“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.”
“I stockpile my cheesy lines just for you.” He smirked and sat down in front of his keyboard. “I’m ready when you are.”
I created a new track in Logic and hit record. “Go ahead.”
Justin dove right in, playing softly at first. I closed my eyes and allowed the melody to wash over my skin. Good music was something I could feel from head to toe. It calmed me, made me feel safe. I wouldn’t have minded if he wanted to do a hundred takes. But he settled for three.
“I thought up a good band name,” I said when he finished. “M3—like your car. Since there’s three of us and stuff.”
“It’s simple. I like it.” Justin picked up his chair and moved it next to me. “Naomi better finish the vocals. This song is going to be incredible.”
“We should make a band page on MySpace and some other music sites. I belong to this indie music site called Slip Music. It’s a really supportive community.”
“I’m game.” He nudged me and motioned to my computer screen. “So what do you do in Logic? Show me how a producer works.”
I smiled—if there was one thing I had no problems talking about, it was music production and synthesis. I soloed Naomi’s vocals and explained how I’d go about making them sound better. “In this case I added reverb to the track—gives it more space. And then I added some delay, but automated it to only work on certain words.”
Justin leaned in. The heat from his body made the hairs on my arm stand up. “I like that. It adds a lot of depth to her voice.”
I clicked on the guitar track with a shaky finger. “There’s this program called Guitar Rig, which is like a virtual guitar studio. I can approximate most guitar sounds with it, but nothing beats playing through a loud amp.”
“Cool.” His voice was soft, but inches from my ear.
My breath quickened. I moved on to how I created synths. “I see sounds in colors, and oscillators are like my primary colors. I start mixing them together, then I add a filter or two and get the core sound. Effects, LFOs, and modulation matrixes—”
“Drea”—he put his hand on my arm—“you lost me.”
“Oh, sorry. Sometimes I get started and can’t shut up.” Another laugh escaped my mouth.
“Hey.” He touched my cheek, running his fingers along my jawline.
A shiver ran down my back. I hoped my breath didn’t smell like the Doritos I ate after PE. Mom always carried a pack of gum on dates.
He dropped his hand and smiled. “I think you’re pretty damn amazing, regardless.”
“Oh, um…” My knee slammed against my keyboard. “Thanks.”
His lips parted as if he wanted to say something else.
“So…,” I said.
Justin stood up, looking at the staircase. “I need to take off. Thanks for the mini lesson though. I enjoyed it.”
The air suddenly felt cold around me, and my shoulders sagged. I got up and tried my best to smile at him.
Without warning, he wrapped his arms around my waist. I sucked in my breath, nuzzling my head against his chest. His thermal smelled sweet, like fabric softener.
“Have fun this weekend.” His lips brushed against my ear.
“You too.” I tightened my grip, not wanting to let go.
“See ya.” He pulled away and headed up the stairs—two steps at a time.
EVEN GRANDMA COULDN’T STOP ME from smiling Saturday morning. I devoured the grainy cereal she’d put in front of me and thought about Justin—how he made me feel.
Grandma looked at my empty bowl, her eyebrows pinched together. She pointed to the pink capsule she’d set next to my food: my SNRI. “You haven’t taken that yet.”
I put the pill in my mouth, choking it down with water.
She narrowed her hazel eyes at me. “That helping you any?”
“I don’t know. I just started taking it.” I took my bowl and put it in the sink.
“What’s it supposed to do?”
“Make me less anxious and depressed. But most of them just make me tired.”
“I’m going to start assigning you chores, Andrea. My back isn’t as good as it used to be. Maybe that’ll wake you up.”
I turned, facing her. “What?” Mom used to tell me stories about Grandma making her scrub the kitchen floor until every inch sparkled. One time she forced Mom to remake her bed ten times.
“You heard me.” She smiled. It looked wicked. “I saw your mother doing your laundry last night. Sixteen years old and you don’t know how to wash your own clothes?” She clucked her tongue.
I shrugged. The truth was Mom never trusted me with the clothes. Not since I got bleach spots on half her jeans and turned every white pair of underwear pink.
Grandma pushed a folded piece of paper across her glitter-ridden table. “I wrote down what I want you to do today. And gave you directions on how to do it.”
I sighed and picked up the yellow paper. Her purple cursive neatly spelled out each step.
“I’d follow that to every crossed T if I were you. Because I’ll make you do each thing over again until you get it right.”
Hushed voices in the entranceway caught my attention. I peered around the corner to see Mom hugging some guy with dark hair and a white shirt. She held a blue robe tightly around her body and pecked him on the cheek.
“What are you looking at, Andrea?” Grandma’s voice was loud enough to get their attention. Mom pointed in Grandma’s direction and put a finger to her lips, telling me to stay quiet. The man smiled and waved before edging himself out the door.
I couldn’t believe Mom was sneaking around like she was my age. I wonder why they didn’t go to his place. Mom came up behind me, squeezing my shoulders. I pulled away from her because I could smell his cologne. Whoever he was.
“You’re up early,” she said to me.
“Did your guest leave?” Grandma asked. She scrunched her lips into a tiny circle.
Mom tucked a lock of messy hair behind her ear, and her cheek twitched. “My guest?”
“Yes, Juliana. The strange man who was going through my refrigerator at one a.m.”
“Oh, Mom.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled like it was no big deal.
“What were you thinking? He could’ve killed all of us in our beds. Have you checked your purse? He might have stolen your wallet.”
“He’s a local dentist, and he drives a Benz. I highly doubt we have anything here he’d want.”
“I don’t want strangers spending the night in my house. You have no idea—”
“Point taken. Let’s move on.” Mom rubbed her eyes and poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee.
Grandma cleared her throat. “I’ve given Andrea some chores today.” She shifted her glare to me. “You can start by vacuuming the living room and hallway.”
Mom took a sip of coffee, wrinkling her nose. “She can’t tolerate the noise.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I’ll do something else, but I’m not vacuuming.” Every time Mom vacuumed, I’d shut myself in my room and put headphones on. The high, whiny noise pierced every nerve in my body and made my hair stand on end. And the crackling sound really got to me. Like tiny electric shocks. When I was little, I’d cover my ears and rock in the corner until it stopped.