Harmonic Feedback (11 page)

“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.

“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?”