The Silence Between Us Page 5

  Beau caught my arm as I was zipping up my backpack and very clearly said, “Stay,” and added a PLEASE in sign.

  NO, THANK YOU, I signed, lying when I added, MY MOTHER HERE.

  I waved good-bye to Nina and got five steps toward the library exit before there was another hand at my shoulder. I turned around and came face-to-face with Beau.

  “There’s . . .” Beau started to say, but then slowly finger spelled the words S-T-U-D-E-N-T C-L-U-B F-A-I-R. “. . . Friday. Will you come?”

  My immediate response was to say no. Homework combined with the mountain of unpacking we still had to do made for little wiggle room in my schedule, but I started thinking of the playdate Connor had with one of his new classmates this past weekend.

  My eight-year-old little brother was making an effort to meet new people and involve himself at school, CF or not, and the most I’d done was spend some extra time chatting with Nina. As his older sister, didn’t I have a responsibility to set a good example for Connor? Show him I was making the most of our move to Colorado too?

  So instead I settled for saying, “Maybe.”

  Maybe if I could hang out with someone like Nina during this student fair thing it might not be so bad, though I certainly saw enough of Engelmann during the almost eight hours five days a week I was required to be here.

  There was this glimmer of hope in Beau’s expression, those dimples slowly appearing as he smiled and said, “Okay. Cool . . . see you . . .”

  As I left the library, I couldn’t decide what I was supposed to think about Beau trying to learn sign language to “talk” to me. His signing was basic, but there was no doubt he’d been practicing with how fluid his movements were becoming. I had to appreciate the effort, but what was he expecting? That he could just learn a few signs online and suddenly we’d be best friends? It was one thing to learn and use ASL, and something totally different to understand the people and culture ASL belong to.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket before sitting on the curb outside the main doors to wait for Mom. I sent a text message to Melissa to get her advice.

  Hearing boy is trying to learn sign to talk to me . . . what am I supposed to think of this??

  Melissa’s reply was almost instantaneous, in choppy English like a lot of Deaf people use when their first language is ASL.

  Hearing boy cute??

  I huffed out a sigh as I waffled over my reply. Of course, that would be Melissa’s first question.

  Very tall, very green eyes, . . . and dimples, I finally replied.

  So, he cute then, Melissa texted back.

  Yes, but he is a HEARING boy!

  So? If he learn sign what it matter?

  I was saved from texting anything else when Mom pulled up to the curb. Instead of getting into the front seat like I normally would, I opened the door to the back, already knowing what I would find.

  Connor was stretched out across the backseat, dozing with his head pillowed on his arm, looking a little paler than usual. I felt my insides twist when I looked at the portable oxygen tank on the floor at his feet and the cannula inserted in his nose to make sure he was getting enough air.

  BAD APPOINTMENT? I signed to Mom when she leaned around in her seat to face me.

  She gave a grim smile and a small shake of her head. OK, she signed. MOVE HERE HARD FOR HIM. DOCTOR SAY NEED TIME FOR HIM FEEL BETTER.

  I carefully set my backpack on the floor next to the oxygen tank and climbed in beside Connor. He jerked awake as I buckled myself in and looked around sleepily.

  “Hi, buddy,” I said with a smile. “Sorry to wake you up.”

  He didn’t respond. He put his head on my lap instead and was out again in a matter of seconds.

  When we got to the house, I had to gently coax Connor from the car while he struggled to keep his eyes open, unsteady on his feet. Mom carried the oxygen tank and my backpack, one step behind us as Connor leaned heavily against me while I led him into the house. Melissa had texted me about Beau again, but I didn’t reply. There was only one hearing boy in my life I cared about, and it wasn’t the one with dimples and green eyes.

  CHAPTER 8

  On Friday, Mom took a half day at work and came home early, leaving the car up for grabs. I figured it might just have been the universe’s way of telling me I needed to go to the student club fair after school.

  I’d told Beau that maybe I would come. Well, maybe this was the motivation I’d been waiting for.

  Mom straightened up where she sat at the kitchen table pouring over some work documents when I signed, HEY, at her, followed by, BORROW CAR?

  She looked equal parts suspicious and excited when she signed, WHY?

  I had to fight to keep back the frustrated sigh threatening to break loose while I signed, STUDENT EVENT . . . THING. FOR SCHOOL.

  Mom spent about thirty seconds signing, YAY! with such a happy smile on her face it was a wee bit difficult not to start feeling better about my decision to go to this thing at Engelmann in the first place.

  WITH FRIEND? she signed in question, leaning forward with interest.

  I had to take a second to think about that. I decided that ultimately, yes, I could call Nina a friend. She’d done so much to make me feel welcome at Engelmann—even if she didn’t know half the signs Beau seemed to have picked up in two weeks—and she hadn’t even batted an eyelash when she heard me use my voice for the first time, which was a major thing for me.

  So I signed, YES, to Mom, but quickly added, I THINK.

  This time she signed, YAY! for about a minute straight.

  I was smiling and groaning in exasperation. If nothing else, at least my mother was thrilled I was being somewhat social now since the move.

  NOT STAY LATE, I signed to Mom as I grabbed the car keys from her purse on the chair next to her.

  MAYBE YOU GO WITH BROTHER? Mom signed, jabbing a thumb toward the living room where Connor lay sprawled out on the couch.

  It looked like he’d melted down into the cushions he’d been there so long, clutching the remote in one hand. I could see that glassy look in his eyes that came from binge watching TV.

  This was going to be a student fair type thing with a bunch of high schoolers, but it might do Connor some good to get out of the house and away from Nickelodeon for a little while.

  SURE, I signed to Mom, tucking the car keys in the back pocket of my jeans. BRING HOME PIZZA FOR DINNER?

  There was never a bad time for pizza, and this way Mom wouldn’t have to tear herself away from work to make dinner.

  Mom nodded in agreement and dug around in her purse for a few crumpled bills which she passed over to me. I tucked those away in my back pocket too.

  “Hey, squirt,” I said to Connor, sitting down on the couch next to him. “What do you say to going to a student fair with me at my school?”

  Connor propped himself up on an elbow, his eyes narrowing at me in suspicion. “What’s . . . student fair?”

  Good question.

  “Um. It’s a super fun event they do for school clubs. Lots of music and candy and stuff.”

  This was a bogus lie, so hopefully they did have candy there. If Beau was in charge of the event, probably he’d be there throwing more Snickers at people.

  The word candy seemed to do the trick, and Connor perked right up.

  “Okay!” I watched him say excitedly, carefully getting to his feet. He pointed to the corner of the living room where we kept a giant box of spare oxygen tanks for him and signed, HELP ME?

  Connor went to fetch the backpack he used for his smaller, portable oxygen tanks when he didn’t want to wheel one around, and we got him situated with a tank and a new cannula before we said our good-byes to Mom and left the house.

  I kept an eye on Connor in the rearview mirror on our way to Engelmann. I felt a growing sense of relief to see some color coming back into his cheeks.

  Most student events at Pratt were typically held in the gym due to its massive size, so it was a bit of a surpris
e to see Engelmann’s student fair taking place smack dab in the middle of the parking lot.

  As I drove down the street looking for a parking spot I could see the marching band in their vibrant green uniforms with their glistening instruments, a balloon arch or two, and a bunch of tables set up to advertise school clubs or sports teams.

  I spent a few nerve-wracking minutes trying to parallel park the van down the street and gave myself a mental pep talk as I helped Connor get his backpack and oxygen tank situated.

  This won’t be so bad, I told myself. Nobody’s going to notice you anyway. There’s too many people here.

  Connor and I easily mixed into the crowd of people in the parking lot once we reached it. I noticed some of the student body seemed to share the same idea of bringing their siblings to this student fair thing, because Connor wasn’t the only one under fourteen here.

  I kept an arm around Connor’s shoulders as we strolled through the row of tables checking out all the materials and photos student clubs put out in the hopes of getting people to join their organizations. I was definitely right about the candy bit, and I had to cut Connor off when he swiped a huge pile of peanut butter cups and Milky Ways off the Key Club table and dumped them in his backpack.

  This was kind of awkward, wandering up and down the rows of activity tables and not seeing any familiar faces, but it wasn’t uncomfortable like I’d been expecting.

  “Can . . . do soccer when . . . high school?” Connor asked me when I looked down at him, pointing to a nearby table where two guys in uniforms where kicking a soccer ball back and forth.

  I hesitated answering his question. The honest answer was probably not. Connor’s lungs had to work so much harder than the average person’s, and physical exertion like playing soccer would put even more of a strain on him.

  I settled on saying, “Sure, squirt. You can try to do anything you want.”

  This was the motto I tried to live by at least.

  I came to a sudden halt when I saw Nina a couple tables away, talking with some girls that had to be freshmen. I waved without thinking, and it only took a second for Nina to catch sight of me. Her waving was far more enthusiastic than mine had been.

  Connor glanced up at me and signed, WHO? and pointed to Nina.

  N-I-N-A, I finger spelled for him before leading him over to the student council table.

  “You came!” Nina said when we reached her, giving a thousand-watt smile.

  “Well, we didn’t really have anything else to do this afternoon,” I said, which was a half-truth.

  Most of the time you could find something worth watching on TV.

  I was waiting for that familiar spasm of panic to zip through me watching Nina say hello to Connor, ready to pull him behind me and shield him from inquisitive eyes or nosy questions like always. But that moment strangely did not come. She didn’t even seem to notice Connor was on oxygen.

  And then Beau was suddenly there too, his smile as genuine as ever as he introduced himself to Connor. Beau wasn’t sneaky as he took in Connor’s oxygen tank, and my heart skipped a beat in anticipation of the inevitable barrage of questions about to be thrown at me, but that didn’t come either.

  Beau turned to me and said, “Didn’t think . . . come.”

  “We went out to get pizza,” I said quickly. “Thought we’d stop by.”

  Wasn’t like I was going to tell Beau I’d come all the way out here with the express intent of running into him or Nina.

  Connor whipped around at this, looking beyond thrilled. “We’re . . . pizza?!”

  It looked like Beau and Nina both laughed at Connor’s enthusiasm.

  LATER, I signed at Connor, and I watched him give a huff and then dive into the candy bowl on the table.

  “So . . .” I did a quick glance over all the brochures and announcements their table had put out, ones with lots of colors and stock photo teens with overly enthusiastic smiles. “What is it that you do exactly?”

  “Everything,” Nina answered, and she laughed again.

  Beau waved at me for my attention and started to say, “Student council, DECA, sometimes speech . . . debate.”

  I was a bit stunned.

  Beau was an honors student in advanced placement classes, not to mention the student body president, and he voluntarily took on all these extra clubs? That sounded horrific to me.

  WHY? I signed back, my eyes going wide.

  I LIKE STAY BUSY, Beau signed with a shrug.

  I mean, so did I, but geez.

  “Don’t forget . . . !” Nina added, grabbing a clipboard and passing it over to me.

  It was a pink piece of paper decorated with a bunch of balloons, the words Join the Homecoming Committee written across the top in bold letters. I felt myself start to grimace, not surprised to see Beau’s name toward the top of the paper.

  What didn’t this guy do? I wanted to be annoyed by it, but I was a little impressed too.

  I immediately thrust the clipboard back at Nina. “Dances aren’t really my thing.”

  “No?” Nina said, frowning, and then a look of understanding zipped across her face. “Sorry . . . forget music . . .”

  I tried not to sigh here, biting down on my lip. I understood where Nina was coming from, but it wasn’t as if music was something off limits to Deaf people. A lot of Deaf people enjoyed music, myself included.

  “I like music,” I said to Nina. “I can’t hear it, but I can still feel it if the beat is strong enough. I’m just not good at dancing.”

  SAME, Beau signed, and I smothered a laugh.

  Beau seemed a little too uncoordinated with his uneven walk to be much of a good dancer.

  “. . . still . . . fun night,” Nina said, returning the clipboard to the table.

  “Sure,” I agreed halfheartedly.

  There wasn’t an opportunity to sign or say anything else with the arrival of some preppy looking girl with straight brown hair and a glittering smile, decked out in all sorts of Engelmann High spirit wear. She was pretty—a bit over the top if you asked me, but who was I to judge when this girl looked like she was having a good time?

  “Hi! . . . Erica,” the girl said when she laid eyes on me.

  I mumbled out my name as I shook Erica’s hand, and she launched into what I was pretty sure was a detailed description of all the clubs they were advertising. I didn’t even bother trying to lip-read what she was saying. I was more interested in the way she kept glancing up at Beau after every few words, almost like she was trying to make sure he was watching her.

  If it weren’t for the green and black paint—the school colors—decorating her face, I would’ve thought Erica was blushing.

  Connor started tugging on my hand for my attention as I began to wonder just how many clubs and activities Erica did with Beau. She seemed like the type of peppy overachiever who would be after Beau based on their shared interests.

  Except Beau wasn’t watching Erica talk. I felt his eyes fixed on me while Connor started signing up at me, a Milky Way stuffed in his mouth.

  Connor looked ready to ditch the student activities fair, signing, PIZZA? with a bored expression.

  SURE, I signed back. PIZZA NOW.

  Any excuse to make a break for it. It looked like Erica had just figured out I hadn’t heard a word of what she just said and seemed mildly embarrassed.

  “Sorry, but we have to go pick up dinner,” I announced suddenly.

  OK, Nina signed and gave a thumbs-up, saying something about seeing me in class on Monday.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said to Erica before turning to Beau and signing, SEE YOU LATER.

  Beau nodded with a small smile. “Glad . . . came.”

  “Sure.”

  “High school . . . weird, huh?” Connor said to me on our walk back to the van.

  “Yeah,” I agreed without a second thought. “High school is so weird.”

  High school was plain strange whether you went to a hearing or a Deaf one.

  And wast
ing time wondering about Erica’s relationship with Beau certainly wasn’t going to help the situation.

  CHAPTER 9

  The first month of school faded into the second, and autumn gripped the city in its chilly clutches. The days passed, and I grew more accustomed to life hearing school, but I still never felt quite like I truly belonged at Engelmann.

  Nobody, apart from Nina, seemed interested in getting to know me. I repeatedly told myself this was a good thing—Nina was great, so what did it matter? But it stung more than I wanted to acknowledge. I didn’t know if the communication barrier made people uncomfortable around me or if I had the words GO AWAY stamped across my forehead in flashing neon lights, but the rest of my classmates kept their distance.

  Nina started picking up signs the more time we spent together at lunch or during downtime in class. She wasn’t fluent by any means, but we could hold mini conversations. Nina was without a doubt my first hearing friend in years, something I previously thought impossible. Not to mention it was easier than I thought telling her about Connor and his CF when she’d politely asked why he was on oxygen. She’d just squeezed my arm and told me how great it was I looked after him, no sign of pity anywhere.

  And then there was Beau.

  That day during the first week of school when he started signing to me had just been the beginning. Every other day or so he would have a few new signs for me, asking things like YOUR HOMEWORK HARD? or SLEEP GOOD?

  I would correct him if he signed something wrong—he usually did—and never gave more than a one-or two-word response. I’m sure my facial expressions were never that enthusiastic when I was signing back, but that never seemed to deter him.

  I saw enough of Beau on a daily basis that I had formed a pretty good picture of his life. Beau was Engelmann’s golden boy with all his student council work and academic achievements, and he definitely knew it. He even had this “cool guy” way of sitting in class with his right leg stretched out in front of him, leaning back in his chair.

  His world and my own belonged in two different solar systems. That’s why I couldn’t help but feel I was some sort of charity case—a good line for his resume or some essay for college applications. Look how awesome I am helping a Deaf classmate!