Harmonic Feedback Read Online Free PDF Page B

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