Free Harmonic Feedback by Tara Kelly Page B

information, and”—Grandma yanked on Mom’s elbow—“your
address
. They break into your computer and find all this.”
    “Yeah, but it usually only happens to dumb people who respond to e-mail scams or download viruses,” I said.
    “Viruses?”
Grandma opened her mouth and closed it again.
    “Anyway, he says they have a lot of vegetarian options, Drea,” Mom said as we pulled into a parking spot downtown.
    Grandma gasped. “Juliana! We’re on Railroad Avenue.”
    “So what?”
    “Are you crazy? We’ll get mugged or killed. This is the worst part of town.”
    Downtown Bellingham consisted of a few brick buildings and rotting Victorian contraptions. Most of the inhabitants were college students with rainbow-colored hair and grungy people with acoustic guitars and tin cans.
    “This is nothing, Grandma. You should hang out in downtown Oakland sometime.”
    “It’s fine.” Mom pointed across the street. “Look, there’s a couple pushing a stroller, and some kids playing in the fountain over there.”
    “That’s where they keep the drugs.” Grandma lowered her voice and leaned toward Mom with wide eyes. “In the baby buggies.”
    “Okay, how about laying off the news for a while, huh?” Mom snorted out a laugh and got out of the car.
    Grandma’s sharp eyes didn’t miss an inch of Café Mars when we arrived after dropping off my new prescriptions. By the time the hostess offered to seat us, Grandma concluded that the place was run by misfits. After all, it lacked sticky booths and fake sugar at every table.
    The hostess showed us to a narrow table with stiff metal chairs. Grandma scrunched up her face and held on to the back of the chair, inching her compact body into the seat.
    A familiar laugh made me glance up from my menu, and I found myself looking straight into Justin’s eyes. Oh, God, no—of all places. He and Kari sat at a table in front of us, sipping milkshakes.
    Kari looked over her shoulder and flashed me a quick smile. “Hi, Drea.”
    I sucked in my breath, focusing on the colorful menu in front of me.
    “Who’s that?” Mom whispered.
    “Just someone from school,” I mumbled.
    “Well, say hi back at least.”
    “No,” I said through my teeth.
    “Blue walls are for baby nurseries, not restaurants,” Grandma announced, scanning the room. “What kind of place
is
this, Juliana?”
    Kari peeked over at Grandma and spun forward again, her back shaking with laughter. Justin stared at me, a half smile playing at his lips. I focused on my menu.
    “Let’s not worry about the décor for a change, okay, Mom?”
    “And why do they have someone’s trash all over their walls? That’s the last thing I want to see when I’m eating.”
    Café Mars had records, photographs, magazine cutouts, antique toys, and even tires plastered to the walls. I’d been in a million places just like it in California—ever since Mom decided to go veggie.
    “This can’t possibly be the menu. It looks like a child designed it, for Christ sake.” Grandma flipped it from side to side. “It’s not even written in English.”
    Mom closed her eyes, sighing. “Yes, it is.”
    “A chix salad?
Chix
?” She banged her knobby finger into the menu.
    “It’s short for chicken.” Mom smirked. Truthfully,
chix
meant veggie chicken strips—as in soy. She’d failed to mention that Café Mars had an all-vegetarian menu.
    “She’s going to know the difference,” I told Mom.
    “The difference of what?” Grandma asked.
    “It’s extra-lean meat here,” Mom said, giving me a warning look.
    “Oh.” Grandma continued to scan the menu. “What is
fakin’
bacon? That a fancy way of saying Bac-Os?”
    “Mmhmm.” Mom nodded.
    “Those are very high in sodium. Ten dollars for a salad?” Grandma chuckled. “What—they think we won’t notice because they purposely misspell everything?”
    “Keep your voice down, Mom.”
    A server with hot-pink hair and lip rings approached us with a big smile. “Hey,