The Silence Between Us Page 2

  It took some jiggling to get my locker door to unstick, and as soon as it popped open I understood why. Whoever had the locker before me hadn’t been the tidiest; a bunch of old assignments lay crumpled at the bottom, a variety of gum and food wrappers sprinkled on top. Gross. Gingerly, I hung my backpack on the hook inside, wondering if the universe was actually conspiring against me. It probably was.

  ASSEMBLY NOW, Kathleen signed for Nina as I swung my locker shut. SOMETIMES BORING, BUT STUDENT COUNCIL LIKE CANDY.

  Oh, well, as long as there’s candy involved, I thought.

  By the time we reached the gym almost all the bleachers were full, and my desire to end up in the very back row was thwarted. Nina raced across the floor toward an empty portion of the first row of bleachers, motioning for Kathleen and me to follow. She waved at a bunch of people by a table set up underneath one of the basketball hoops as we ran by, then threw herself down on the bleachers as Dr. Rivera stepped into the middle of the gym, microphone in hand.

  I quickly sat down in the empty space next to Nina, and Kathleen stood a few feet off to the side, ready to interpret when the assembly started. Dr. Rivera was too far away for me to try to lipread, but he looked like he was trying to get the students to quiet down with how he was making a shushing gesture with his free hand.

  I couldn’t tell if people were following his instructions because the conversation, the constant movement, and the dull tremble of microphone noise reverberated in the bleachers where I sat. Kathleen only got a few signs into Dr. Rivera’s speech when I turned my hearing aids off.

  I didn’t actually hear much of anything with my hearing aids like some people seemed to think. At best I could hear some ambient noise, like a quiet thud if someone slammed a door. My hearing aids really only served to help me be somewhat more aware of my surroundings and weren’t a cure-all—just a temporary solution to a permanent problem.

  If I just closed my eyes, hearing aids off, I was entirely alone in the world, and sometimes I preferred it that way instead of being sucked into all the hubbub around me. It was one thing I enjoyed about being deaf—the ability to disconnect from everything.

  After only a few minutes, I could tell from Kathleen’s signs that Dr. Rivera’s speech was similar to every “it’s the first day of school so let’s do our best” speech I’d gotten at Pratt. I tuned most of it out, though I did pay attention when Kathleen mentioned something about lunchtime, because . . . food. I also perked up when a couple of guys threw candy into the bleachers and a Snickers landed in my lap. It was by far the best part of my strange and stressful morning.

  As soon as Dr. Rivera finished his speech, Nina placed a hand on my shoulder, pointing to the person walking toward us. It was one of the guys who’d been throwing candy a minute ago, but he had a black T-shirt in hand now. I could see the outline of a green Spartan soldier on the shirt, the words ENGELMANN HIGH printed above it. This guy was tall and a little gangly—awkward even. His dark hair was a mess, like he’d just rolled out of bed, and yet it seemed stylish in an I-don’t-care kind of way.

  Smiling, the guy said something to Nina first and then he turned to me, a rush of color flooding into his cheeks as he said hello. Whatever he said next was totally lost on me given how quickly his lips were moving, so I settled for doing the universal sign for I can’t hear you—pointing to my ear and shaking my head, making sure to frown in confusion.

  MY FRIEND, Kathleen signed for Nina, jumping into the introductions when she realized I wasn’t absorbing anything the guy was saying. NAME B-E-A-U W-A-T-S-O-N. STUDENT BODY PRESIDENT.

  NICE TO MEET YOU, I signed, keeping it simple.

  I wasn’t sure what kind of name Beau was but it seemed fancy, a name you might expect the student body president to have.

  As he spoke, Beau’s cheeks went from pink to crimson while I lip-read what he was saying. The focus it took to lipread sometimes tended to make people uncomfortable, which I secretly found hilarious.

  “It’s nice . . . you. Great to . . . here. I thought you . . . T-shirt? You know . . . thing and . . . that.”

  I looked to Kathleen, unable to decipher all that he was saying to me.

  HE BRING SCHOOL T-SHIRT FOR YOU, Kathleen signed. WELCOME GIFT.

  Somehow, I wasn’t surprised to see the look that came over Beau’s face as he watched Kathleen sign to me. It was a mixture of confusion and surprise, but mostly confusion. Usually what followed what I called the look was the shouting, as if they spoke loudly enough I might actually be able to hear them. Either that or pity once the realization that I couldn’t hear sunk in.

  But I had enough T-shirts stuffed in boxes filling up my new room at the moment so my response was to sign, NO, THANK YOU, with a shake of my head.

  Beau bit his lip as Kathleen told him the message. He looked to Nina like he didn’t know what to do next.

  Nina introduced Kathleen instead, and I caught a few words of what she was saying, like “interpreter” and “classes.”

  “Oh,” Beau said. “That’s . . . cool.”

  Watching him get all uneasy as his eyes darted back and forth from me to Kathleen was strange. It was clear he didn’t know who he should be talking to—me or her. This wasn’t the first time someone spoke to an interpreter instead of to me, like I wasn’t literally right in front of them and perfectly capable of being included in the conversation. But I had hoped I’d make it further into the day—preferably after first period—until it happened here.

  HEY, I signed to Kathleen. ASSEMBLY ALL DONE? CLASS START NOW, RIGHT?

  There were thundering footsteps shaking the bleachers as students scrambled their way out of the gym. First period had to be just minutes away from starting.

  I was on my feet the second Kathleen signed, ALL DONE.

  I made a sweeping gesture to let Nina know she was free to lead the way to first period. Nina waved to Beau as she grabbed her bag and Beau gave a halfhearted wave in return before we quickly exited the gym, using our elbows to get around a few people. Kathleen somehow fell behind us, and when she caught up out in the hallway she had that shirt Beau tried to give me a minute ago.

  I raised an eyebrow in a silent question. What did she expect me to do with it?

  NICE GIFT, Kathleen signed with one hand, holding out the T-shirt to me. HE LOOK LIKE NICE BOY.

  Actually, Beau looked like a scared—albeit very tall—rabbit. I’d only signed nice to meet you and no, thank you to the guy, and he’d looked at me like I was speaking Klingon. Not a very nice feeling.

  I took the T-shirt from Kathleen and made a mental note to stuff it in my backpack once I retrieved it from my locker. If Mom started up another box of donations to be taken to a thrift store while we were unpacking, I was going to toss the shirt into it.

  Nina directed us to my first period class—AP Statistics—in the math wing. She hovered outside the doorway, looking apologetic.

  I HAVE DIFFERENT CLASS NOW, Kathleen signed for Nina. I COME BACK WHEN CLASS ALL DONE, WALK WITH YOU NEXT CLASS.

  OK, I signed, and because I didn’t want to come across as totally ungrateful I added, THANK YOU FOR YOUR HELP.

  “No problem,” Nina said, to me instead of to Kathleen.

  I was so surprised, I actually smiled at her. This girl really must be smart if she’d figured out the art of interpretation. It was . . . something. But still not enough to convince me this whole hearing school thing wouldn’t turn out to be a complete and total disaster.

  CHAPTER 3

  READY? Kathleen signed, nodding toward the open door.

  I was so not ready, but I signed, SURE, anyway and gave a shrug.

  My first class at a hearing school was about to begin, and more than anything I wanted to turn tail and run as fast as my legs would carry me.

  Kathleen just gave me a smile and squeezed my shoulder. I couldn’t decide if her perkiness was encouraging or annoying but at least it was reliable. Consistency had to count for something when your whole life had been tu
rned upside down.

  The bell must have just rung with the way people straightened up in their desks, looking toward the front of the classroom. The teacher, Mrs. Richardson—whom I’d already met last week—was sitting at her desk up front, shuffling stacks of papers around. She looked up with a smile as Kathleen led me over.

  I watched her say, “There . . . are, Maya.”

  EXCITED FOR CLASS? Kathleen added when Mrs. Richardson spoke too quickly for me to understand what she was saying.

  YES, I signed. I wished people would stop asking me that.

  SEAT FOR YOU HERE, Kathleen interpreted as Mrs. Richardson got to her feet, pointing to the other side of the classroom up in the front.

  The desk Mrs. Richardson was referring to was currently occupied by a girl who had somehow mastered the art of the flawless makeup, messy bun, jeans, and T-shirt look I’d seen on Pinterest lately. I could see her texting on the iPhone not-so-tactfully hidden in her lap and she didn’t look up until Mrs. Richardson tapped a finger on her desk to get her attention.

  Mrs. Richardson had her back to me, so I couldn’t lipread to try and figure out what was being said. Whatever it was made the girl scowl.

  “I like here . . . spot . . . the best . . .” the girl said, though the gum she was chewing on made it difficult to lipread.

  I gave Kathleen a look, giving a pointed glance toward the girl.

  Kathleen took a moment to listen in, then began to sign, TEACHER SAY GIRL NEED MOVE, WHY? YOU NEED SEAT NEAR TEACHER. GIRL NOT MOVE, WHY? SHE HERE FIRST.

  Wow. Class hadn’t even started yet, and already we were running into issues. That had to be some kind of record.

  Normally I wouldn’t have bothered picking a fight over a stupid seat, and I would’ve happily sat in the back of the room, but I actually did need to be up front. It was easier to see the teacher and be more aware of what was going on in class, especially since this teacher didn’t sign.

  The girl stopped arguing with Mrs. Richardson when the guy sitting behind her leaned forward. I zeroed in on his lips as he spoke and saw him say, “Just move . . . not . . . deal . . .” and the girl finally gave up and grabbed her things to move to an open desk a few rows over.

  Mrs. Richardson went to grab an extra chair so Kathleen could sit a few feet in front of my desk to interpret. I took my seat at the now-vacant desk, dropped my backpack beside me, and turned around to thank the guy behind me for intervening.

  It was Beau, the T-shirt guy. Of course.

  THANK YOU, I signed to him, a little reluctantly.

  Beau understood that much and nodded as he said, “No problem.” He smiled, dimples flashing. That smile transformed him from an awkward rabbit into a surprisingly cute guy, and for a second I forgot how much he’d annoyed me earlier.

  Then I felt a hand on my forearm, and when I turned around, Kathleen was signing, CLASS START NOW.

  AP Statistics wasn’t actually so bad with Kathleen interpreting, much to my surprise. I understood the material, and Kathleen’s peppy signing helped me get a feel for how Mrs. Richardson spoke. Mrs. Richardson must’ve remembered some of the tips Mom handed out at our meeting Friday about interacting with the Deaf, like making sure to face me when speaking and not to cover her mouth when she spoke. When the five minutes we were given to complete a practice problem were up, Mrs. Richardson even flashed the lights to get my attention.

  But as nice as Mrs. Richardson was, I was massively uncomfortable. I could feel everyone’s piercing gaze fixed on us as Kathleen signed and I watched intently. But if anybody was making fun of us, it wasn’t like I could hear them anyway. Still, I couldn’t help but think they were talking about me, whispering behind my back or making comments about how my neon blue hearing aids clashed with the color of my hair or something.

  Thankfully, class was over in fifty-five minutes, and once Mrs. Richardson jotted down our homework on the whiteboard and passed out textbooks, we were given the okay to leave. There was a rush to get out the door, but I lingered, taking my time as I packed up my things. I didn’t want any more run-ins with Beau or my other classmates.

  Kathleen waved to get my attention and pointed behind me as I shoved my textbook into my backpack. Beau was standing there behind me when I glanced over my shoulder, and Kathleen came forward to interpret as he started to speak.

  Great, I thought, trying not to let my irritation show. This guy just couldn’t take a hint.

  YOU ENJOY CLASS? Kathleen signed.

  I shrugged. EASY, I signed, then pointed to myself. MATH GENIUS.

  With the way the corners of his eyes crinkled and his cheeks lifted, Beau must’ve laughed when Kathleen told him what I signed. I was able to make out most of what he said next, something like, “Good . . . Mrs. Richardson . . . tough.”

  Maybe it was a little bit of an exaggeration, but I was good at math. I’d been in accelerated classes since freshman year. Good thing too, seeing as my math and science grades needed to be above and beyond average if I wanted to make it as a respiratory therapist, my dream job. It would be hard enough getting into the medical field being Deaf, so I had to make sure I had the smarts to prove that not being able to hear wouldn’t stop me from helping save lives.

  I’d spent more than my fair share around respiratory therapists—they were a huge part of Connor’s treatment team for cystic fibrosis. Everything about the disease sucked, from the constant pain to the medications to the special vest Connor had to use that made him hack up fluid and mucus in his lungs. But the therapists helped make Connor’s hospital stays as easy and comfortable as possible. I wanted to do the same thing for other kids with CF.

  I felt a smattering of guilt when I realized Kathleen was still interpreting the conversation with Beau and I’d been too wrapped up in my thoughts of Connor and respiratory therapy to pay much attention.

  NEXT CLASS? Kathleen signed as Beau continued speaking to her.

  He still didn’t seem to catch on that he should be looking at me, not Kathleen. He was three feet from me, and I was almost positive I saw him say, “Tell her . . .” I had to make a conscious effort not to start grinding my teeth out of annoyance.

  I pulled my crumpled class schedule out of my back pocket to check what class was next. A-P U-S HISTORY, I signed.

  Beau was flashing those dimples as he smiled again when Kathleen voiced what I’d signed, then said, “Me too.”

  COOL, I signed back. I wasn’t sure if I meant it.

  OK IF I WALK WITH YOU BOTH? Kathleen signed for Beau as he jabbed a thumb toward the door.

  N-I-N-A TELL ME SHE WALK ME T-O NEXT CLASS, I signed in response.

  Beau nodded as Kathleen relayed what I signed to him and said, “Nina is . . . girl. She’s . . . friend.”

  Kathleen raised her eyebrows at me as Beau fell into step behind us on our way to class. She didn’t need to sign anything for me to get what she was hinting at.

  CUTE, I KNOW, BUT NOT FOR ME, I signed to Kathleen, making sure not to look Beau’s way. DON’T SAY ANYTHING.

  This was one of those times when I appreciated that nobody else around us knew sign language.

  WHO, ME? Kathleen signed, but she left it at that.

  Nina was waiting for us just outside the classroom, leaning up against the row of lockers with her cell phone in hand. She gave us a smile when she asked how class had gone, and I gave her the same answer I’d given Beau—math genius here.

  On the way to AP US History, I got stuck behind Nina and Beau, and I could tell they were talking about me. Not because I could hear them or because I could read their lips, but because neither of them included me in the conversation. Every so often Beau would glance back and say something to Kathleen—still not to me—but that was it.

  CONFUSED, I signed to Kathleen, frowning at her.

  TALK ABOUT CLASS, Kathleen signed, pointing up at Nina and Beau.

  ME? I signed next.

  Kathleen paused for a moment, listening, and nodded.

  I grimaced.
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  This is what always happened whenever I was with hearing people. They were always so talkative and impatient, so busy bouncing around from one place to the next that they never think to slow down and take the extra step needed to communicate with a Deaf person.

  Kathleen put a hand against my arm for my attention and signed, THEY DON’T KNOW HOW COMMUNICATE WITH DEAF PEOPLE. NOT YOUR FAULT.

  Kathleen was right, but it was still difficult to wipe the grumpy expression off my face.

  Mr. Wells, the AP US History teacher, came rushing forward the second I walked into his class. When he grabbed my hand to give it a vigorous shake, I was so startled I took an immediate step back.

  “Wonderful . . . excited to . . . always wanted . . . sign language . . .”

  He was talking far too quickly for me to understand everything he was saying, so once again Kathleen stepped in and signed, SLOW, like she had in Dr. Rivera’s office.

  Rather than trip up in embarrassment like a lot of people, Mr. Wells just kept on talking, and I could tell by the overly exaggerated way he moved his lips and leaned forward that he was shouting when he said, “I’m . . . sorry!”

  His voice must have been really loud, because Nina and Beau stopped on their way to two open seats and looked back at us, and every other person in the classroom directed their gaze toward us too.

  I was mortified.

  Kathleen looked disgruntled when she waved at Mr. Wells and signed, YOU NOT NEED SHOUT. TALK NORMAL. I INTERPRET FOR HER.

  DON’T MATTER IF YOU SHOUT, I CAN’T HEAR YOU, I signed to him, maybe a little more forcefully than I should have. I wanted to make the point here, and how I was not going to take this shouting thing lying down. STUPID T-O SHOUT A-T DEAF PEOPLE.

  For as much as Mr. Wells seemed completely oblivious, he understood from the agitated way I was signing I was most certainly annoyed.

  CAN I HAVE SEAT NOW? I signed, pointing to the open desk beside Nina.

  Mr. Wells bobbed his head as Kathleen spoke for me and quickly stepped aside so I could go sit down. I snatched a notebook and pencil out of my backpack while Kathleen went to grab an extra chair to sit in front of me again.