Authors: Tara Kelly
“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.