeing the scuff-marked floor.

“Can you drop her home?” she asked Scott.

“Don’t have time. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“I’ll just walk,” I said.

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Roger touched my arm, but I jerked away from him.

“Don’t touch me.” My breakfast was creeping into my throat.

“Freak,” Roger said under his breath.

The entire store seemed to be spinning around me, and Scott’s laughter kept replaying in my head. I did the only thing I could do and ran for the exit. I might get lost going home, but anything seemed better than getting back in the car with those jerks.

“Hey, chica, wait up!” I tensed as Naomi caught up with me outside. “I’m coming with.”

“Why?” I stopped and studied her face.

“Hos before bros.” She wrinkled her nose. “Okay, that sounded cooler in my head. Anyway, I’d rather hang out with you.”

Her words surprised me. I’d seen girls in the locker room swear by their friendship one day and claw each other’s eyes out the next when it came to boys. “Well, you’re probably better off.” I told her the things I heard the boys say, but she shrugged.

“I know Scott’s a player. Guess I was hoping to tame him. Lame, huh?”

“Aren’t you mad?” We crossed the parking lot. The air smelled like rain and freshly mowed grass.

She nibbled on her thumbnail. “I’ll get over it. It’s not like I was planning on marrying the guy.”

“Does he go to our school?”

“No, he’s like nineteen.”

I sighed in relief. At least I didn’t have to deal with both of the guys on Monday. “How far away are we from home?”

“Only about a mile. I know a scenic shortcut too.”

We crossed the street and headed into a greenbelt where a narrow trail snaked through wildflowers. She lit a cigarette and twirled in circles, humming to herself.

“Do you sing?” I asked.

“Sure, in the shower.” Naomi kneeled down and picked a yellow wildflower out of the grass. “Yellow is a good color on you.” She stuck the stem in my hair like a barrette. It made my scalp itchy. “So, where’s your dad?”

I shrugged. “Never knew the guy. Mom doesn’t really talk about him. What about your mom—where’s she?”

“Mommy dearest is in the OC with a new hubby and their two perfect kids.” Naomi batted her eyelashes at me.

“Do you see her much?”

“Me and my brother, Greg, used to love going down there when we were little, but you can only spend so much time at Disneyland.” She sighed. “It was easier for her to give us money and dump us somewhere for the day.”

I picked up a stick and poked at the rocks. “Why?”

“We weren’t her dream kids, I guess.” Naomi pointed to the sky. “I think I felt rain.”

A drop fell into my eye as I gazed at the ashen clouds above us. The trees whispered and danced with the salty breeze. As we continued to walk, the wind ceased and an eerie silence emerged.

“Why weren’t you her dream kids?” I asked.

She stopped, putting her finger to her lips. “You feel that?”

I dropped the stick and hugged my lunch box to my chest. “I feel cold. Are you going to answer my question?”

“I don’t want to talk about my family. It’s a downer.” She closed her eyes, holding her arms outward like she was waiting to catch something. “These clouds are going to open up any minute.”

“That’s not good.” I shook my head and kept walking. A low rumble could be heard in the distance.

“Shhh. Just wait for it,” she said behind me.

I turned around and studied her wide grin. Her eyelashes twitched against her cheeks as she took a deep breath. If it wasn’t for the purple hair, she could be a nymph in a painting.

“There it is,” she said just as a fat raindrop smacked my forehead. Within seconds, the rain hammered us like a waterfall.

“We should get home.” I covered my head with my box, but she didn’t budge.

“Haven’t you ever danced in the rain? It’s such a trip.”

“No. It’s cold and wet. What’s the point?” Droplets leaked from my hair and slid down my back.

Naomi swayed back and forth with the trees around her. Lightning stretched across the sky, and her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God, we almost never get storms like this here.” She grabbed my hand and twirled me around. “We must rejoice!”

I pulled away, covering my head again. She continued to do her weird little rain dance, a smile igniting her doll-like features. More thunder echoed around us, making me suck in my breath and press my hands against my ears. She let out a howl and tore off her soaked top. My teeth chattered in my head with more than a chill now. Naomi had a lack of control that scared the hell out of me.

“This feels so good.” Mascara ran into the corners of her mouth. “You’re missing out, girl.”

As if dancing topless in a thunderstorm would have a profound effect on my life. Still, I couldn’t take my eyes off the graceful movement that came so naturally to her. The last time I tried to dance, I fell on my wrist and sprained it. “I really think we should go!”

She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and took my free hand in hers. “I always wanted to learn swing dancing.”

I nearly slipped in the mud, but she steadied me. “So, let’s learn it indoors.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sounds boring.”

“We could get hit by lightning or a tree falling,” I said, squeezing the handle of my lunch box.

“Relax. We have a better shot at winning the lottery.” She grinned again, pulling me toward her.

“No, the chances of winning the lottery are one in millions. Lightning is only one in seven hundred thousand.”

She crinkled her brow. “Good to know.”

I couldn’t help but notice her boobs. They were crammed inside a lacy white bra and nearly twice the size of mine.

“You checkin’ me out?” she asked.

“Well, they’re kinda hard to miss.” Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? If she didn’t think I was a freak before, she certainly did now. But my thoughts always scrambled together in situations I didn’t like.

“Have you ever kissed someone in the rain?”

What was the right answer? Eye contact made it too hard to think. I directed my gaze to the tops of the evergreens. Any one of them could come crashing down on us. “I-I don’t know.”

Her hand tightened around my arm, and it felt like she leaned closer. I tried to pull away, but her lips were on mine before I could even blink. My heart jumped in my chest, and my lips felt paralyzed. Her mouth was wet, soft, and a little sweet—like she’d been sucking on a Jolly Rancher. The warmth was nice, but I didn’t see stars or get that tingly feeling people associate with their first kiss. Then again, I’d never expected it to involve a topless girl in the rain.

She pulled away, studying me. “I’ve never kissed a girl before. That was interesting.”

I looked at the ground again. “Me neither.”

She shoved my shoulder. “Yeah, I could tell when you turned into a mummy.”

I moved away from her, noticing the rain had slowed. Bits of sun burned into my skin and lit up the droplets on Naomi’s face.

“I didn’t freak you out, did I?” she asked.

I shook my head, still unable to form words. I didn’t think I felt that kind of attraction toward Naomi, but I’d never even felt what could be considered a crush. People were like wallpaper unless I knew them. Physical appearance was just that—an appearance. Some guitars were beautiful works of art, but I didn’t want to play one unless I connected with it. The playability and sound quality mattered a lot more than the color. Although I usually only fell in love with the guitars that had the whole package. And those were few and far between.

“We should write a song,” I said finally.

Her eyes widened. “I thought you’d never ask.” She grabbed my hand and tugged me along.

THE FIRST DAY at a new school was always annoying, especially when people giggled at my sense of fashion. Clothing stores catered to the tall and twiggy, not the short and scrawny. I bought most of my clothes at thrift shops and sewed them to fit—usually Victorian-style skirts that I wore in layers. Today’s concoction was a cream-colored slip peeking out from underneath a black velvet skirt and a matching tank top.

The lyrics Naomi wrote over the weekend spun in my head while I waited for my schedule in Samish High’s administration office. Her words were catchy and rhythmic; something I always tried to accomplish but never could.

“Sweet little Jane was caught in a rut. She went too far and never paid up.” I was whispering her lyrics when I noticed a guy with black hair standing near the entrance. He watched me with a smirk, drumming his hands against his jeans.

Two brunette girls and a blond guy stood in the corner, talking about a party they went to over the summer. The guy focused on how wasted he was, while one of the girls went on about her boyfriend, and the other kept talking about that slut, Jenna. Yet none of them missed a beat or got confused.

I’d always watched people like this, trying to figure out what they were doing right, and what I did that was so wrong. I kept thinking the more I picked up, the more I could act. Pretend. But it never seemed to be enough.

I looked at the dark-haired boy near the entrance again and he grinned. Then he walked over and plopped in the chair next to me. “You new here too?”

I nodded, pretending to be fascinated with the receptionist and the slight eye roll she gave almost every caller. Years of observing also made it easier to read people. And this guy was what I called a common denominator: a boring haircut (not too long or too short) and safe clothes (crispy blue jeans and a white T-shirt with a brand name across the chest). He was cute enough to be accepted, but not ripped or edgy enough to be considered salivary by the common-denominator girls he probably worshipped.

The last conversation I had with a common-denominator guy ended up on the Internet. His name was Kyle White, and he had this obnoxious, scratchy laugh. One day Kyle confessed his undying love for me behind the school library. I actually believed him until his friends came around the corner, laughing. They’d videotaped the entire thing. And Kyle wasted no time posting the video online.

“So, where’d you move from?” the guy next to me asked.

“San Francisco.”

“Cool. I’m from Chicago. And my name is Justin—if you care.”

I stole a glance at him. His eyes were the same color as Mr. Fuzzy, this gray velvet blanket I used to take everywhere. “Do you like being a walking advertisement for Nike?”

Justin glanced down at his shirt and shrugged. “Haven’t had a chance to unpack yet.”

“Oh.”

He shifted in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can dress like a Goth tomorrow, if that’ll work better.”

“That didn’t make any sense.”

“No?” He raised his eyebrows. “Well, neither did your comment.”

I looked toward the receptionist’s desk again, where a guy in a baseball cap was hunched over talking to her. I didn’t think much of it until he turned around and I recognized his beady brown eyes. Roger, the creep from Saturday. I put my face in my hands, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me.

“Hey, it’s Drea, right?” The sound of Roger’s raspy voice made me cringe. He’d spotted me in less than five lousy seconds.

I sat up and pulled my blue lunch box closer to my chest. “Yeah.”

Roger sat in the chair on the other side of me, stretching his legs out. “Sorry about being a tool to you on Saturday.” He leaned into me and lowered his voice. “That shit I smoked was really strong.”

“Oh,” I said, hoping for the vice principal to call my name. They sure took their sweet time here.

Roger nodded at Justin, who had busied himself with writing something in a notebook. “You must be the boyfriend.”

Justin glanced up at him and raised his eyebrows at me. I rested my forehead against my lunch box, wishing I could snap my fingers and disappear.

“Roger Miller?” Saved by the balding guy with the round nose and glasses—our vice principal, I assumed.

Roger pursed his lips and leaned into my ear. “See you around.”

My chest relaxed as I watched Roger follow the vice principal into the office and shut the door behind him. I still couldn’t bring myself to look at Justin, but I could sense his eyes on me—waiting.

“Bad date?” he asked finally.

“My friend Naomi introduced me to him this weekend, and he was kind of a jerk. She told him I had a jealous boyfriend at school.”

There was the sound of breath escaping from his mouth, a barely audible chuckle. “A school you never set foot in until today? That’s impressive.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t my idea.”

“Do you actually have a boyfriend?” He looked down at his hands. “Like back in Frisco or whatever.”

“No. Do you?” I asked immediately. “I mean…” That was when my laughter escaped—these uncontrollable giggles with snorts included.

“Would it really be that funny if I had a boyfriend?”

“No.” It wasn’t even that gay people were new or bizarre to me. Some of my mom’s friends were gay, but somehow I didn’t think this guy was. At least he was nothing like her friends.

“Well,” he sighed before continuing, “my boyfriend dumped me for my girlfriend. How messed up is that?”

“Why were you dating two people at the same time? It seems kind of greedy.”

The corner of his mouth curved up. Then I realized that he was probably joking. I hated it when people goofed around without smiling—it reminded me of the time most of my first-grade class convinced me that our teacher was secretly Barney the purple dinosaur.

I wanted to ask him what his favorite band was or something quasi-normal, but the door swung open and Naomi breezed in.

“Hey.” She knelt in front of me. “Why are your cheeks so red?”

My mouth opened, but laughter was the only thing that came out. Naomi’s eyes traveled from my face to Justin’s, and whatever she saw caused her to smirk.

She stood up and leaned toward my ear. “Cute,” she whispered and sat in the chair Roger previously occupied.

“What can I say? She finds me hysterical,” Justin said, smiling at her. “I’m Justin, by the way. And I’m betting you’re Naomi.” He looked back at me. “I pay attention.”

“Uh, yeah. Talking smack about me already, Drea?”

“Well, Roger was here, and he thought Justin was my boyfriend because of what you said.”

A high-pitched squeal came from her throat. “Oh my God, I totally forgot about that. I’m so sorry.” She leaned over, grinning at Justin. “Do you mind playing boyfriend until we come up with a better plan?”

“Naomi!” I wanted to hit her.

“Can you girls keep it down?” the receptionist asked, putting her hand over the mouthpiece.

I nodded, and Naomi apologized to her. Justin bit his lip but couldn’t hold back a smile.

“I wrote the lyrics to the second verse last night. Our song is going to rock so much,” Naomi said just before the class bell rang. “Meet me by the quad fountain after this class, ’kay?” She got up, tossing a thin backpack over her shoulder. “You should meet us there too, fake boyfriend.” Naomi waved at him before sprinting out of the office.

“I might just have to take your friend up on that,” he said.

“You really don’t need to pretend to be my boyfriend. That’s ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes.

“I meant meeting you guys after the first class. I was hoping to meet some musicians.” He brushed his fingertips against my forearm, causing every tiny blond hair to stand up. “But I don’t mind helping you get rid of stoner boy.”

I yanked my arm away and buried it in my lap. “That won’t be necessary.”

As if on cue, Roger stepped out of the vice principal’s office clutching a piece of paper. “He said you could go on in, Drea.”

“Okay,” I said, scrambling out of the chair. Unfortunately, I’d managed to tangle the toe of my boot with the hem of my underskirt and hit the ground elbows first. Just perfect.

Roger’s laughter made the pain radiating from my funny bone even worse. “Nice grannie panties,” he said just as someone tugged my skirts down.

Justin knelt beside me, holding his hand out. “You okay?”

I looked away, feeling the heat in my face give way to tears. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my first day here. I grabbed my lunch box and backpack off the floor and trudged into the office without looking back.

“Big change from San Francisco, huh?” the vice principal asked as he scanned the papers in his file folder. When I nodded, he held his hand out to me with a grin that made his face even wider. “I’m Vice Principal Bailey.”

I barely pinched his fingertips. “Nice to meet you.”

“So, I’ve talked with your mom, and she had a couple of your doctors fax over some information about you.…” His thin lips were moving, but I blocked out his words. Words I’d heard a million times before—suggestions to see the school counselor, anything they can do to accommodate my special needs, what good grades and test scores I had, but… “You got a C-minus in English. Any reason why?”

I shrugged. “Not my best subject.” I knew all the big vocabulary words—in fact I loved to read the dictionary and memorize words that sounded interesting. But I failed when it came to interpreting text that someone else wrote. Characters said one thing and did another, much like real life.

Mr. Bailey jabbed the computer keyboard with one finger from each hand. He squinted at the screen, making a gurgling noise in his throat.

“Are there any open music classes?”

“Hmm.” He ran a chubby finger over his lower lip and shook his head. “Nope, those tend to fill up quickly. Do you like film?”

“I like to watch movies.”

He shrugged and glanced at me. “Well, it’s either sixth-period film or journalism. Take your pick.”

“Film.”

He clicked the mouse a few times, and the printer behind him started to groan. “Class started fifteen minutes ago, so I’ll write you a note. Sorry about the delay—first day back is always hectic.”

“It’s fine,” I said, just wanting to get away from his stare. Doctors, school administrators, even my mom sometimes—they all looked at me like I was a fly under a microscope.

“Drea,” he said, yanking the schedule from the printer, “I’m going to make an appointment for you with Jackie, one of our counselors. But don’t worry—all the kids love her. And I hear she gives out those mini Twix bars.”

“I don’t like chocolate.”

“I see.” He wrote “excused tardy” on my schedule. “She’ll send for you in the next couple of days and help you get acclimated, okay?”

I nodded as he handed me a booklet and my schedule.

“Here’s your student handbook. Make sure you go over that tonight, and let me know if you have any questions.”

“Sure.”

“Welcome to Samish High, Drea.” He thumbed through another file folder on his desk, his wide grin fading. “Send Justin Rocca in for me, will you, please? Thanks.”

I mumbled “okay,” but he didn’t seem to hear me. He massaged his temples and furrowed his brow at whatever was in Justin’s file.

The last thing I wanted to do was face Justin again, so I kept my eyes on the ground as I walked out. “You can go in,” I said, heading straight for the exit.

“Hey, wait,” he called out before the door clicked shut behind me.

My first class was U.S. History, and the teacher’s name was Mrs. Heinz—like the ketchup. She had blond hair, bright red lipstick, and an obsession with Abraham Lincoln. But that was all I remembered about her after the dismissal bell rang.

I glanced at the map in the student booklet as I weaved between other students in the hallway. The school was shaped like a refrigerator turned on its side—three stories tall, and getting from one end to the other took a long time. The quad was between the main building and the gym, reminding me that I had PE after lunch. Just thinking about the shrill girly laughter in a damp locker room made me cringe.

“Cool skirt,” a girl with black hair and facial piercings said as she passed me.

“Um, thanks.” I didn’t turn around to see if she’d heard me. Sometimes the compliments were sincere, and sometimes they weren’t.

I could see Naomi’s purple hair as I pushed open the double doors that led to the quad. She sat on a cement wall that encircled a rather wimpy-looking fountain; the little hump sounded like a leaky bathroom faucet.

Naomi snatched my schedule out of my hand when I approached her. “Damn, we don’t have anything together.” She frowned, running her finger down the crinkled piece of paper. “Wait, we’ve got PE.”

“Maybe PE will be more tolerable, then,” I said, looking around for Justin. “Why don’t you show me where my next class is?”

Naomi narrowed her eyes at me. “Drea, it’s room 305. Top floor. Like it’s that hard to find.”

“I don’t want that Justin guy to see us.” I lowered my voice. “You invited him, remember?”

“Aw—he was a little preppy looking, but he seemed really sweet.” She nudged me. “And cute.”

I glanced back at the doors of the main building. A tall guy with dark hair and a white T-shirt put his hand over his eyes and looked in our direction. “Let’s get out of here.” I grabbed Naomi’s wrist and tried to pull her away from the fountain.

“Don’t be so mean.” She twisted out of my grip and nodded in his direction. “He sees us.”

“I’m leaving.” There was no way I could face him, not after what he saw and Roger’s comment.

Naomi grabbed my shoulders and pulled me backward. “Whoa, girl. Tell me why you’re freaking out.”

I tried to break free, but she held on tighter, laughing. “He saw my underwear—”

“He what?” She punched my shoulder, her mouth hanging open. “You ho!” Her laughter sounded like it was going through a hundred-watt amplifier.

“No, not like—shut up, okay?” I glanced at the students around me. “He’ll hear you.”

“Relax, he’s too busy talking to Kari McBitch.” She nodded behind me with a sneer.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Justin talking to one of those common-denominator girls. Blond highlights were mixed in with her brown hair, and she was dressed like a mannequin at the mall. “She’s got really big boobs,” I said before I could stop myself.

“Yeah, it’s kind of funny how much they grew over the summer.” There was an odd edge to Naomi’s voice—one I’d never heard before. “So tell me, what happened with you and the new guy?” She poked me, all smiles.

I looked over my shoulder again. Justin was pointing at us. Not good. “Nothing. I fell, and my skirt flew up.”

She crinkled her brow at me. “So?”

“Well, Roger was—”

“Don’t tell me she’s coming over here,” Naomi said through her teeth, peering over my shoulder.

When I turned around, Justin was approaching us with that Kari girl in tow. He was smiling, but she definitely wasn’t.

“Hey, Justin,” Naomi said. “I was just about to split. But maybe I’ll see you later.” Naomi walked right into Kari, bumping her arm.

“Yeah, that’s right. Keep walking,” Kari said.

“See you at lunch, Drea!” Naomi called over her shoulder.

Justin raised his eyebrows at me, and I shrugged. Naomi really sucked for leaving me alone with him.

“Hi, I’m Kari.” Her dark eyes scanned my body until they reached my feet. “You’ve got dirt on the bottom of your skirt.”

“Oh.” Part of the hem was caught under my boot.

She smiled, flashing her white teeth. “It’s Drea, right?”

“Yeah.” That’s me. Drea with the grannie panties. I bet Justin didn’t waste any time telling her either.

“What classes did you get?” Justin asked, moving closer to me. His warm breath hit my cheek as he peered down at my schedule. “We’ve got the next one together. And I’m in the film class too.”

“Cool,” Kari said. “Guess we’re all going to the same place, then.”

I did my best to imitate a polite smile and walked ahead of them, hoping Kari would keep Justin occupied.

“What instrument do you play?” he asked, appearing alongside me.

I tried to walk faster, but he had much longer legs than I did. “Guitar mostly. But I’m more into production and sound design.”

He held the door to the main building open for Kari and me. “What do you use—Pro Tools, Logic?”

“Logic,” I said, surprised that he’d heard of either recording program. A lot of people assumed I used GarageBand—which was fine for beginners. But I was beyond the days of putting a bunch of premade loops together and calling myself a musician.

“You must do electronic music mostly, huh?”

“Yeah. Do you produce?” I asked.

“Nah. I laid down some piano tracks for a producer friend of mine in Chicago.”

“You play the piano?” Kari asked, moving to the other side of Justin.

He shrugged. “Yeah—started with ‘Jingle Bells’ when I was two and haven’t stopped since.”

“That’s so cute!” she said.

I let them go ahead of me on the stairs. “Why is it cute?”

Kari glanced over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose at me. “It just is.” She moved closer to Justin, nudging his ribs. “You should play for me sometime.”

He mumbled something I couldn’t hear as we reached the classroom. I nudged past them and scanned the class for an empty seat. Back row, corner desk. Perfect.

As I slid into the desk, I watched Kari pull Justin to a couple of desks on the other side of the room. He whispered something to her and she shrugged, flashing him a quick smile. My stomach did flip-flops as they headed for the two empty desks in front of me. I’d never had a guy take this much interest in me before. Part of me wondered if I was the butt of another joke.

“You’re a tough girl to keep up with.” Justin slid into the seat in front of me. “How am I supposed to keep Roger away?”

“I don’t see him here, do you?”

He glanced around the classroom and shrugged. “Guess not.” He kept his eyes on mine as if he was waiting for something.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He turned around and started talking to Kari, who was eagerly awaiting his attention.

A man with a red ’fro and a Hawaiian shirt walked into the classroom and tossed a black bag on the desk. “Hey, guys!” he called out just as the bell rang. “Welcome to English Eleven! I’m Mr. Duncan—some of you had me for English Nine.” Apparently Bozo was our teacher.

I looked out the window and zeroed in on a couple leaning against an evergreen tree. It took a few seconds to realize that it was Naomi and Roger, puffing on cigarettes. I wondered if they knew that people could see them from these windows, or if they even cared.

“So what I usually like to do the first day is get to know everyone. I remember faces, but I’m not so good with names.” Mr. Duncan chuckled. “I want you all to find a partner to interview. I’ve got the questions right here.” He wrestled a stack of papers out of his book bag.

Great. Two of my favorite things—partnering up with a stranger and speaking in front of a class. I’d only passed speech class because the teacher felt sorry for me.

Kari spun around and grabbed Justin’s wrist. “Will you be my partner again?”

“Okay, but don’t spill any iodine on me this time,” he said.

I glanced at the guy next to me, but he was already whispering to the girl in front of him. In fact, it seemed everyone but me had a partner. This meant the teacher would pair up with me, or he’d force me into a three-way. Either way, I’d end up the focal point of the class—the one nobody wanted to partner with.

Mr. Duncan handed some papers to the first person in our row. “When you guys are done, I want you to introduce your partner to the class. Clear enough?”

I kept hoping that one teacher out of the bunch would come up with a first-day activity I hadn’t done a zillion times before. Or at least one that had some purpose.

Justin turned around and handed me the last questionnaire, a smile flickering at his lips. “You need a partner, don’t you?”

I shrugged, not really knowing how to respond.

“Scoot your chair up,” he said. “The more the merrier.”

“Okay.”

“She doesn’t have a partner,” Justin said to Kari as I moved my desk next to his.

“Aw, sure—yeah, join us,” she said in a high voice. Too high. It sounded fake, even to me.

I had to look twice at the questions on the paper. They definitely weren’t the normal set, like what’s your name, favorite subject, etc. This one wanted to know our favorite vacation, the best book we’d ever read, what we wanted to be when we grew up, and the first thing we did this morning.

“These are really random,” Justin said.

“Yeah, I had Duncan my freshman year,” Kari said. “He’s a nut job, but he’s entertaining.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, biting her lower lip. “We’ll just go around in a circle. I’ll ask you.” She nodded at Justin. “You can ask Drea and whatever.”

“That works,” I said, glancing at the clock and counting the minutes left. Thirty-six.

“Okay.” She poked Justin. “Tell me all about your favorite vacation.”

Justin rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “You’ll have to give me a minute to think about that.”

“Sure.” Kari smiled at him. Her eyelashes looked like they belonged in a mascara commercial; every lash was perfectly separated and curled. I’d tried to use my mom’s eyelash curler once, but it ended up being more of an eyelash eradicator.

“Do I have something on my face?” she asked me.

“No. I like your makeup.”

The corner of her glossy mouth perked up. “Uh—thanks.” She glanced at Justin, but he was doodling on his questionnaire. “Got an answer yet?”

He dropped his pen and folded his arms across his chest. “I guess it would be the summers I stayed in Milan with my grandma. She lived right by this gelato place, and they had a coconut and mango combo that rocked.”

“I like coconut,” I said.

“Hold up. You spent summers in Milan and all you can say is you liked the ice cream?” Kari asked.

“It ruined me on pizza in the States too. Can’t eat it unless I use my grandma’s recipe.”

Kari wrinkled her nose at him. “Come on, you gotta give me more than that. Did your parents just, like, put you on a plane every summer?”

“Well, my dad worked for a company based out of Munich, so sometimes he took me with him. And Milan was only about a five-hour drive. Staying with my grandma was more fun than a hotel, you know?”

“Not really. My parents don’t exactly frequent Europe much.” Kari rolled her eyes. “We might see my aunt in Vancouver if they’re feeling daring.”

Justin looked down, drumming his hands on his desk.

“Do you speak Italian?” I asked.

Both their heads jerked up like they’d suddenly remembered I was sitting with them. Kari’s eyes darted from me to Justin.

“Sì.” He smiled at me. “I’m a lot better at understanding it than speaking it, though.”

“I have a bunch of language books at home,” I said. “But they don’t teach me how to say the weird stuff.”

“Nah, you have to actually experience the place to learn the good words,” he said.

“Do you study languages for fun?” Kari asked me.

“Yes.”

“Interesting.” She shifted her gaze to Justin and pursed her lips.

“Do you have a favorite language?” he asked me.

“Gaelic.” I didn’t even have to think about it. “It’s really lyrical.”

“Say something in Italian, Justin,” Kari said, biting the cap of her pen.

“Like what?” He glanced at his hands again. His nails looked like the edges of broken glass. Maybe he bit them, like Naomi did.

She leaned closer to him. “Anything.”

“Sono strano.” He gave me a side glance.

“You don’t seem that weird,” I said, hoping I got the translation right.

“That’s because you don’t know me that well yet.” The way he said yet made my cheeks feel hot. Like he’d actually remember my name in a couple of weeks after he made friends here. Normal friends, like Kari.

By the time Kari was done prodding Justin, we’d learned that his favorite book was Slaughterhouse Five, he was interested in psychiatry because the human mind “fascinated” him, and he needed to make sure he still had teeth this morning. He’d dreamed that they’d all fallen out.

“So what was your favorite vacation, Drea?” he asked.

Considering my mom and I were always too busy moving to take vacations, I didn’t have a lot to draw from. “My mom took me to SeaWorld once. I didn’t want to leave after we saw the dolphins—so we watched them until the park closed.”

“If that’s your best vacation, you’re even worse off than I am,” Kari said. “Mine was when I snuck off with my ex during spring break. We drove along the coastline all the way to some town in southern California.”

“Hey, it’s Drea’s turn,” Justin said with a smile.

“I was just trying to speed this up.” She grinned back.

“I want to be a sound designer, don’t have a favorite book, and I tripped over a moving box this morning. Fast enough?” I asked. Next time I would have to come up with a better story for my vacation. Maybe one involving skydiving out of a plane with my “ex.”

“For now,” Justin said. “I’ll just grill you more later.”

Kari’s favorite book was Anne of Green Gables, she wanted to be a journalist, and she’d hit the snooze button three times before she got up. My interview went a lot quicker because I didn’t ask her to elaborate on her experiences. And Justin drew pictures of rectangles and eyeballs on his paper. I wondered if he was even paying attention to her answers.

“Guess we moved too fast,” I said, looking around the room. Some students were using animated hand gestures, others were laughing, and many were writing furiously.

Kari leaned back in her chair, studying me. “So—when did you meet Naomi?”

“When I moved in on Friday. She lives across the street.”

“What do you think of her?”

“She’s nice.” What else could I say? Mom told me to keep my answers to a minimum around people I didn’t know, especially when they wanted to gossip about someone else.

“Yeah.” Kari chuckled. “She sure seems that way, doesn’t she? Watch your back around her.”

Kari’s words made me squirm in my seat. She was the second person in three days to warn me about Naomi. But almost everyone I met made me feel like a freak. They’d give each other these looks, much like the ones Kari gave Justin. I didn’t notice the looks when I was little—the smirks and raised eyebrows. Not until the teasing started. Naomi never looked at me like that.

“She’s my friend,” I said.

Kari put her hand up and shook her head. “You need better taste in friends.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but Justin reached under my desk and brushed his fingers against the back of my hand. It was a quick gesture, but enough to make me forget whatever I was going to say. Warm tingles shot up my forearm, and my stomach felt weird.

“Nothing wrong with loyalty,” he said, giving me a smile.

NAOMI JUMPED IN FRONT OF ME and grabbed my shoulders as I left fourth-period biology. “Anyone?” she asked in a low monotone. “Anyone know what this is? Class?”

I pulled out of her grasp. “You’re not making any sense.”

She fell into step alongside me, her mouth hanging open. “Please tell me you’ve seen Ferris Bueller.”

“I might have.” It’s not like I took notes on every single movie I saw.

“Okay, we’re so watching that. There’s a teacher in it who’s just like the Bot.”

“The Bot?”

“Yeah—that’s what we call Mr. Harvey. He’s the only bio teacher I’ve had who can make dissecting a fetal pig seem like a real estate seminar.”

I hadn’t noticed anything unusual about Mr. Harvey other than the spit flying out of his mouth with every hard consonant. He also smelled like an old closet—no wonder I had a front table all to myself.

Naomi pushed open a set of doors and led me back to the fountain. Students poured out into the quad like ants zeroing in on a juice spill. “Is your lunch in there?” She nodded at my blue lunch box.

“It’s in my backpack.”

“Do you take that thing everywhere with you?”

My hand tightened around the handle. “Yes.” Like Mr. Fuzzy the blanket, my box was a piece of home. It comforted me.

“Got anything I can eat?” She elbowed her way through a group of jocks and slid onto the cement wall, spreading her arms wide and leaning on her palms.

I plopped next to her, yanking a crumpled brown bag out of my backpack. “I’ve got a jelly sandwich and an apple.”

Naomi wrinkled her nose. “Feeling extra fruity this morning?”

“The apple was Grandma’s idea. You can have it.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You got something against peanut butter?”

“Yeah, it’s gross.”

“But purple jelly between two pieces of… what the hell kind of bread is that?”

I shrugged. “Some twelve-grain stuff my grandma eats. I didn’t have time to buy food this weekend.”

She shook her head and sank her teeth into the green apple.

Drizzle sprinkled my cheeks, and the smell of wet pavement curled into my nostrils. I loved the scent of rain—if only it came in bottles. A couple of guys with messy hair and studded belts nodded at Naomi as they passed. She wiggled her fingers at them, and they nudged each other, smirking.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“Dumb and Dumber—the emo twins. I hooked up with the blond one last year. Shortest lunch break I ever had.” She grinned.

How was I supposed to respond to that? I swallowed a lump of jelly. “How come Kari doesn’t like you?”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “I messed around with her ex-boyfriend. Only—I didn’t know they were still together at the time. The dude in the red shirt.” She pointed to a guy with a shaved head and biceps as big as my thighs. He stood near the school entrance, laughing with a couple other boys.

“Oh.” I took another small bite of my sandwich. The seeds in the bread stuck to my teeth.

She nibbled on her thumbnail and gave me a sidelong glance. “It’s not like I’m a slut. I’ve only had actual sex with three guys.”

That sounded like an awful lot to me, but what did I know? The only people I talked to were net geeks online, and they never had dates either. “How old were you—the first time?”

She devoured the last speck of skin on the apple. “Fifteen. What about you?”

What made her assume I’d had sex? Maybe because she thought I had all these crazy-boy stories. “Um…” I tried to think of a good answer, but a hand squeezed my shoulder, making me jump.

“Hey.” Justin smiled at us. “Mind if I join you?”

Naomi glanced from me to him. “Fine by me.”

Justin sat next to me and unraveled a brown bag of his own, pulling out a couple pieces of vegetable pizza. The crust was super thin, like crackers. I wondered if it was his grandma’s recipe.

“You gonna answer the question or not?” Naomi nudged me.

I leaned closer to her ear and lowered my voice. “Not now.” Mom used to get on me about bringing up certain subjects around strangers, especially anything sex related. And talking about boys around a boy was just weird.

She leaned forward to look at Justin. “We were discussing our first time—when was yours?”

“Naomi!” I elbowed her. Maybe she needed a few social lessons herself.

Justin swallowed a massive bite of his pizza. “My first time… what?”

She squinted at him. “Don’t be coy.”

He crinkled his brow at me. “She always like this?”

Before I could answer, Roger shoved himself between Naomi and me. “Anyone game for Taco Bell?”

“Count me in,” Naomi said.

Roger pushed his shades down his nose and peered at me. “What about you, Grannie Panties? You and your boyfriend want to come?”

I looked away. His presence and loud voice made me cringe. “Can you not call me that?”

“I’m just teasing. Don’t get your panti—” He paused and laughed. “Oops.”

“Why don’t you drop it, man?” Justin asked.

Naomi’s eyes widened, and she made an O shape with her mouth.

Roger held his hands up. “I’m just playin’. You guys coming or not?”

Justin raised his pizza crust at him. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Aren’t we supposed to stay on campus at lunch?” I asked.

Roger pulled my lunch box into his lap and inspected it.

I snatched it from him. “Don’t touch that!” They wouldn’t understand my reaction. How could I explain the box was part of me—my space. I wanted to grab my stuff and run into the nearest bathroom stall. It was the only place at school that allowed me to lock people out. Sometimes it felt like the only place I could breathe.

Roger yanked on one of Naomi’s purple pigtails. “Where’d you find this chick?”

She scrunched her nose at me and bit her lip. “I’m gonna split. But I’ll see you in PE, okay?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling Justin’s eyes burning into me.

“Later,” Naomi said, ruffling my red curls.

As Naomi disappeared into the crowd, I wondered why she’d want to spend so much time hanging out with a guy she didn’t even seem to like.

“What a tool,” Justin commented.

“Roger?”

“Who else?” He gave me a little nudge. “Naomi seems cool, though.”

“Yeah, she’s the first person who… never mind.”

“Tell me.” He leaned close enough for me to inhale a musky scent. Kind of like rain in a forest. It made my stomach tickle.

I counted the cracks in the pavement below my dangling feet. “She’s really friendly—most people aren’t.”

“Maybe because you aren’t very friendly to them.”

I met his gaze. His eyes matched the cloudy sky. “What does that mean?”

“Well”—he glanced down at his long fingers—“you weren’t exactly Miss Sunshine to me this morning.”

“I’m sorry. Was I supposed to do a cheer for you?”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “No, but looking at me would’ve been nice.”

“If I’m so horrible, why are you sitting here?”

“Because I think you’re interesting.”

Since when did guys like him find me interesting? “How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”

A smile edged at his lips, showing off a dimple on his left cheek. “I’m good at reading people.”

I crumpled up my paper bag and shifted away from him. “Shouldn’t you be hanging out with people more like you, then?”

“And who would that be?”

“Kari.”

“How did you come to the conclusion that I’m like Kari?”

“Usually guys like you—”

“Guys like me? Spit it out, Drea. What little box have you stuck me in?”

His questions made my stomach shrivel, and my mind was at its limit. I couldn’t even think. Nobody ever confronted me like this before. Usually I’d say a few sentences and they’d never talk to me again. Simple.

“I have to go.” I snatched my backpack and headed toward the school building, tossing my bag in the trash.

“It’s been a pleasure,” he called after me.

My chest felt tight as I walked down the hallway in search of the restrooms. The never-ending rows of lockers bowed in and out, and my boots squeaked on the green tile floor. A group of girls stared at me as I passed them, their whispers like needles poking at my skin. Kari was one of them.

“Hey, Drea,” she said with a half smile. Her dark eyes focused on the box swinging in my hand.

I muttered hi under my breath. A flutter of laughter followed me down the hallway.

“She looks like Raggedy Ann,” one of the girls hissed. Another voice shushed her, and they went silent. I pictured their eyes on my back, analyzing everything from the way I walked to the size of my butt. Mom always did that. Compared herself to other women or criticized their outfits. When I’d hide in a bathroom stall, girls would stand in front of the mirror complimenting each other and insulting their absent friends. Always with lowered voices and soft giggles. Hatred and friendship seemed to go hand in hand.

The bell signifying the end of lunch break rang about five minutes later. My shoulders sagged as soon as I glanced at my schedule—PE. I’d purposely forgotten to bring a T-shirt and a pair of sweats, hoping this school wouldn’t have a uniform. It wasn’t like they could make me run around a field in a skirt.

I scanned the crowd for Naomi as I neared the brick gym building but found Kari instead. She had her hand on Justin’s arm, and he was leaning toward her and laughing. I’d once read some lame magazine in a doctor’s office that said casual touches and leaning toward each other were signs of romantic interest.

Kari’s voice rose as she backed away from him. “See you in the parking lot, then?”

Justin gave her another dimpled smile. “You got Mrs. Baker for sixth period, right?”

She nodded, looking over at me. I realized I was gaping at them like an idiot.

“I’ll meet you there after class.” Justin turned and glanced at me. I opened my mouth to say hi, but he’d looked away and brushed past me before a sound escaped my lips. Nice.

“How’s it going, Drea?” Kari asked, still staring at me from the entrance of the gym.

“Fine,” I muttered to the ground.

“What?”

“It’s fine,” I said as I walked toward her. Where the hell was Naomi?

“Come on. I’ll show you where the locker room is,” she said, opening the graffiti-covered door.

Great—just what I needed. A guided tour of the locker room by a girl who hated my only friend here. “Thanks.”

She led me down a hallway with a shiny wood floor and walls lined with trophy cases. “Did Naomi tell you we used to be best friends?” she asked.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

The smell of sweat and cheap perfume emanated from a blue set of double doors ahead, making me queasy.

“You’ll have to see Mrs. Kessler to get your uniform first.” She yanked open the heavy door.

Perfect, I thought.

The locker room was like every other I’d endured. Stained cement floors with matching walls, long skinny benches, and girls in various stages of undress. Some were hunched over, quickly yanking shirts over their heads. Others paraded around in nothing but fancy bras and underwear. The muggy air and high-pitched chatter made me dizzy.

Kari brought me to an office where a brunette woman sat. She looked nearly as small as I was—definitely not the norm for PE teachers.

“Newbie here, Mrs. Kessler.” She jabbed her thumb at me.

“Thanks, Kari.”

Kari shot me a quick grin and left me alone. Mrs. Kessler handed me a uniform, went over the usual rules, and sent me on my way. She didn’t even ask if I had questions.

Naomi stood outside the office, biting her lower lip. Her eyes looked glazed and sleepy. “Let’s go find lockers.” She grabbed my elbow and led me toward the back row. We scanned for a pair without locks and found a couple at the very top.

Naomi ripped off her black T-shirt and nodded at me. “Kessler is loads of fun, isn’t she?”

“Sure…” I folded my arms over my stomach. I’d changed in the bathroom stalls at every other school. The other girls would smirk when I’d come out clutching my clothes. But it was better than standing around a bunch of half-naked strangers.

Naomi crinkled her brow at me. “Better get changed. Kessler is a real hard-ass about tardiness.”

“Right.” I stood up and backed away, pressing the clothing against my chest.

“Where you going?”

“Bathroom.”

She unzipped her baggy jeans and let them fall to the floor. “Are you changing in the stall?” Her half smile told me she found that amusing. After all, she thought I’d had my share of boyfriends—surely it wasn’t the first time anyone saw me undressed.

“I have to pee. But I guess I can change first.”

“Whatever.” She grinned and folded her jeans.

I glanced at the blue underwear riding low across her hips. The material was silky and thin. Nothing like the white pair that went up to my waist.

A couple girls walked into the aisle across from us—the same ones standing in the hallway with Kari at lunch. The blonde gave me a fleeting glance, but focused on Naomi. She was tall and big-boned with jowly cheeks and thin lips. She slid out of her tight jeans, showing off a satin thong. Her skinny friend wore one of those lace bras I saw in my mom’s Victoria Secret catalogs.

I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Roger tried to make a move on me at lunch,” Naomi said, slamming her locker shut. “You’re definitely coming with me next time.”

I pulled the gray sweats underneath my skirt. The scratchy material made my legs itch. “Why do we have to hang out with him at all?”

“Because he’s got a car and he’ll smoke us out.” She wrinkled her nose at me as I slipped the T-shirt over my tank top. “Kessler usually makes us run a mile the first day.”

“That’s okay.” I stuffed my skirt inside the locker and reluctantly put my lunch box inside. I never had much luck convincing PE teachers that I could run and play sports while carrying it.

“Someone should put biohazard tape over her locker,” the blond girl across the aisle said loudly. She elbowed her friend and giggled at Naomi.

Naomi rolled her eyes at me. “Bitches.”

The big-boned girl straightened and walked toward Naomi. God, she was at least six feet tall. “Did you say something?”

Naomi’s shoulders tensed. “Nope.”

The girl leaned within inches of her face. “You sure?”

Naomi pressed her back into the lockers, her hands curling into fists. “I didn’t know, Casey. And I already apologized to her. What else do you want from me?”

Casey glanced down at Naomi’s shaking hands and smirked. She slammed her large fist into the lockers, missing Naomi’s head by a couple inches. The thud echoed around the room like a firecracker, making me cover my ears. “Call me bitch again and I’ll aim for your face next time.”

“You got one minute!” Mrs. Kessler called from the front. “Let’s go, ladies!”

Casey backed away and disappeared around the corner with her friend.

Naomi squeezed her eyes shut and let out a deep breath. “I totally forgot she’d be in regular PE this year.”

“She looks like a football player,” I said.

“No shit. She got kicked off the soccer team last year for sending a chick to the hospital.”

“Why is she so mad at you?” I asked as we headed out of the locker room.

“Shhh.” Naomi’s eyes darted around the seemingly empty rows around us. She moved closer to me and leaned into my ear. “Because Kari will never be done getting back at me. Casey is, like, her personal fucking bodyguard.”

“But that guy isn’t even her boyfriend anymore, right?”

“It’s not about that. I broke the girl code, you know?”

I nodded, but I didn’t really know. Too bad there wasn’t a dictionary for sixteen-year-old girl talk.

I nearly bumped into Justin when I found my sixth-period film class. He opened the door for me, but he didn’t make eye contact.

I headed for the back row again—the seat closest to the window. Justin didn’t follow me this time. In fact, he sat on the other side of the room near the front. I should’ve felt relief, but my chest felt heavy, and I slumped in my seat.

Our bald teacher fiddled around with a seventeen-inch laptop at his desk. Every now and then, he’d look up and smile at the students wandering in. The bell rang, and I glanced around at the half-empty class. The two boys Naomi called Dumb and Dumber were sitting in the back row whispering to each other. Casey passed a cell phone to some guy with spiky hair behind her, and the pierced girl who’d complimented me on my skirt wrote in a journal. Justin drummed his fingers against the desk, gazing at the ceiling.

“Okay, guys.” The teacher stood. He had buggy eyes and a lanky body, kind of like Gumby. “I’m Mr. Diaz, and obviously I’m new to Samish High.…”

He launched into a speech about teaching film at UCLA, and I stared out the window, tuning him out. Puffy clouds hovered over the dark blue bay, making my stomach growl. When I was little, I thought they were cotton candy.

“Why’d you come up here?” a nasal voice snapped me out of my trance. It came from the blond emo boy Naomi hooked up with.

“I like Bellingham.” Mr. Diaz grinned at him. “Anyway, if you’re hoping this will be a breeze, you might want to find another elective. I’m not going to expect any less from you guys than I did from my college students.” He leaned against his desk and scanned the room. “How many of you like to watch movies?” When we all raised our hands, he continued. “Okay, how many of you like to see blockbusters at the big theaters?”

Justin, the pierced girl, and I were the only people who didn’t raise our hands. I didn’t like the crowds, the smell of the popcorn, or the stiff seats. Plus, the movies were always predictable.

Mr. Diaz nodded at Justin. “Why don’t you like them, Mr. Nike?”

A small laugh escaped my mouth, and Justin glanced over at me before answering. “They lack originality ninety-nine percent of the time.”

The teacher pursed his lips. “But hasn’t every story been done before?”

“Doesn’t mean it can’t be told in a different way.”

“Do you agree with him, Lilith?” Mr. Diaz motioned in my direction.

“My name is Drea,” I answered.

He leaned forward. “Didn’t hear you.”

“Drea—my name is Drea!” The class snickered, telling me I’d said it way too loud. Justin was the only person not looking in my direction.

The teacher’s eyes widened. “Fair enough. Do you agree?”

I looked back over at Justin, but he kept his eyes forward like I didn’t exist. I hated him for it. “Yes, but I think it’s kind of strange coming from someone wearing a Nike T-shirt.”

“Why do you think he called you Lilith?” Justin asked. “Because you’re so unique?”

“I don’t know.” I slumped farther in my seat.

“I suddenly feel like I’m in detention with Anthony Michael Hall,” Mr. Diaz said. “Interestingly enough, The Breakfast Club is one of the first films we’re going to watch.”

Yet another movie I remembered hearing about but couldn’t place. Several of the other students expressed their delight through muffled yeahs and hoots.

“Why do you think I called her that?” Mr. Diaz asked Justin.

“The black clothing, the pouting.” Justin turned to look at me. “Back row. Corner desk. Anti–brand name. Sounds like the stereotypical Goth to me.”

Laughter filtered throughout the room. A guy mumbled something about being owned.

“What does that have to do with calling me Lilith?” I shot back at him.

“He could’ve gone with Raven too,” Justin answered. “That’s an even more played-out Goth name.”

Mr. Diaz held his hands up and chuckled. “This is good. Because there will be a lot of disagreement this semester. Each of you sees the world differently, and movies are no exception. What one of you thinks is overdone and cliché, another thinks is groundbreaking.” He pushed himself off the desk and paced the front of the room. “I’m not going to test you or throw out pop quizzes. But I will be keeping track of attendance and class participation. The bulk of your grade is going to be your final project. A five-minute movie of your own creation. It can be horror, action, comedy, a documentary, or even a music video.”

“Sweet!” a guy with glasses said.

“Now,” Mr. Diaz continued, “I want everyone except Drea and Mr. Nike to get out a piece of paper and write down your three favorite movies. You’ve got one minute.” He looked down at his silver watch. “Go.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Justin asked.

Mr. Diaz raised his bushy eyebrows. “Sit tight.”

After the class handed their slips of paper to Mr. Diaz, he flipped through them with a smile flickering at his lips. “Now—here’s the catch. The school bought only two camcorders, but they are PD-170s, meaning you don’t want to break one. Trust me on that. And the lab will only let me reserve so many computers after school. Which means you’ll need to work with a partner.” He waved the papers in his hand. “Someone who has completely different taste than you.”

The class groaned in unison.

“And you two”—he pointed at Justin and me—“already matched yourselves up. Good luck.”

I glanced over at Justin, and he actually smiled and winked at me. Like he thought it was funny.

I was officially in hell.

THE LAST THING I WANTED was for Naomi to be there when Mom picked me up. I had a doctor’s appointment after school, and I didn’t want Mom mentioning it in front of her. The street in front of Samish High resembled the passenger drop-off area at a major airport. Horns honked, engines revved, and hands waved impatiently behind windshields. Most of the kids being picked up looked to be freshmen, no surprise there.

Mom’s faded green sedan was about a block down the street. I broke into a sprint, hoping I could dive into the car before Naomi saw me.

“Wait up, Drea!”

No such luck. My shoulders slumped as I spun around to face Naomi.

“You need a ride?” She approached me with Roger in tow.

“No, thanks.”

“Does your boyfriend always take other chicks home?” Roger asked, nodding at the street.

“What do you mean?” I glanced over my shoulder.

“Black BMW,” Naomi whispered in my ear. “We saw him pick up Kari in the parking lot,” she continued in a louder voice.

My eyes focused on a shiny BMW inching past us. I could make out Kari’s long hair in the passenger seat. He probably had a decent amount of horsepower in that thing. I used to be obsessed with car engines—drove Mom nuts.

“Twenty bucks says it’s Daddy’s car.” Roger smirked. “Want me to kick his ass for you? Slash his tires?”

“Why would I want that?”

Mom tapped her horn three times behind me. I’d recognize that urgent tinny sound anywhere. “That’s my mom. I have to go.”

“Do you want to hang out later?” Naomi asked.

Grandma’s voice echoed across the lawn, calling my name. “We have ten minutes to get to your appointment!” Of course Mom had to bring her.

“What appointment?” Naomi asked.

I sighed. There was no way out. “Just seeing a doctor.”

Her eyes widened. “What for?”

“Um… stuff.”

She nodded like she understood. “Oh, that doctor. Ew, I hate going there.”

Roger chuckled. “Tell your mom you can get a ride from me and Naomi from now on, if you want.”

“Sure, okay. Bye.” I turned around and jogged to the car, ignoring whatever Naomi called after me.

Dr. Weber had about ninety different pictures of cats on her desk and a yellow rocking chair by the window. It was meant for kids, but I fit in it just fine. Mom sat cross-legged on the generic brown couch near the door.

“How are you today, Drea?” Dr. Weber asked.

I shrugged and stared at her shiny lips, wondering what kind of lipstick she used. Anything to ignore her squinty blue eyes and incessant writing. The lyrics to the Smashing Pumpkins song “Bullet with Butterfly Wings” roared through my mind every time I was in a doctor’s office. Despite all my rage, I’m still just a rat in a cage.

Mom cleared her throat. “She always gets a little shy in these situations, but she’s adapted remarkably well over the years.”

The blond doctor flipped through my file and nodded. “She was diagnosed with ADHD?”

“Yes, in kindergarten,” Mom rambled on. “Her last doctor thought she had AS, but her symptoms are so mild… I mean, it’s not always obvious.”

The doctor nodded. “Right. It’s a difficult diagnosis. No two people with Asperger’s—or with autism, for that matter—are the same. And females do tend to have less obvious symptoms.”

“Do you have other patients with Asperger’s?” Mom asked.

“Of all ages—children to grandparents.” The doctor closed the file and looked in my direction again. She leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. “How’d your first day of school go, Drea?”

“It was school.” I never understood that question. Did they want a synopsis of my entire day? Most people gave short answers like “great” or “fine” or “crappy.” And telling someone I had a crappy day at school usually provoked the question “why?” But they didn’t really want to know why because they’d end up interrupting me and changing the subject.

“Did you make any new friends?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a girl across the street that has taken a liking to her,” Mom said. “It’s the first time in a while—she hasn’t had a friend in years.”

“Why do you have to tell my life story?” I asked her.

“You don’t like it when your mom speaks for you?”

“She has this need to tell everyone we meet that I have this disorder. But then she told me not to say too much about myself, because it might scare people off.”

“I told you that in seventh grade, after what those girls did to you,” Mom argued. “But your last doctor suggested that I inform the school, family members, and friends. People need to know what you’re dealing with.”

“Why does every guy you date need to know?”

Mom opened her mouth to protest, but the doctor broke in. “Does your new friend know?”

“No, and I want to keep it that way.”

“She really has come a long way.” Mom repeated herself, as always. “When she was little, she had a lot of run-ins with other kids, and I had a hard time getting her to bathe or—”

“Mom!”

“But now”—Mom uncrossed her legs and sat up—“she’s doing better in school, and her, um, you know, grooming habits have improved, and—”

“You always got shampoo in my eyes. That’s why I didn’t like it.”

“Even when I got you the tear-free shampoo, you still resisted. But that’s not the poi—”

“No, it’s not the point. Because I was five then, and I’m sixteen now. I take showers every day, I brush my teeth every night, I wear deodorant—even shave my legs. Because you wouldn’t shut up about it. ‘Comb your hair, Drea. Wear some perfume, Drea. Spend ninety million hours staring in the mirror like I do, Drea.’”

Mom rolled her eyes and sighed.

“If I may break in here,” Dr. Weber said. “I think your mother is trying to tell you that she’s proud of your progress.”

“Exactly,” Mom said, bobbing her head.

“Would it work better for you if your mom simply told you she was proud of you—rather than bringing up the past?”

“Yeah, because she never says that,” I said.

“I say it all the time.”

“No. You tell me to take my pills, you bring up things I did ten years ago, you remind me to brush my hair—but you never say you’re proud.”

“How’s your mood been?” Dr. Weber moved on.

“Like it always is.”

“Any negative thoughts or excessive worries?”

“Yeah, I’ve already been diagnosed with GAD. It’s in the file.” Doctors stuck me with generalized anxiety disorder in junior high when I began surfing the Web and self-diagnosing myself with everything from lupus to rabies and having panic attacks over it.

“I’m sorry,” Mom said. “She’s been really irritable with the move.”

The doctor raised her eyebrows, nodding. “You’ve moved quite a bit, huh?”

And this would be the part of the meeting where Mom goes over our financial troubles and my lack of a father—all in an effort to excuse the fact that, as her friends say, she changes cities like she does underwear.

“How much of the XR is she currently taking?”

“When I can get her to take it, twenty milligrams,” Mom said.

“How do you feel when you take it, Drea?”

“Like a zombie.”

“Right when it kicks in, or is that something you feel later?”

“It gets worse later,” I said.

“She gets more irritable at night—after it wears off,” Mom chimed in. “But it really helps during the day. She’s less impulsive and calmer.”

“And I lose weight since it kills my appetite.” I motioned to my body. “And let’s face it, there isn’t much to lose.”

“Can you hop on the scale for me?”

I rolled my eyes and prepared myself for the inevitable questions—how did I feel about my body? Have I ever thrown up on purpose? Blah blah blah. Every doctor had to rule out eating disorders.

I stepped on the scale, and she peered over my shoulder, scribbling 100.5 in her little notebook.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to see you lose any more weight. Go ahead and step off.”

At least this doctor kept her comments to a minimum.

I plopped back into the yellow rocking chair and gazed out the window. Naomi was out there somewhere—probably having a great time. Who knew what Justin and Kari were doing. Probably kissing or more. I wondered what it would be like to kiss Justin. Ew, no. Scratch that thought.

“We’ve got a couple of options,” the doctor said. “Some of my patients take the XR form in the morning and then an immediate-release tablet about eight hours later. It keeps them from crashing in the late afternoon.”

“That won’t keep her up all night?” Mom asked.

“It shouldn’t. The IR is much shorter acting. Lasts an average of four hours. There is also an ADHD drug that isn’t a stimulant—it may not suppress her appetite as much,” the doctor rambled on. “I also think an SSRI would help, especially with some of the irritability and anxiety.”

“I’ve been on antidepressants. I hate them,” I said.

She glanced down at the papers and nodded. “How do they make you feel?”

“Like shit.”

Mom put her face in her hands and shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s quite all right. It’s not easy trying out all these different meds, but sometimes it takes a while to find a combo that works.” She went on to suggest the SNRIs, a newer form of antidepressants, because they tend to have milder side effects. “They increase your levels of norepinephrine as well as serotonin. That seems more effective in some people.”

“What if none of them work?” I asked.

“Well, there’s no magical cure out there. We’re simply looking for a combo that benefits you most and causes the fewest side effects. A bigger part of the equation is how much you’re willing to do for yourself, Drea.”

I wondered if she’d ever tried multiple combinations of drugs.

“I’m starving,” Mom announced as the three of us got back into her green Toyota.

“It’s only three thirty, Juliana.” Grandma was still grouchy because they had nothing but People magazine in the waiting room.

Mom rolled down the window and backed the car out. “So? We need to drop off Drea’s prescriptions, and there’s a pharmacy right near a café someone recommended to me last night. Figured we’d go try it out.”

“One of your square-faced dates?” The computer had replaced Mom’s late-night trips to bars.

“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 Café 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 décor 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.”

Café 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 Café 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.

“Oh.” Grandma continued to scan the menu. “What is fakin’ bacon? That a fancy way of saying Bac-Os?”

“Mmhmm.” Mom nodded.

“Those are very high in sodium. Ten dollars for a salad?” Grandma chuckled. “What—they think we won’t notice because they purposely misspell everything?”

“Keep your voice down, Mom.”

A server with hot-pink hair and lip rings approached us with a big smile. “Hey, ladies. You ready to order?”

Grandma eyed her up and down, her mouth agape. “This isn’t our waitress, is it?”

The girl’s smile instantly faded as she narrowed her eyes at Grandma. “Would you like me to find someone else to wait on you?”

“Yes, please,” Grandma muttered, focusing back on the menu.

Mom held her hand up and mouthed “Alzheimer’s.” The girl plastered another big smile on her face and nodded like she understood. “Okay, well, I’ll give you ladies another minute.” She walked over to Justin’s table to let them know their meals would be out shortly.

“She doesn’t have Alzheimer’s,” I said.

Mom kicked my shin hard enough to send an ache up my leg.

“Ow!”

Grandma was too immersed in the menu to pay much attention. “Tofurky? Goodness.”

The server returned a few minutes later. “Know what you want yet?”

Grandma squinted up at her. “You again.”

The girl offered a toothy grin. “Yup. What can I get ya?”

“Just order.” Mom rolled her eyes.

“Does this chix come from the breast?”

The server cocked her head, opening her mouth slightly.

“The breast,” Grandma said louder. “Is it chicken breast meat?”

Kari let a high-pitched laugh escape before burying her head in her arms. Justin shushed her and covered his eyes with his hand. Other people were looking at Grandma now. Some with wide eyes and others on the brink of laughter.

Mom nudged Grandma. “Yes.” She mouthed “sorry” to the pink-haired girl.

“I’ll have the Chix Cobb salad. Nonfat Italian dressing on the side,” Grandma said.

Mom covered her mouth and looked away.

Kari was still picking at her food when they brought out our meals twenty minutes later. Justin slouched in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, while she talked to him with animated hand gestures. He caught me staring at him and smiled. I nibbled on a seasoned fry, letting the spicy mush sink into my throat. It didn’t have the right amount of crispness.

Grandma picked up her fork, prodding at various toppings on her salad. The prongs hovered over the egg halves for a second before she stabbed one and let it dangle off the fork. “These are pellet eggs,” she decided.

“What?” Mom nearly choked on her bite of veggie burger.

“Pellet eggs.” Grandma let the egg slice plop back onto the green leaves. “They’re like rubber. And this chicken is awful.”

Justin rose from the table, tossing a wad of cash over their check. Kari got up hesitantly, finding Grandma more interesting.

“See you later, Drea,” Justin said.

I sank lower in my chair, contemplating the many ways I could avoid going to school tomorrow.

AFTER A SERIES OF DREAMS revolving around being dressed as Barney in the boys’ locker room, I woke up in need of a plan. Or at least one less thing to be embarrassed about at school.

I tiptoed into Mom’s room after she went into the bathroom and opened the top drawer of her wooden dresser. Piles of underwear were tangled around silky bra straps. Organization wasn’t one of Mom’s strengths either. A black pair of underwear fell out, but I caught them before they hit the floor. They were thin and sheer with a black ribbon encircling the waist. Apparently, they would tie into little bows on the sides of my hips. Cute, I guessed. I couldn’t even consider the bras since they’d fall right off.

The bathroom door across the hallway creaked open, and I stuffed the underwear down my nightshirt. Mom walked in, pulling her shoulder-length hair into a ponytail and singing U2’s “Vertigo.”

“Hi, Mom,” I said, heading toward the door.

She glanced from me to the drawer I forgot to close. “What were you looking for, sweetie?”

“Nothing,” I said, eyeing the hardwood floor.

“Drea—out with it.”

“I’m out of clean underwear.”

Mom shrugged. “Then we’ll have to do some laundry.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask you yesterday. Is it okay if Naomi and her friend Roger give me rides to school and back?”

She crinkled her brow. “Are they good drivers?”

I tensed. “I don’t know.”

Her lips stretched into a grin. “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re making some friends.” She sat on the bed, crossing her legs. “I’ve got a job interview today.”

“For what?”

She wrinkled her tiny nose. “Just a receptionist gig at a law firm. But it’s better than nothing.”

“Yeah.” I studied her frown. “Maybe I should get a job too.”

Mom sighed. She had shadows under her eyes. I wondered if she’d slept at all last night. “No, honey. I want you to really focus on school—so you can get into that music college you’re always talking about.”

“But it’s in Boston, and it costs a lot of money.”

She held her arms out to me. “Come here, baby.”

I allowed her to pull me in and stroke my hair. There was something comforting about her touch—most people’s hands hurt my skin. But I felt safe in Mom’s embrace. It made me think of the hours we spent writing funny stories. The Noun and Verb Game, we called it—our own twisted version of Mad Libs.

“Who was that cute boy at the café?” Mom asked.

“A jerk. I have to work on a film project with him.”

“Grandma really embarrassed you yesterday, huh?”

“They kept laughing at us.”

Mom nodded. “She’s never been really aware of what’s going on around her. I think she’s kind of like you in that she only knows how to say what’s on her mind.”

“Quit saying I’m like her. We are nothing alike.”

A smile played at Mom’s glossy lips. “You know what I like about both of you?”

“What?”

“You’re strong—not afraid to be yourselves. There aren’t many people I can say that about.”

I looked away, not wanting to tell her how much I didn’t want to be myself. How much I wished I had all these exciting stories to tell about guys I kissed or traveled down the coast with. How I was tired of being someone to laugh at.

“So, why is that boy a jerk? He seemed sweet. Was that his girlfriend with him?”

I shrugged. “That’s Kari. She hates Naomi.”

“Oh, I’ll bet.” She let out a hearty laugh. “Naomi’s gorgeous—even with bright purple hair.”

“His name is Justin—the boy. He’s new too.” I told her about how he’d approached me in the administration office and the things he said, including calling me stereotypical. When I finished, Mom could barely contain the grin on her face. “Why’s this funny?”

She bit her lip. “It’s not. I know. But here’s the thing—you’re a very pretty girl. Sometimes boys will talk to you because they really are interested. They aren’t trying to be mean.”

“I guess Kari interested him more.”

“Maybe. Men are fickle creatures.” Mom rolled her eyes. “Or maybe he wanted to make you jealous. In his mind, you rejected him.”

“All I did was ask him why he wasn’t hanging out with Kari. She’s more like him.”

“Yeah, but you don’t like being compared to Grandma, right? Maybe he doesn’t feel he’s like Kari.”

“That makes sense, I guess. Doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

Mom chuckled again. “Okay, well how about this? Apologize for getting off on the wrong foot and leave it at that. Then it won’t be so awkward to work together.”

“I don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Be the bigger person. It’ll make him feel like an ass.” She winked.

“I’ll try,” I said, not entirely convinced I could even look at him, much less speak to him.

I didn’t bother meeting Naomi after first period. Getting to English before Justin was imperative. With my luck, I’d end up tripping in front of him and Kari on my way to the desk.

Mr. Duncan told us that we were stuck in the seats we’d picked yesterday. Meaning I’d have to look at the back of Justin’s head the entire semester.

I slid into my rock-hard seat by the window and waited. My stomach fluttered every time the door opened, but he still hadn’t arrived a minute before the bell rang.

Then Kari walked in, and my fingertips went numb. She glanced up at me and smirked before sitting down and tossing a wave of hair over one shoulder. My cheeks went hot at the thought of Grandma’s words in the restaurant. And Kari’s high-pitched laughter. I couldn’t get it out of my head.

The door swung open one more time, but I didn’t recognize the guy who strutted in. And I definitely would’ve noticed him yesterday. His dark hair was tasseled and spiked, and he wore a black thermal with Robert Smith’s face airbrushed on the front. My heart picked up as he headed for my row. Multiple zippers and rivets lined his black pants, and he carried a green lunch box with some cartoon character grinning on the front.

He met my gaze, his lips curving up in a smile. I’d recognize those gray eyes anywhere—even smudged with black eyeliner.

Justin lifted his arms and motioned to his clothes. “What do you think—too much?”

And here I’d been preparing myself to apologize. Forgive and forget, as Mom says. “Fuck you,” I said, with a familiar ache in my throat.

Kari turned around, her mouth hanging open. “Smooth move, Justin.”

He rolled his eyes at her and sat down, putting his hand on my arm. His fingers felt like an electrical current on my skin. Every nerve ached.

“Don’t touch me,” I said.

“Hey, I thought you’d laugh,” he said. “Come on—I even begged my niece to let me use her lunch box.”

“You’re making fun of me. I get it, okay?” Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mr. Duncan walk in, but I didn’t care. Part of me had hoped Justin was different—that he wouldn’t make me the butt of another joke. But nothing had changed. Different school, same jerks.

“No—I’m—”

“Leave me alone!”

“What’s going on back there?” Mr. Duncan asked.

Justin faced forward, and I looked up at the teacher. Every head was turned in my direction.

“Nothing,” I said, my face on fire.

The teacher looked from me to Justin for a few moments before continuing. “I got the class syllabus printed off as promised.” He fished a stack of papers out of his bag and began divvying them up among the rows. “As most of you know, I like to start the semester off with a bang, and I thought we’d tackle Go Ask Alice this year.”

A couple of groans reverberated around the room. “Just say no!” a boy jeered.

“Sounds like you’ve read it,” Mr. Duncan said. “And here I thought you guys were too busy watching America’s Next Top Model or Lost.”

“I read it in, like, seventh grade,” a girl with long braids said. “It’s a good book.”

“Well, now you get to dissect it.”

Justin dangled a stapled bunch of papers over his shoulder. I ripped them out of his hand, hoping to give him paper cuts.

“And you’ll notice I’m still all about the journals.”

More groans filtered throughout the room.

“Yeah, yeah. They’re good for you. An entry is due every Friday. Tell me your thoughts on life. What you had for dinner, your favorite color or band. Whatever’s on your mind. I won’t be grading these—but I’ll flunk you if you don’t turn them in every week.”

The thought of trying to organize my thoughts made my head hurt. I never got the point of journals. Why document things I already know? That’s boring. Plus, most experiences weren’t worth rehashing.

Most of the class whispered to each other as Mr. Duncan passed out the books. Justin held one over his shoulder for me, but he moved it every time I tried to grab it.

“Give me the book, jerk.”

“And it looks like we’re a couple short,” Mr. Duncan announced. “I’ll be right back.”

Justin waited for him to leave before turning to face me. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m not making fun of you.”

“Yeah, right.”

His eyes widened. “Do you have any idea how many boxes I had to go through to find these pants?”

“No, and I don’t care. Can you give me the book now?”

He raised the book, but still kept it out of reach. “Come on, I’m wearing eyeliner here. I didn’t even go this far when I was a Goth.”

“Did you borrow that from your niece too?”

He smirked. “No, my older sister.”

The image of Justin struggling to put on eyeliner was rather funny.

“Was that a hint of a smile I saw?”

“You look ridiculous,” I said. Even though I kind of liked the way he looked. It was an improvement over the boring Nike shirt.

“You’re hard to please,” he whispered. “What look should I try tomorrow? Raver? Punk? How about a skater cowboy?” He set the book down on my desk and smiled.

Mr. Duncan tore back into the classroom and passed out the remaining books. Justin turned around and flipped through the pages.

A shadowed eyeball peered at me from the black cover. The face reminded me of Mom after she gets dumped. Her dark eyes get shiny and flat at the same time. I flipped to the first page and scanned what looked to be a journal entry. Whoever wrote it sounded young—my age maybe. She thought she had something worthwhile to say—but instead the diary had become nothing, like the rest of her life.

Naomi wasn’t waiting outside my biology class. I found her at the fountain having an in-depth conversation with Justin. Seeing her throw her head back and laugh made my stomach hurt. Whatever he said couldn’t have been that funny.

I marched up to him, preparing the perfect speech in my head. Something that would put him in his place and send him on his merry way.

Then he smiled at me and patted the space next to him, and I forgot how to speak English.

“You,” I said.

“Me,” he answered.

“Go away.”

“And leave you to Roger? Never.”

Naomi giggled. “Guess what? Justin plays piano.”

I sat on the other side of her and ripped my lunch bag from my backpack. “I know.”

“And he plays bass too. I was thinking—he could join our band. With him, we’ve got every instrument covered.”

“I can play the bass just fine,” I said, unraveling my jelly sandwich.

“But do you play the piano?” Naomi asked.

“Don’t need to. I’ve got a midi keyboard and piano samples. I can just program the notes.”

“And it sounds cold and robotic,” Justin said. “Even electronica can use that human touch sometimes.”

“Are you going to haul a piano into my grandma’s basement?”

“How about a keyboard? My Bösendorfer isn’t very travel friendly.”

I dropped my sandwich in my lap. “For real? You have a Bösendorfer?”

He looked down at his hands. “Yes.”

“Okay, what’s a Bösen-dopper or whatever?” Naomi asked.

I gritted my teeth. “It’s a really nice and expensive piano. But I have some samples of one on my computer.”

“Oh, yeah.” Justin snorted. “That’ll beat the real thing.”

“Are your parents, like, off-the-charts rich, or what?” Naomi asked him. “Because you’ve got a real nice ride too.”

He bit into his sandwich and shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Well, you’re either loaded or you aren’t,” Naomi said. “Which is it?”

“My dad’s a rap star.”

Naomi rolled her eyes and elbowed him. “Okay, fine. Don’t tell me.” She whipped out her cell phone, pressed a couple buttons, and handed it to me. “Give me your digits. I wanted to hang out last night, but I was afraid your grandma would eat me if I dropped by too late.”

Justin laughed softly into his sandwich, turning his face away.

“Where’s Kari?” I asked him, punching in my cell number.

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I heard you guys hooked up last night.” Naomi wiggled her eyebrows at him.

He squinted at me, shaking his head. “Having food at a café doesn’t equate to hooking up. She offered to show me around town—I thought, Why not?”

“I didn’t ask,” I said. “Why are you here anyway?”

“I invited him. We’ve got fourth period together.” Naomi took her phone from me and grinned at the number I’d plugged in.

Justin leaned around her to look at me. “I figured if we have to make a movie together—we might as well be civil. But I’ll leave if you’d like.”

“Okay,” I said, pretending to savor a bite of my sandwich. The chunk felt more like a rock edging its way down my throat. I didn’t really want him to leave, but I was afraid to let him stay. His presence gave me this tightness in my chest. Like I couldn’t breathe. And I hated how I kept looking at his lips when he spoke—wanting to touch them.

“Don’t go,” Naomi said to him.

I could feel both of them looking at me, waiting for a response. All I could do was count the cracks on the pavement. Most of them were faint, but a couple were large and gaping. Ready to swallow me.

“It’s cool.” He crumpled up his bag and zipped up his backpack. “I’ll see you in film, Drea.”

“Call me!” Naomi yelled after him as he walked toward the steps.

He gave her a small wave before going into the building.

“What’s your deal?” she asked. I didn’t like the tone of her voice—it sounded more cutting than usual. Higher in pitch.

“He’s a jerk.”

“I haven’t seen him be anything but nice to you. Confess already, huh? Who broke your heart?”

I stuffed my half-eaten sandwich into the bag, willing my mind to think of a brilliant answer. The thought of telling Naomi the truth made my teeth grind. She’d probably see me like everyone else did—sad, lonely, weird, even pathetic. When in doubt, I could always use Mom’s experiences. “He cheated on me—well—a couple of them did.”

She put her hand on my knee. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” The warmth of her hand reminded me of our kiss, something neither of us had mentioned since it happened.

Roger sauntered up to us and tossed his backpack on the cement. “What’s up?”

“Lunch is half over. Where the hell have you been?” she asked him.

“Got held up by my math teacher.” He nodded at me. “What’s up, Drea? You dump that loser?”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend in the first place,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow at Naomi, but she shrugged. “Guess it was just a fling,” she said.

Roger leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “Scott got some killer bud last night. It’s in my car.”

“Sweet. Let’s go.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me with her.

I held back. “I-I don’t—”

“Come on!” Her hand tightened around mine.

“But I don’t want to go anywhere. We’ll be late for—”

She rolled her eyes. “Chill, Drea.”

Naomi and Roger scanned our surroundings as we walked around the side of the main building. Our shoes sank in the muddy grass.

“How long will this take?” I asked.

Instead of answering, she jogged after Roger toward a row of evergreen trees. They ducked behind the low branches, but I could still see Naomi’s rainbow laces and Roger’s dirt-smeared tennis shoes. The wet grass was like ice under my boots.

“Hurry up, Drea! You’re gonna get caught,” Naomi hissed.

Each step made me teeter to the left or right. I held my arms out for balance and took short, fast steps until I reached the trees. Then I dove under the branches and inhaled deeply. The air smelled like maple syrup and cigarette smoke.

A few students stood in the shade of the evergreens. Kari and Casey leaned against a trunk, narrowing their eyes at Naomi. Lipstick-stained cigarette butts smoldered near their feet. Kari met my gaze and leaned into Casey, whispering something. Both girls laughed, high and shrill.

“Ignore them,” Naomi said, leading me through a break in the trees.

We passed a lip-locked couple—all tangled fingers and soft laughter. I wondered how that felt.

Roger’s car was cream colored and shaped like an egg. The inside reeked of stale ashes and engine oil. Mom had a car like his once—even the brown upholstery was the same. Like cheap bath towels.

Roger reached over Naomi’s knees and snagged his green pipe from the glove box. Then he pulled out a plastic baggy filled with what looked like herbs.

“Ooh, that looks good.” Naomi grinned.

“Yeah, it’s real smooth.” He stuffed a pinch into the pipe and shoved the baggie back into the glove box.

“Good, because Scott’s been getting bunk lately.”

“You’re still hanging out with Scott?” I asked. The contents of my stomach crept into my throat. Why did she insist on hanging out with these guys?

“He might’ve dropped by last night.” She smiled wide and took the pipe from Roger.

He squinted at her. “He hooked up with Kelly this weekend, you know.”

She bit her lip, shrugging. “So? He already told me.”

“He was scoping out Drea on Saturday too.”

“And he told me he was totally joking.”

I swallowed hard and focused on the motor oil bottles below my feet. “Didn’t sound that way to me.”

“Do you buy everything he tells you?” Roger asked.

“Yeah, he said you’d say that too.” Naomi thrust the pipe in front of me. “You get to do the honors, Drea.”

“No, tha—”

“Why are you so into him?” Roger spoke over me.

Naomi rolled her eyes and wiggled the pipe at me. “You smoking or not?”

I took it from her, letting the cold metal sink into my palm. She settled back in the front seat and gazed out the window.

“Hey, there’s Justin,” she said.

“Where?” I asked, scanning the parking lot.

“In his fancy car. He’s, like, taking a nap or something.”

Justin’s black BMW was two cars down, facing us. He had his seat reclined, and his head bobbed slightly—like he was lost in a song.

“Do you think he smokes?” Naomi asked.

“Yeah, right,” Roger said. “He’s got Momma’s Boy written all over his sorry ass.”

“Shut up. He’s nice,” she said.

He shook his head at her. “Is there anyone you don’t want to bone?”

“Yeah—you.”

Roger shifted in his seat and drummed his hands against the steering wheel. “Whatever.”

Naomi slapped my knee. “Come on—use it or lose it, babe.”

“You go first,” I said, handing it back to her.

She stuck the pipe between her lips and ran the lighter over the end. Her face turned bright red before she finally blew the smoke out. The pungent odor stung my nostrils like Mom’s overheated coffee.

“Nice.” Her voice sounded hoarse. She squinted at me when I hesitated to take the pipe from her. “Why do you look so freaked?”

“I don’t know.” I took the pipe and the lighter from her. The warmth of the metal burned into my hand this time. Naomi and Roger watched me with half smiles—as if they knew I had no clue what I was doing.

And then the bell echoed from the school. “We should go,” I said, dropping the pipe in Roger’s lap.

“Watch it,” he said.

Naomi rolled her eyes. “You got time for a toke, hon.”

My throat tightened and my chest felt heavy. All I wanted to do was get out of that car. I fumbled with the lock, but the door didn’t budge. “Let me out.”

“Uh—you locked it,” Roger said, shaking his head and clicking it open again.

“What’s wrong with you?” Naomi asked.

“I can’t breathe in here.” I shoved the door open and flung my backpack over my shoulder.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” Naomi said.

I slammed the door shut and weaved through the parked cars. The drizzle had thickened into a soft rain, making me shiver. I was about to make a run for the school when someone grabbed my elbow and pulled me behind an SUV.

“Hey”—Justin spun me around—“it’s just me.”

I sucked in my breath and tried to break free, but he tightened his grip on my arm.

“Do you not see security standing about fifty feet away?” he asked.

I peeked around the rear of the large silver vehicle he was leaning against. A man and woman in blue rain jackets stood at the parking lot entrance. The man spoke into a two-way radio, and the woman began walking in our direction.

“She’s coming,” I whispered.

“Shit, I hate closed campuses.” He slipped his hand into mine, leading me around the front of the SUV. I wondered if he’d been to as many schools as I had.

Rain tapped the hood of the car, drowning out the sound of the woman’s footsteps. We squatted down beneath the headlights. Justin’s cheek was only a couple inches from mine, but somehow it didn’t feel close enough.

“What now?” I asked, my heart racing in my chest.

He put his finger to his lips as the sound of heels passed us by. I peered around the side of the SUV. The security woman moved slowly, glancing at the spaces between the cars. I looked back at Justin. Droplets had formed on the tips of his eyelashes, making them look even longer.

He met my gaze. “You smell like a concert.”

“So?”

The beep of a two-way radio echoed nearby. “All is clear on my end,” the woman said.

The radio crackled again, and a man’s voice broke through. Most of his words were too distorted to make out. “Okay… check the… and bathrooms.”

The hissing of the radio and her footsteps faded into the distance. Justin peered over the hood and stood up.

“They’re gone,” he said, ruffling his wet hair.

I used the bumper to hoist myself up, but my shaky legs made me stumble back.

He smirked. “Need some eyedrops?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a pretty straightforward question.” He tilted my chin, gazing at me. His left cheekbone was smeared with eyeliner. “Nah, you’re good.”

“I need to get to class.”

“So go to class,” he said softly, dropping his hand. His lips twitched like he was about to laugh.

But I didn’t want to go to class. I wanted to ask him what was so damn funny, or if he really liked Kari, or if he’d ever smoked pot. Anything, really. “What were you listening to in your car?”

His smile faded, and he shrugged. “Probably someone you don’t like.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“So you can hate me more?”

“I don’t… never mind.” I brushed past him and headed toward the school, but he didn’t follow.

“‘Bus Stop’ by the Hollies,” he called after me.

I was glad he couldn’t see the cheesy grin on my face. Mom always played that song when she was in a good mood. And we’d sing an off-key rendition on every road trip. It was the number-two most-played song on my iPod.

M onday, September 10History is boring. My teacher talks too fast. What am I supposed to write about? I’ve been at Samish High for a week now. Naomi is my only friend here. She doesn’t treat me like I’m a freak. And she loves to talk and sing. Her words fill the gaps in my mind. She’s always smiling too. But I don’t think she’s that happy.My mom is broke, so we’re stuck living with my grandma. But I don’t really feel like writing about Grandma. I see her enough.There’s this boy

“Andrea Horvath?” the teacher asked.

I glanced up, dropping my pen. “Yeah?”

“You’re wanted in Jackie Bartlett’s office. Take your things, please.”

Great, the school counselor. I’d rather have listened to Mrs. Heinz’s skewed perception of U.S. history.

Justin was leaving when I got to Jackie’s office. He hadn’t dressed like me again, thankfully. But he had a slightly different look every day. Almost like he fished things blindly out of a suitcase. Today he wore a gray thermal and a pair of tattered jeans.

I wondered why he had to see the counselor—maybe he needed help picking colleges or something. He gave me a small smile and brushed past me. Like I was just another student. Nobody. And for some reason, I wanted to matter to him.

“Hi,” I said.

He turned around and raised his eyebrows. “Am I hallucinating?”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t looked at me all week.”

“I—never mind.” I turned on my heel and headed into Jackie’s office. It was true that I buried my face in Go Ask Alice during English class and hid out in the library when Naomi ditched campus at lunch. But I didn’t know what to say when I felt his eyes on me. Everything I thought of sounded stupid—like I couldn’t possibly be interesting to someone like him.

“How are you, Andrea?” Jackie asked. She was lanky with dark hair and big teeth.

“Call me Drea.” I slid into the plastic orange chair, but kept my backpack on.

“Fair enough. Feel free to dump your backpack. Can’t be comfy sitting there like that.”

“I’m fine,” I said, looking at the array of pictures on her desk. Everything from black-and-white arty photos to smiling teens in the sunshine.

“Twix bar?”

“I don’t like chocolate.”

“Ah.” She banged her drawer open. “I’ve got SweeTarts for the chocolate haters.”

I took a couple packages from her—at least she had good taste in nonchocolate candy.

“So, you’ve been here about a week now. How’s it going for you?”

I ripped at the paper and dropped a green SweeTart into my mouth. “It’s fine.”

“Getting used to all the rain?”

I sank into the chair. “Can we skip all the preliminary questions? I’m not having any problems in my classes. I’ve found my way around school just fine, and I’ve even made a friend.”

“Have you seen a lot of counselors before?”

“Of course. You guys think people like me always need the extra help.”

“People like you?”

I hated it when they pretended not to know what I was talking about. “Yep, I’ve got AS and ADHD—and whatever other acronym assigned to me. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Jackie leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “And what do those acronyms mean to you?”

“They’re a constant reminder that I’m a freak. That there’s something wrong with me.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with you?”

“I feel like…” I shut my eyes, trying to think of the words. “Like I can’t be me if I don’t want to be lonely. Nobody takes me seriously when they know.”

“Do you feel singled out?”

“It’s not a feeling. I am singled out. My mom told all my teachers when I was diagnosed. They started speaking to me really slow, like I was retarded. Then this jerk-off in my history class found out somehow, and he kept asking me if I was an excellent driver. Then he told me they’d made a movie about someone like me. Rain Man. So I watched it.”

She took a sip of her coffee without taking her eyes off me. “What did you think?”

“I thought it had nothing to do with me. I don’t repeat things over and over. I don’t count toothpicks. I know how to subtract fifty from a hundred.”

“There are many different types of people on the autistic spectrum. Some end up being very successful out in the world—just like anyone else.”

“Yeah, I know—so why do I need a label?”

“Have you ever Googled Asperger’s? There’s—”

“Yeah, it listed a bunch of random symptoms. Bad social skills, lack of eye contact, can’t understand tone of voice, being overly interested in something—which makes no sense to me. Isn’t wanting to learn a good thing? I think everyone should be passionate about something.”

Jackie shut her eyes slightly and nodded. “What I was getting at was there are online communities for people with AS. A lot of people who probably feel like you do. If you want, you can just browse the boards. See what others are saying.”

“I belong to a lot of music communities. I do just fine on those. We basically stay home all night and talk about our gear.”

“And that’s fine. But I still recommend you check out some online communities for Asperger’s.”

“I’ll think about it.” But I had already thought about it, looking for others online. I was afraid they’d be so weird I’d feel as lost as I did at school—which meant I didn’t fit in anywhere. “How often do I have to come here?”

“Once a week for now, more if you’d like. But it doesn’t sound like you need it.”

“How about less?”

“We’ll consider it. Any other questions for me?”

“Why was Justin Rocca here?”

She smiled and leaned back in her chair. “Surely a guidance counselor veteran like yourself knows I can’t tell you that. Is he a friend of yours?”

“Not really. He’s my partner in film class. But maybe he told you that.”

Jackie shrugged. “So what if he did? Does it matter?”

“No, I was just curious.”

Her dark eyes combed my face for a second. They made me squirm. “Then why don’t you ask him?”

“I’m not comfortable doing that.”

“Why?”

“We don’t really talk that much.” I wove my fingers together and pressed down on my knuckles.

“Is that because you don’t want to talk to him?”

“I don’t know what to say to him.” I looked away—I’d already said too much. “He makes me feel stupid.”

She cocked her head at me, giving me that concerned doctor look. “How?”

“Sometimes it feels like he can see inside my head. Like he knows that…” I can’t stop thinking about him, or that I watch him in class sometimes.

“Are you going to finish your thought?”

“No, forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Jackie lifted her blue mug again. “I think you do. You know, people aren’t as closed off as they seem. Sometimes all it takes is a smile or a hello to break the ice. He probably finds you just as intimidating.”

“Did he say that?”

“I have a dare for you, Drea. Say hello to someone today—it can be anyone. See if you get a response.”

“That’s dumb.”

“Why? It’s hello—simple, straightforward. No strings attached.”

“I already said hi to Justin on his way out.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

“He was surprised.”

Jackie tapped her nails against her cup. The sound made me cringe. “Hey, it’s a start.”

I fought the urge to hide behind my book when Justin walked into English. I stared at his white tennis shoes as he approached his desk, straining to open my mouth. But hi came out more as a grunt.

He slid into his seat and turned to look at me. “You say something?”

“I said hi.”

He smiled. I noticed a faint freckle on his upper lip. “Poe sucks.” He motioned to my T-shirt.

“You suck.” Poe was one of my favorite female artists. And she actually produced her own music—couldn’t say that about most pop stars.

He poked my arm. “I was only kidding. My sister said she’s amazing live. She saw her back in 2001.”

“What’s your favorite album?”

“Haunted is pretty awesome—can’t say I’ve heard anything like it.”

Kari looked at me over her shoulder. Her eyes moved to Justin. “Hey.” She tapped her polished nails against his desk.

He turned to face her. “What’s up?”

“You never called me back.”

“I know, sorry. I—”

She moved closer and lowered her voice. “Can we talk at lunch?”

Mr. Duncan began his lecture before Justin could answer her. Kari rolled her eyes and spun around. I’d never been so glad to hear a teacher speak.

I stood in the parking lot like an idiot after school. Roger’s egg car wasn’t in its usual space. Just perfect.

Naomi wasn’t by the fountain at lunch, and she never showed up to PE. My wrist still ached from volleyball. Choosing to slam one’s flesh into a hard ball seemed wrong. How anyone enjoyed that was beyond me.

“Hey, Drea,” a sharp voice said behind me.

My heart pounded as Kari approached me. “Hi,” I mumbled.

“Have you seen Justin?”

“He was talking to the film teacher when I left class. Probably still there.” I eyed the ground, hoping she’d go find him and leave me alone.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her studying me. Her arms were folded tightly across her stomach, toe tapping on the pavement.

“So”—she shifted her weight—“are you guys, like, seeing each other?”

That particular phrase always threw me. Whenever Mom said she was seeing someone, I always thought—well, duh.

“Not like that.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “What do you mean like that?”

“I mean, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“That’s not what I was asking.”

“I don’t understand.”

Kari rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. “I’m not in the mood for games. Did you guys hook up or not?”

I backed up a couple steps. “He’s just my partner in film.”

A white sedan pulled up, and the driver tapped the horn twice. I could make out Casey’s long blond hair and broad shoulders.

Kari held a finger up, asking Casey to hang on. “If you see him on his way out, tell him to call me.” She shook her head and got into the car, slamming the door. Casey revved the engine and sped out of the parking lot.

Slow footsteps emerged behind me, and I got the prickly feeling of someone staring at my back. I looked over my shoulder and met Justin’s stare. What a convenient time to show up.

“Hey,” he said, peering in the direction Casey’s car went. “Sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“That she was interrogating you about me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked a rock.

“Are you hiding from her?”

He sighed, rolling his eyes up to the dull sky. “Kinda—yeah.”

“Bad date?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “That’s the problem. It wasn’t a date.”

“Why? Did you want it to be a date?”

He crinkled his brow at me and shook his head. “You’re an odd duck, Drea.” Before I could ask what the hell that meant, he continued. “I signed up for a camera the weekend after next. Mr. Diaz said everyone waits until the last minute, so I figured we’d beat the rush. Any ideas?”

“Not really. The only movies I’ve made are of sea lions, clouds, and my mom’s retarded ex with my crappy HI-8.”

“Hey, it’s better than nothing.” He scanned the parking lot. “You need a ride home?”

“It appears that way. But I can call someone.”

“Someone, huh? You’ve got a lot of friends in a town you just moved to.”

I looked away, my stomach tensing at the thought of being alone with him.

“Okay, suit yourself,” he said. “Later.”

Then again, getting a ride home from Justin seemed a lot more exciting than waiting for Mom or even worse—Grandma. “Wait,” I called after him. “You can give me a ride home.”

He turned around and walked backward with a grin. “Oh, can I? Thanks, I feel privileged.”

I followed him to his car, scanning the shiny black paint. M3 gleamed back at me in silver. It looked like a 2006—333 horsepower. Not bad.

He held the passenger door open for me. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite on the first ride home.”

I hesitated. “Huh?”

Justin rolled his eyes and waved me in. “Never mind.”

I slid into the black leather seat, breathing in the faded stench of cigarettes. Probably from Kari. I didn’t like picturing her in this seat.

He got into the driver’s side and started the engine. A song with grinding guitars and piercing synthesizers roared through my ears, but he quickly turned it down and mumbled an apology.

“They’ve got a V-8 M3 now,” I said.

He backed out of the parking space. “You don’t strike me as a car fan.”

“I used to read Car and Driver and Motor Trend a lot. Now I’m more into sound design.”

“You’ve got some interesting hobbies. So—where do you live?” He pulled onto the main street.

“Make a left at the light.”

“Can you give me a general area?”

“It’s near the bay. That street you make a left on—”

“Holly?”

“Yeah. Keep going straight and then Holly turns into something else after you pass this really big church. I live three streets down from that.”

He glanced over at me with wide eyes. “Oookay. Let me get this straight. I hang a left on Holly, and Holly turns into something else, hopefully another street. And you live on the third cross street after the church.”

“Yeah, it’s either the third or fourth.”

He shook his head, smirking. “Please tell me you know the name of your street.”

I looked out the window, my cheeks growing hot. I never paid attention to names—only landmarks and how many left or right turns it took to get there.

He touched my shoulder before shifting again. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”

A few moments passed before he tapped a button on his wheel, turning the music back up. The beat was danceable, and I liked the mix. Most modern songs overdid the compression to the point of killing any dynamic that once existed—they were just loud. Period.

“Who is this?”

He squinted at me as we pulled up to a red light. “Why—you hate it?”

“No, I kind of like it, actually.”

“It’s a band called Black Lab. They don’t normally do electronica. It was kind of an experiment, but I like bands that take risks.”

“Me too.”

“Do you consider yourself a music snob?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Yes.”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “Same here. And you lost points for not knowing Black Lab.”

“Don’t play the music game with me. I’ll win.” At least I did every time someone challenged me online.

“Oh.” He shook his head. “This is gonna be good. Try me. Throw some names out.”

“Porcupine Tree.”

“I’m torn between ‘Deadwing’ and ‘The Sound of Muzak’ for my favorite song, but I think In Absentia is a better album.”

“It was a little mellow for me. I preferred Deadwing—it was more visceral and dark.”

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “Okay, here’s one for you. Puracane.”

“My favorite song is ‘Shouldn’t Be Here.’”

“Because it’s dark and visceral?”

“No, I can relate to it for some reason.”

“Why? You wake up on a lot of random couches?”

“No, I just get it.”

He tapped his finger against the steering wheel and gave me a sidelong glance. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Some melodies just talk to me. The lyrics don’t matter.”

We drove in silence for a minute. Brick buildings, kayak places, and bike riders whizzed by.

“So if you love cars so much, how come you don’t drive?” he asked.

I focused on two older women in the car next to us. One had purple hair. “I don’t have a license.”

“Why not?”

“I kind of flunked the test.” I didn’t want to tell him there had actually been six of them.

“Kind of? We’ll have to fix that.”

“Are you going to take it for me?”

He chuckled. “No, but I’ll give you free driving lessons.”

“Um, I drive pretty bad. You really don’t want to do that.”

He pointed to my right. “There’s the church.”

“It’s the street right after the white-and-black house.”

“Drea, there are several that color.”

“The one with all the yellow flowers in the yard.”

He nodded and sped up. Maybe he just wanted to get rid of me.

“You live on Daisy Street for future reference,” he said after we turned the corner.

“Thanks. It’s that ugly, yellowy-green house on the right.”

“I like your neighborhood. It’s got character.”

“It’s just old.”

He sighed, shaking his head. We pulled up next to the curb, and I was relieved to see Mom’s Toyota missing from the driveway. She’d ask a million embarrassing questions if she saw Justin drop me off.

“So, um…”

“We need to figure out what we’re doing for our film project,” he said.

I avoided his gaze. “You could come in, I guess.” After all, I did tell Mom we were working on a project together.

“I didn’t mean now.”

“Oh, okay. Well, bye, then.” I pushed the door open and climbed out, sliding my backpack over my shoulder.

“Hey, I didn’t say no.” He ejected the Black Lab CD out of his player and waved it at me. “Want a copy?”

I attempted to smile even though my knees were shaking. “Yeah.”

He shut off the car and hopped out, gazing at the trees lining the street.

I unlocked the door and prayed Grandma wasn’t home. “Hello? Grandma?”

No answer. My muscles relaxed.

Justin followed me to the basement and made an approving sound when he spotted my guitars and Mac Pro. “Nice.” He nodded at the computer. “Is that an eight-core?”

“No, it’s an older dual-core. Got it off eBay.” The setup had cost me years of birthday and holiday checks.

“Cool.”

“I’ve got Final Cut, so we can edit the video here—i-if you want to.”

He grinned and walked over to my work desk, scanning the effect pedals, wires, and boards in various piles.

“I’m, um, building some pedals. Hopefully, I can sell them later.”

“I can see that.” He seemed to have a permanent half smile when he was around me.

“Is that funny to you?”

“Not at all. If I played guitar, I’d ask you to build me one.”

I walked over to my computer and jiggled my mouse to wake it up. The silver tower revved like a car engine—I loved that sound. Justin came up behind me, close enough to smell the gel in his hair. Just feeling his warmth made my knees weak again.

“Here,” he said, slipping the CD case into my hand.

“Thanks.” I stuck the CD into the drive, trying to block out the burning sensation on my skin. Mom told me I had a much bigger space bubble than most. Certain people really set it off, like Roger or some of my mom’s boyfriends. The feeling wasn’t much different than a spider crawling through my hair. But Justin was different. Just as intense, but warmer somehow. More pleasant.

“I thought we could do a music video for our project,” he said.

“Yeah, we could work on a soundtrack and…” I didn’t know if I wanted to work that closely with him. It would be easier to just stick a random song over the top, but there was no way I’d settle for that.

“But that would require working on music with me,” he said. “Sure you can handle my greatness?”

I glared at him. “Let me be the judge of how great you are.”

“Fair enough. Guess I’ll have to use your crappy midi to prove my point.”

“It gets the job done.”

He sat in front of my midi keyboard, shaking his head. “You just don’t get it.”

My phone bellowed out of my backpack, making me jump.

“Does your cell always scare you?”

I ignored him as I dug the contraption out of my bag. He really didn’t need to know that my mom was the only person who ever called me.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Am I interrupting anything juicy?” Naomi’s voice exploded into my ear.

I held the phone a few inches away. “I don’t understand the question.”

She sighed. “Uh, I’m standing right next to Justin’s car. Did you guys decide to form a band without me?”

“No, we’re discussing our film project.”

Justin shook his head, grinning. Naomi’s voice was loud enough for him to hear every word.

“Discussing it, are you? So proper.”

“Why are we talking on a phone?” I asked, heading up the stairs. “I’m opening the front door.” I snapped the phone shut.

Naomi stood on the porch wearing big sunglasses and a cheesy grin. Her purple hair jutted out in various directions.

“Did you get electrocuted?” I asked.

“No. I’ve been at Scott’s for the last couple hours.” She threw her arms around me, making my entire body stiffen. Her fingers dug into my back, and she rubbed her cheek against my velvet top. “You’re soft, like a kitty.”

I pushed her off me and backed away. “You’re being weird.”

“How’s it going, Naomi?” Justin leaned against the wall behind me, his arms folded across his chest.

Naomi walked over and hugged him. “You feel nice too. Your thermal is all fuzzy.” She ran her hands down his arms.

He frowned and gave her an awkward hug back. “What are you on? E?”

“Maybe.” She giggled and headed downstairs.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Justin rolled his eyes at me. “If you have any bottled water, bring it downstairs. If not, use the tap.”

After he followed her, I rummaged through Grandma’s alphabetized pantry and found a jug on the floor. I’d remembered hearing girls talk about E back in San Francisco. It usually involved stories of being up all night or messing around with some hot guy.

“This is all I could find,” I said, making my way downstairs.

Naomi was doing what looked like ballet moves across the cement floor. Justin grabbed the water from me and peeled off the seal.

“Sip on this.” He raised the bottle at her and set it near the steps.

“Yeah, I know. Scott told me to drink lots of water, blah blah.” She continued to twirl like she did in the greenbelt.

“Who’s Scott?” Justin asked, sitting in front of my midi keyboard.

“A loser,” I said.

“Yeah, but he’s a loser who gave me two of these for free.” She walked over to me, opening her hand to reveal two small pills with weird etchings on them. “Want one?”

Great, more pills. I had enough of those in my life. “Th-those never really worked for me.”

“God, am I like the last person on earth to try E? You want one, Justin?”

He glanced at me and then turned around, busying himself with the silent midi keys. “No, thanks.”

“You guys suck.” She shrugged and stuffed the pills back into her jean pocket. “More for me.”

“Don’t take them all at once,” Justin said.

“Okay, Dad.” She wrinkled her nose at him and grinned at me. “Have you ever had sex on it?”

I glanced at Justin, knowing my cheeks were probably bright red. There had to be something I could say that didn’t make me sound like a total loser. “My ex-boyfriend took me skydiving once.”

Naomi’s eyes widened. “Whoa.”

Justin squinted at me. “Don’t you usually have to be eighteen for that?”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Right.” He smirked. “Are you going to give me sound here or what?”

I leaned in front of my computer and opened Logic, the recording program I used. “I’ve got a bunch of samples—want me to use the Bösendorfer?” My hands shook. I didn’t understand how people could lie all the time; it took an immense amount of energy.

“It doesn’t matter. They all sound like shit to me. Just put a little reverb on it.”

“I can make it sound good,” I insisted, sticking the sampler on a track and fiddling with the EQ.

“I’ve got the real thing, Drea. Don’t try too hard.”

“Do you prefer bright or dark ’verb? Probably bright, huh?”

He grinned. “You’re the expert.”

It felt weird to have someone watching me, seeing my process. Naomi didn’t seem picky, but what if Justin hated my style? What if I hated his?

Naomi came up behind Justin and rubbed his shoulders. She’d perched her sunglasses on top of her head. “And I have no clue what you two are talking about.”

He shut his eyes and smiled. For some reason, that really bugged me.

She leaned toward his ear. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Do you ask anything but personal questions?” He tried out a couple notes and nodded at me. “Not bad—I’ll give you that.”

Naomi leaned over and whispered something in his ear. I couldn’t quite make out what, but it had my name in it.

He pulled away from her touch and focused on the keys. “How about I give you something to dance to?”

She squatted next to him with a smirk. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” It sounded more like a statement than a question.

He played an E-minor chord. “Go dance, Naomi.”

I wondered if he felt embarrassed like I did when she asked those questions. Maybe he was like me and didn’t want people to know what a dork he was.

“It’s okay.” She pinched his cheek. “Drea’s a great kisser—I speak from experience. I’m sure she can show you a few other things too.”

“Naomi!” At that moment, I really wanted to die. Or maybe hit her with a baseball bat. “Would you shut up?”

Justin raised his eyebrows, an odd smile on his face.

Naomi rolled her eyes at me. “It’s not a big deal, Drea. It probably turns him on.”

“Not really,” he said, tapping the high keys gently. “Do you think you’re the first straight girl to kiss another girl for shock value?”

“We were by ourselves. And what makes you think I’m straight?” she asked.

“Because I’ve got amazing gaydar.”

“I don’t put labels on myself,” she said. “I just am.”

“Okay, so go be over there.” He waved toward the open space in front of my bed.

Naomi ruffled my hair before collapsing on the bed, her legs dangling over the side. I settled into my computer chair, hoping she’d be quiet for a while.

Justin began with a chord progression that instantly connected with me. My fingertips buzzed with anticipation, and I heard a billion different guitar melodies over the top. Maybe a gentle synth—bell-like without the piercing edge. He closed his eyes as each chord rang out, letting them bleed together and create the perfect mix of colors. Blue entwined with varying shades of gray. Like the drizzle outside. Comforting but a little sad. Then he played a fast, erratic melody with his right hand. Every note made me shiver, each one building into something even more amazing.

Naomi rolled off the bed, humming a melody of her own over the top. She walked up behind Justin and tapped his shoulder. “Can you play just the chords?”

“Sure,” he said, going back to the original progression.

She closed her eyes, fingers tapping against her ripped jeans. Her lips moved slightly with each chord change. “She smiles with grace, but no one recalls her face,” she sang. “Invisible… carved between the walls.”

I guessed at Justin’s tempo, setting it around 100bpm, and fished around for some drum samples. Most of the time I’d start with a loop that felt right—couldn’t explain why. Then I’d EQ the sound so it fit the tone of the song and add more drum samples from there. This song had a real trip-hop feel to it—slow, dark, and catchy. I found a bouncy beat and distorted the drums a bit. Naomi could play a live beat later, and I’d combine the two.

“I like that,” Justin said to me.

“Tempo okay?”

He nodded. “I can work with it.”

Naomi still had her eyes shut, nodding to the beat now. “She knows her place in this world. She can tear down its walls, and still nobody knows her name.”

Justin stopped playing and shook his head. “You’ve got an incredible voice, Naomi.”

She bit her lip, eyeing both of us. “Really? I don’t sound stupid?”

“No,” I said. “You’re giving me chills—both of you are.” I walked over and opened the case of my twelve-string acoustic. Another cheap and rare find from an online acquaintance.

Justin raised his eyebrows at my guitar. “Interesting choice.”

“Start again,” I said, setting the drums to loop mode and cranking the volume.

Layering the guitar chords on top of the piano gave the song a dreamy atmosphere. But Justin’s melody and Naomi’s vocals took the song to a place I could never go on my own. It tore at my gut and haunted my mind until all I wanted to do was get lost in it for hours. After our third time through, I decided to record the piano and guitar. Naomi insisted on reworking her lyrics before recording.

“Okay, Drea? If you don’t let Justin join our band, I’m seriously going to smack you,” Naomi decided.

I stared back at my computer screen, wanting nothing more but too afraid to ask. “You can join—if you want to.”

“Nah, I’ve got better things to do,” he said.

I swiveled to look at his grinning face.

“Smile, I’m only kidding.”

I didn’t find it very funny. He obviously had no idea how hard this was for me.

“But I’m only joining on two conditions,” he said. “One, I get to use my keyboard. And two, nobody shows up to practice wasted.”

“Fine by me,” I said.

“Hey,” Naomi pouted, “I sang better today than I ever have.”

“That’s what it seems like. Trust me, I’ve been in bands before. It always becomes a problem.” He looked down at his hands. “Anyway, I’m digging our sound so far. Reminds me a little of Portishead.”

“What did you play before?” I asked.

“You name it. Mostly metal, though.”

“With a piano?” Naomi picked up the water bottle and took a big gulp.

He shrugged. “Why not? Sounds like you need to expand your horizons.”

“She does.”

Naomi held her hands up. “Hey, I already told you I’m clueless, Drea.” She scanned the room. “So, why aren’t these walls painted yet?”

“I was going to pick up some paint this weekend and do it.”

“Okay, I’m so helping! I’ll bring Ferris Bueller—we’ll make a slumber party out of it.” She smiled at Justin. “Wanna join us?”

He chuckled and stood up. “No, thanks. I’ve gotta work.”

Her eyes widened. “You work?”

“Yeah, believe it or not. The rich boy works. Speaking of which”—he looked down at his watch—“I’m already running late.”

“How’d you score a job here so fast? I’ve been looking all summer,” Naomi said.

“My brother-in-law runs a computer repair shop on Lakeway. I’m his newest tech.”

I ejected his CD out of the computer and handed it back to him. “Well, um, thanks for the Black Lab and the ride and stuff.”

He studied me for a moment, his eyes intense with something I couldn’t even pinpoint.

“She’s kind of adorable, isn’t she?” Naomi asked.

I focused on his tennis shoes. Dirt was caked around the rims, and one of his laces was coming loose.

“Yeah, she’s kind of a lot of things.” His voice was soft, like he meant it as a compliment. But a lot of things could mean, well, anything.

“You should double knot your laces.” I pointed at his shoes.

Naomi giggled and plopped on my bed again, and Justin let out what sounded like a soft laugh. I looked up at him hesitantly.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, smirking. “I’m off Friday, though. We should—”

“Make out!” Naomi shouted.

Justin rolled his eyes. “Practice. And come up with a name for our band.” He brushed his fingers against my arm. “See you later.”

“See ya.” The sensation of his brief touch traveled to my fingertips.

Naomi had the decency to wait until he left before announcing her thoughts. “Oh my God, he totally wants you! You are so lucky.”

ON WEDNESDAY, Naomi insisted on getting a pint of cookie dough ice cream after Justin dropped us off. I hated that he had work. All I’d wanted to do since Monday was make music with both of them.

Naomi kept trying to tickle me as we walked to the grocery store. It made me feel like crawling out of my skin.

“Stop!” I said finally.

Her hands went up. “God, you don’t have to freak out like that.”

“I really hate being tickled.”

She kicked a rock in front of her. “I feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

My heart sped up a little. We got to the end of our street and rounded the corner. “What do you mean?”

She moved a little closer to me. “Well, if you ever want to talk about, you know, whatever, I’m here, okay? You can tell me anything.”

Right then, I wanted to tell her. But the thought of trying to explain everything I wasn’t made me cringe inside. All it would take was for her to hear the term autistic. And she’d think the worst, like that kid in my class last spring. What if she thought I was retarded? I couldn’t risk it.

Naomi decided she wanted rocky road when we walked into the ice cream aisle. She grabbed a pint, studied it, and then put it back. “Actually, cookie dough still sounds better. You like that, right?”

“It’s got chocolate chips in it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, what kind will you eat?”

“I like vanilla.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “But what do you put on it? Granola? Strawberry sauce?”

“I just eat it plain.”

“Oh my God, no! That’s so boring. I’ll go crazy.”

“Then get whatever. I don’t need to eat it.”

She grabbed a vanilla pint out of the freezer and tossed it in the basket. “No way am I pigging out alone. I’ll just get some chocolate sauce to put on mine.”

I plucked it out. “You shouldn’t grab the first one.”

“Okay, why?”

This wouldn’t be easy to explain. It was just something I had to do. Somewhere along the line I’d convinced myself that the first package on every shelf was contaminated or damaged somehow. The SNRI the psychiatrist prescribed was supposed to help with my more obsessive behaviors, but antidepressants took weeks to start working. “This one was leaking,” I said, shoving it back in the freezer and reaching for the next pint.

She took it from me, shaking her head. “It looked just fine to me.”

“Wait.” I snatched the pint back and scanned it. “You should always check the date on food before you buy it.”

“Drea, it’s ice cream. It doesn’t expire.”

“Yes, it does. See? Right here.”

“Awesome, can we move on now before it melts?”

I nodded and tried to mimic one of her wide smiles. She didn’t grin back that time.

When we got back to my house, I made Naomi go downstairs. If Grandma saw us eating ice cream before dinner, she’d flip out. Not to mention, no food was allowed outside the kitchen.

I had about two spoonfuls before the nausea set in, and I sat against my headboard. The new adhd meds had yet to improve my appetite.

Naomi devoured another bite and squirted chocolate sauce in her mouth. “No wonder you’re so skinny. You never eat.” She sat on my bed and licked the remaining sludge from the spoon.

“I eat. I’m just not hungry right now.”

She took another bite, closing her eyes. I wished I knew what that felt like—to really enjoy something. Grandma’s cooking was horrid, but liking something meant I tolerated it. The texture or spices didn’t make me gag.

Naomi put the ice cream on the floor and scooted next to me, close enough so our shoulders touched. “Want to make out?” she asked with a smile.

“No.”

“Gee”—she leaned harder into me—“tell me how you really feel.”

I moved away so we had a few inches of space between us. “I just did.”

“I was only kidding. You don’t do it for me, either. Can we still be friends?” She giggled.

I looked at her. The sparkles on her eyelids matched her blue irises. “Of course. You want to, right? Be my friend?”

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. Shopping bags, dreadlocks, grins, steaming coffee cups, and “give me money” signs—all of it streamed by like a peep show into another world. “We could work on a song. Naomi can do the vox later,” I said.

“I’ll drop you at home so you can prepare yourself for a grueling driving lesson.” He looked over at me as we stopped at a red light. “Then I’ll run back to my place and get my keyboard. We’ll jam later.”

“We can go to your place now.” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t need time to prepare.”

“Nah, I live in the opposite direction. Take a shower or something—I’ll be back in no time.”

I tilted my head to sniff my armpits. Did I remember to put deodorant on this morning? “I want to see your Bösendorfer.”

“You will one of these days.” He shifted down and bit his lip. “My house is kind of a mess right now.” We made a right onto my street a little faster than necessary.

I pushed the door open after he pulled up to the curb. “See you in a bit, then?”

He winked. “Give me ten minutes.”

I was going to head straight for the shower. Maybe he was hinting at something. People did that.

But Mom greeted me at the front door. “Your friend has a nice car.”

“I guess.” I pushed past her.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” I said, picking up speed. “He’ll be back—we’re going to work on our film project.”

“I see.”

I looked over my shoulder and cringed at the grin on her face. It was like she knew exactly how I felt around him. She’d always told me that it would happen. One of these days, some lucky boy is going to give you butterflies in your stomach. Just wait. I’d told her to keep dreaming.

Warm rays of water trickled down my neck a few minutes later. Part of me couldn’t help but think what if—what if Naomi was right and Justin wanted me? I’d think he would’ve told me or asked me out at least. Maybe Naomi was wrong. She was definitely wrong about Scott.

By the time I got out of the shower, Justin was sitting at the kitchen table with Mom. Just great.

“What are you guys talking about?”

Mom gave me that knowing smile again. “I was going over the rules with your driver’s ed instructor here.”

I glanced from her to Justin. He smiled at me like nothing was different, but I never did pick up on subtle body language. For all I knew, she had told him all about my refusal to take baths when I was younger. “You’re letting us borrow your car?” I asked Mom.

She nodded.

Justin downed the glass of water in front of him and drummed his hands against the table.

“Can we go now?” I didn’t want to give Mom the chance to say anything more to him.

“Sure,” Mom said. “And you’re welcome.”

I looked away. “Thank you.…”

“Be careful. Pay attention to what he says.” She stood up and tried to give me a hug.

I pulled away from her. “Mom, please.”

I studied Justin’s face after we got into the car. He handled her keys like they might break and carefully turned the ignition.

“What did my mom say to you?”

He gave me a sidelong glance. That dimple appeared on his left cheek. “She showed me some of your baby pictures. There was one with cake all over your face and one with bubbles on your head in the tub. Too cute.”

“What?” If I had a picture with bubbles on my head, it needed to be destroyed immediately.

He backed out of the driveway and chuckled. “I’m kidding. She told me to stick to parking lots only and to bring her car back in one piece.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“Why? Is there something she should’ve told me?” He raised his eyebrows.

“No. She says stupid stuff sometimes, that’s all.” I looked out the window. We were heading uphill toward the freeway.

“She worries a lot, huh?”

“Did your mom freak out over letting you drive?”

Justin didn’t look at me this time. He focused on the car in front of us. “I’m sure she would’ve.”

“Would’ve?”

We pulled up to a red light. “She died when I was twelve.”

My mouth fell open to speak, but I didn’t know what to say. The only person I knew who died was my grandfather, and I knew him as the guy who sat in a wheelchair and wore diapers. I didn’t depend on him or talk to him every day like I did Mom. “Why? I mean, how—what happened?”

“Lung cancer—and no, she didn’t smoke.” He drummed the steering wheel, still not looking at me.

Sometimes I avoided eye contact when I didn’t know how to answer a question. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about his mom, like Naomi didn’t want to talk about hers. “Where are you taking me?”

A little smile played at his lips. “You’ll see.”

We headed south toward the mountains. Trees lined every inch of the highway. Some of the leaves were fading into shades of orange and yellow. Justin slowed as we neared a sign that read lake padden.

“There’s a trail that goes around the lake. It’s really pretty,” he said.

Walls of evergreens sheltered the parking lot we pulled into. A baseball diamond and tennis court sat in front of an oblong lake. The water resembled glass under the low clouds.

Justin got out of the driver’s side to switch with me, but my legs froze. I couldn’t tell my left from my right when I got nervous. Sometimes I’d start laughing or I’d go into a full-blown panic attack. I’d failed all six driving tests within the first five minutes.

He held the door open for me, a comforting smile on his face.

“Maybe we can go for a walk instead?” I suggested.

“You can do this. Now scoot over or I’ll sit on your lap.”

Before I could protest, he gripped the edges of the seat and moved toward me. Our faces were inches apart. He had gold flecks in his eyes. They were like spots of color in a black-and-white photograph.

“I mean it,” he whispered.

I lifted my shaking limbs over the shifter and settled into the driver’s seat.

After we got the car home, miraculously in one piece, Justin deemed me a parking lot master. He’d made me park and back out what seemed like a billion times—then he had me do something called a donut. That was fun at least.

We went down to the basement so Justin could rerecord the piano part to our first song. Naomi had decided to call it “Invisible.”

“I think you’re ready to cruise the neighborhood,” Justin said, setting up his keyboard.

I shook my head at him, a laugh escaping my lips. “Weirdo.”