Harmonic Feedback (27 page)

“What did your dad say?” I asked, sitting on his bed.

He stood in front of me, hands in his pockets. “He asked how I was. Told me a few friends called looking for me. That was about it. But it’s the first time he’s spoken to me since court. It’s a step.”

“Are you happy?”

He studied my face for a second. “Yeah, I am.”

“You told your sister I was your girlfriend.”

His eyelashes lowered to the floor. “Is that okay?”

“Only if that’s what I am to you.”

“I’d like that.” He glanced up at me, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t identify. Fear or uncertainty, maybe. At least that was what I felt.

“Me too.”

A little smile played at his lips. “Guess it’s settled, then.”

I fell back on his bed. The sheets felt velvety against my hands. “Your bed smells like you.”

“Imagine that.”

“Come here.” I wrapped my legs around his, pulling him closer. But he wasn’t moving. I let him go.

Justin sat next to me. “I want to take things slow with you, Drea.”

My body tensed at his words. I didn’t feel ready for sex, but I didn’t want to be treated differently either. “Why with
me
?”

He met my gaze then. “Because I didn’t know the people I had sex with. Not like I know you.”

I looked away and traced patterns against his sheets. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not ready yet. Does that simplify things?”

“Yes.” I glanced up at him. “Does that mean we can’t mess around anymore?”

“No, it definitely doesn’t mean that.” He smiled and then kissed me.

We fell back onto his bed. His mouth grazed my neck, moving slowly to my earlobe. I wondered if the shivering would go away eventually. It hadn’t yet. I moved my hands under his shirt, pulling it up.

“Can I see your tattoo?” I asked.

He smirked. “You’re slick.”

“What do you mean?”

“Finding a way to get my shirt off without having to ask.” He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

My cheeks burned. Considering the only shirtless guys I saw were on TV or the gag calendars Mom’s friends gave her, seeing Justin was pretty exciting.

But I wasn’t expecting silver bars through his nipples. “Whoa. Did that hurt?”

He propped himself up on his elbow. “For a couple seconds, yeah. Then the endorphins kicked in and I didn’t feel much.”

I poked at one of the bars, but tore my hand away for fear I’d hurt him. Just looking at them made me want to cover my own nipples and cringe. Maybe it was different for guys than girls. “Why did you get them?”

“Lydia, our singer, was friends with this guy who ran a tattoo and piercing shop. We weren’t allowed to have visible piercings at school, so she thought nipple piercings would be
hot
.” He rolled his eyes. “And I don’t know—I’ve grown to like them.”

My fingers ran across his biceps, tracing a tattooed band of black-and-white piano keys. His arms were muscular, but not what Mom referred to as “ripped.” He was thin, but defined. Which I liked. I always thought the whole buff thing was overrated. Most of the guys in my mom’s calendar had bigger boobs than me.

He rolled onto his stomach. A tattoo of a grand staff covered his upper back. A treble and bass clef. Rows of notes. Just like sheet music. Wings sprawled out behind it, stretching across his shoulder blades. They were mostly black but tinged with a little blue.

“It’s the beginning of a song I wrote for my mom. Kind of my tribute to her,” he said.

I ran my hands over the ink, admiring the etchings and shadows. “I love it,” I said. “Maybe you can play it for me sometime.”

He propped himself on his elbow again. “Do you have any?”

“What do
you
think?” I rolled my eyes.

“I was hoping for an excuse to get your shirt off.”

I wrapped my arms around my chest, and my heart sped up. “The room is kind of light.”

“That generally happens when the sun is out.” He gave me a half smile.

“It’s just I’ve never—um. A guy has never seen—”

“I know.” He brought his face to mine. “It’s okay. Really. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I want to, but I—”

He cut me off with a kiss. My body relaxed with his touch, and whatever I had to say became unimportant. His fingers circled my breast, and his thumb brushed across my nipple. I sucked in my breath, tangling my tongue with his. My skin felt like it was on fire. I inched my T-shirt up, slowly at first.

He pulled back. “You sure?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Just don’t laugh at my bra. It’s kind of white and—”

He ran a finger along the curve of my upper lip. “I’m not up on the latest bra trends. You’re safe.”

I let him pull my shirt over my head and stiffened as his eyes skimmed my body.

He pressed his lips to my navel, working his way up until our mouths were inches apart.
“Sei bella.”

I stared back at him. He definitely made me
feel
beautiful. “I want to hear more about Italy.”

His mouth tickled my ear. “You will.”

I ran my hands down his smooth back, breathing him in. His hand inched up my thigh. My eyelashes fluttered and a pressure built inside of me. He hesitated.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered.

He kissed me harder, his fingers sliding over the edge of my underwear. My leg muscles tensed, and my heart felt like it was palpitating. His touch moved higher until I was sure I’d pass out. An indescribable warmth blanketed my nerves.

Everything faded away, even the light streaming across his bed from the high windows. I had no idea being close to another human being could feel this amazing.

I
WOKE UP SHIVERING
the next morning. Raindrops pelted against the window, and the wind roared outside.

I hadn’t wanted to get out of the car when Justin dropped me home, ten minutes before my midnight curfew. The night had been incredible. I already missed his soft lips and the way his hands felt on my skin. My boyfriend. I had a real boyfriend.

During dinner, Justin and his sister had told me about the concerts they went to in Italy and how easy Milan was to get lost in. They showed me pictures of dusky buildings, cobblestone walkways filled with people, and the most elaborate shopping mall I’d ever seen. I’d be going there someday.

I glanced at my cell phone. It read 11:00, but the muted light in the basement made it seem much earlier. The wind picked up again, sending branches against the house.

I buried my hands inside the sleeves of my thermal and sat in front of my computer. The server dinged with new e-mail.

I stared at the name and subject until it became a blurry mess. Maybe she wanted to come to practice today after all. The knots in my stomach told me otherwise. I took a deep breath and opened the e-mail.

I read her letter three times, hoping it wasn’t real. Her dad wasn’t supposed to be home last night. Saturday, she’d said. They were going to pick out a car Saturday. Acid crept into my throat. My friend was gone, and it was my fault. Mom didn’t follow through on a lot of things—why this? Why now? I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

My cell phone rang, making me jump. Justin’s name appeared in the tiny screen.

“Hello?”

“I got an e-mail from Naomi,” he said, his voice somber.

I slumped in my chair, my eyes stinging. “It’s my fault. I should’ve stayed home last night.”

“You aren’t why she’s unhappy. Don’t think that way.” His windshield wipers squeaked in the background.

“I thought you had to work.”

“I do, but I’m on lunch. I’m heading to Scott’s.”

“What are you going to do?”

He exhaled into the phone. “I’m going to try and talk to her.”

“But Roger said Scott wants to pound you.”

“If he wants to come at me in broad daylight, he can go for it. I’m not going inside.”

“Take me with you.”

“No, I don’t want you around Scott.”

“I don’t care. She’s my friend too.”

“I’m going to try and get her home, okay?”

I nodded and realized he couldn’t hear me. “Call me as soon as you leave.” My throat was so tight it hurt to breathe.

“I will.” His voice softened. “I promise.”

I tried calling Naomi three times after Justin hung up. Her voice mail greeted me every time. Then I reread her letter.

I should’ve complimented her singing more. Told her how beautiful she was. She had more physical grace than anyone I’d ever known, especially when we jammed. A natural performer. Every movement seemed epic. I should’ve told her the truth about me.

Justin called ten minutes later. He said nobody answered, but the blinds were pulled up. The apartment looked vacant inside.

I ran upstairs, ready to confront Mom. A man’s voice echoed from the kitchen when I opened the basement door. Mom answered him softly. I crept toward the entrance, but stayed behind the wall and listened.

“I used to build houses,” the man said. “It was decent money. But then I fell and messed up my back. And the doc said no more construction or manual labor for me. Well, I don’t have a degree, and the job market in this town is nonexistent. What was I supposed to do?”

“I know,” Mom said. “I’m always struggling to keep my head above water. It’s not easy.”

“I’m not a bad father.” His voice shook. “I tried, you know? She’s always been so self-sufficient. Her brother was always getting in trouble. Teachers called me about him all the time. But not Naomi. She had good grades. No problems.”

I bit my lip to keep from shouting at him. He didn’t try. He made her feel invisible.

Mom gave him one of her vague sympathetic answers. Her voice trembled a little, like it always did when she felt bad. “I got lucky with Drea,” she continued. “I’ve made so many mistakes, dragging her across the country, living out of our pickup, one failed relationship after another. But she’s so practical and levelheaded. It’s not always about what you did or didn’t do. I think Naomi just got involved with the wrong crowd.”

“Do you know anything else about this Scott guy? I’d like to”—something banged against the table—“put his face through a goddamn wall,” her dad said.

“What are you doing, Drea?” Grandma peeked out from her bedroom down the hall. “Don’t eavesdrop on conversations.”

“Drea?” Mom called. “You can come in here, sweetie. It’s okay.”

I rolled my eyes and walked into the kitchen. Naomi’s dad sat at the head of the table, hunched over. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes red rimmed. He glanced up at me for a moment and nodded before staring at his hands.

I pressed my back against the wall, folding and unfolding my arms. Nothing felt comfortable. Nothing felt right.

Mom gave me a weak smile. “There was a bag for you on the porch this morning. It’s on the counter.” She studied my face. “Do you know what happened?”

“She’s with Scott,” I said. “I told you it wasn’t a good idea.”