The Silence Between Us Read online

  “Mom, this . . .” Nina was saying, gesturing to me. “She’s . . .”

  I was caught off guard when Nina’s mom turned my way and signed, HELLO. NICE T-O MEET YOU, with a pleasant smile.

  SAME, I signed, still taken aback. YOU SIGN?

  A LITTLE, Nina’s mom signed back. COLLEGE CLASS.

  I was a little overly excited when I signed, COOL!

  MY NAME J-A-C-K-I-E, Nina’s mom signed, introducing herself. “And that’s . . . finished,” she said with a laugh.

  I busied myself with pulling out my school things while Nina conversed with her mom. She joined me at the bar after Jackie left the kitchen.

  “Ready?” Nina asked me, reaching for a highlighter. “Mom went for . . . jog, and my dad’s . . . work.”

  “It’s just us?” I guessed as I sat on the barstool beside her.

  Nina nodded. “Thankfully,” she said. “My brother’s away . . . Stonybrook . . . in New York.”

  COOL, I signed, flipping open my textbook.

  “. . . brother . . . kind . . . genius,” Nina said, pulling her own textbook toward her. “Less pressure . . . me.”

  “Do you want to go to New York too?” I said, interested to learn a little more about Nina.

  She gave this dramatic shudder and shook her head. “No . . . prefer Colorado. Close . . . home.”

  I couldn’t say I preferred Colorado when I’d been here less than two months, but I could relate to wanting to stick close to home. Mom and Connor—they were my home.

  SAME, I signed with a tiny smile. “So where do you want to go to college?” I asked aloud next.

  Nina held up one finger, signaling me to wait, and then very carefully began to finger spell, C-U B-O-U-L-D-E-R.

  The effort she put into finger spelling made my smile widen, so I signed, FOR? back at her.

  “History,” she said aloud. “. . . want . . . work . . . museums.”

  She ended her sentence with a word I couldn’t quite make out, so I imagined she’d said something about wanting to be a curator or director or something.

  WONDERFUL, I signed to her.

  “Well, let’s get . . . work,” Nina said with a happy smile, tapping a finger on the textbook. “Promise . . . have snacks . . .”

  The next hour or so passed quickly, but we made little progress. Nina and I were wearing identical frowns as we poured over our books. We’d narrowed down the list and had talked about how we would do a presentation, but we weren’t any closer to picking a final topic.

  “What . . . we . . . do? The . . . century . . . huge,” Nina said while she scribbled out half a page of notes about famous events scattered throughout the twentieth century.

  Nina grabbed the piece of scratch paper we’d been using to jot notes to each other when speaking or signing wasn’t cutting it and wrote: How did presentations at your old school go?

  I shrugged, unsure of how to answer. “Normal, I guess?”

  Apart from being done in sign language.

  Nina made a sour face and shoved her textbook away, hopping down from her stool. FOOD, she signed, heading over to the refrigerator.

  I checked the time on my phone and noted it was nearly noon. Hard to believe we hadn’t picked a topic for our presentation after two hours.

  “We have time to work on this,” I said to Nina, following after her. “We’ll figure it out.”

  With my stocking feet on the kitchen floor, I felt the reverberation when Nina slammed the refrigerator door shut after pulling out a cup of yogurt. She ripped the foil lid off, grabbed a spoon from a drawer nearby, and dug in.

  I didn’t understand why she signed, SORRY, once she finished the yogurt, which she did in about a minute. That sour look was still on her face while she chucked the empty yogurt cup in the trash.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked hesitantly.

  Nina flopped over onto the kitchen counter, holding her face in her hands. “I always . . . worked up about school. I feel like . . . perfect grades. And . . . love history . . . but still . . . all classes . . . important. Need . . . ace this.”

  I was getting the impression that this conversation was about to move into more personal territory, and yet I still felt weirdly comfortable speaking with Nina being so open about herself. That didn’t always have to be a bad thing.

  “I feel that way too,” I said. “Literally all the time.”

  Sometimes it seemed like I drove myself to the edge trying to ace every homework assignment and test thrown my way. Somewhere along the way I’d convinced myself having perfect grades was the only way I’d get into a reputable RT program and actually get to do what I’d dreamed of for years. It didn’t help that I was never fully awake until at least fourth period, when two of my AP classes were done and over with. Staying up late each night to muddle through a mountain of homework made me groggy all morning, even with multiple cups of coffee.

  “My mom is . . . and my dad . . . doctor,” Nina was telling me. “Big shoes . . . I need to . . . good school. Boulder . . . not . . . easy school . . .”

  “Nina, I think you’ll have no problem getting into Boulder,” I told her, hoping my voice sounded firm and confident. “You’re beyond smart. You’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks, but I think . . . will get into . . . before me,” Nina replied.

  When I just stared at her in confusion, not understanding who she was talking about, she finger spelled, B-E-A-U.

  “What about him?” I said, trying to keep from frowning like I did every time somebody mentioned Beau.

  “He wants . . . Yale,” Nina said. “It’s like, all his dad . . . for him.” Her eyes crinkled up at the corners when she laughed and said, “I think that’s . . . we get along . . . well. We’re both . . . over-achievers.”

  I figured Beau was smart, but Ivy League? I couldn’t help but be a little impressed.

  “But at least my . . . aren’t on me . . . like Beau’s dad . . .” Nina said with a small shake of her head. “All he does is try to . . .”

  “Try to what?” I said, suddenly anxious to know what she had said about Beau.

  Nina held up a finger, signaling for me to wait, and went to grab the scratch paper off the bar. She took her time writing something down before passing the paper over to me.

  Beau’s dad is pretty intense when it comes to college. Half of Beau’s family went to Yale, so that’s what his dad wants for him too. I think it makes him sick sometimes, thinking about what will happen if he doesn’t get in. I don’t think he’d even be on the student council if his dad hadn’t told him it would look good on college applications.

  I didn’t know how to respond to Nina’s note.

  I could at least understand the pressure Beau must feel about getting into the college of his choice, even if in my case, I was the one laying on the pressure. But this information didn’t quite match up to what I knew of Beau. He always seemed so self-assured, confident even, when he was signing and clearly struggling with finding the right word. But if someone else was dictating his life, maybe he didn’t have it all together like I thought.

  WHAT’S WRONG? Nina signed when I finally tore my gaze from her note.

  NOTHING, I signed immediately.

  She stared at me a few more moments, her lips pursed like she was trying to refrain from speaking.

  “What?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable.

  “Nothing,” she finally said and gave me such a bright smile I thought I was going to get whiplash from her sudden change in mood. “So, are you . . . homecoming next . . . ?”

  I didn’t need to be hearing to know what she was asking. I shouted, “No!” before she’d even finished speaking. “I told you at that student fair thing I don’t like dances, remember?”

  Nina threw back her head and laughed. I failed to see what was so funny.

  “Well, homecoming will be . . . than homework,” she said, nodding to the mess of textbooks and notes on the counter.

  “Homecoming is better than Mr. Wells
’ midterm? Impossible!” I said firmly.

  I think that made Nina laugh even harder.

  “Come on, girl, let’s . . . finished,” she said. “But first . . . need more snacks.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Food first. Always. But I think I have an idea on what to do for our presentation.”

  I was pretty sure no high schooler would choose working on midterms over chitchat about homecoming, but getting good grades was higher up on my list of priorities than some dance.

  And besides, I was pretty sure I had an idea in mind that might get my classmates to get a little more comfortable with sign language.

  CHAPTER 11

  Even if I managed to steer Nina away from talk of homecoming that one time, it didn’t count for much at school the following Monday. Suddenly everything at Engelmann seemed to be about homecoming. I was a bit stunned I hadn’t noticed it sooner. There were brightly colored, glittery banners and fliers plastered throughout the hallways, and somebody had even started up a countdown in the cafeteria.

  All this excitement for homecoming just served to remind me of the one disastrous dance I went to at Pratt my sophomore year. The guy I’d been crushing on at the time, Jake Perkins, asked me to go with him in the middle of math class, only to ditch me halfway through the dance for some other girl. I spent the rest of the dance as a wallflower, feeling sorry for myself. I was not eager to repeat the experience, and besides—how different could homecoming at a hearing school really be?

  I should’ve been preoccupied with upcoming midterms, and in a way I definitely was, but it was hard to shake off thoughts of homecoming with so many reminders everywhere. Even Beau—who claimed he wasn’t good at dancing—was in on the homecoming babble and seemed genuinely excited.

  I was sitting across the table from him at lunch, probably paying more attention to him than I should have, as he spoke with Jackson. Beau talked with his hands a lot even when he wasn’t keeping up with his signs, and sometimes watching him was more interesting than anything else going on at Engelmann.

  Beau wasn’t facing me head-on, so I couldn’t be positive, but I was pretty sure I saw his lips form the word homecoming a time or two.

  Jackson was easier to get a read on, and maybe it was rude of me to think, but the guy had a big mouth. Lipreading whatever he said didn’t take much effort. My interest was definitely piqued when I saw Jackson say, “. . . should ask Erica . . . homecoming.”

  I figured Jackson must’ve been talking about the Erica I’d met at the student fair event a while back. I’d seen her a couple of times in the hallways and she’d wave hello to be polite, but that was about it for our interaction since I didn’t have any classes with her.

  Beau just rolled his eyes at Jackson, saying something like, “. . . don’t like . . . like that.”

  So Beau didn’t like Erica? That was . . . interesting. She kind of seemed like the type of girl Beau would date, being the student body president and all.

  When Beau glanced my way a second later, I quickly averted my gaze and tried to engage Nina in a conversation in sign. Somehow it was significantly more embarrassing getting caught lipreading when it was Beau’s mouth that I was watching.

  When lunch was over, and Kathleen and I were on our way to art class with Ms. Philips, my mind was stuck on Erica and why Jackson thought Beau should ask her to homecoming, so I wasn’t absorbing much of what Kathleen was signing at me. Something about homecoming too, I think. I couldn’t fault Kathleen for being so nice and peppy, because sometimes seeing a friendly face was a relief, but did my interpreter really have to show so much interest in a school dance?

  This was turning into one of those days when I was eager to jump into working on my self-portrait rather than focusing on everything else going on around me. So far, I’d come up with a decent outline of someone on my canvas, but I was struggling with how to make that someone me.

  When we walked into the classroom I went straight for the supply shelves and got out the trays of bright paints Ms. Phillips suggested I use the other week. I’d been afraid to touch the colors for fear of messing up somehow, but this assignment’s due date was quickly approaching.

  I got myself a variety of paintbrushes and a cup of water for cleaning them, then set up my canvas on an easel toward the back of the classroom. I didn’t want anybody to see me while I worked, but I could feel Kathleen’s presence behind me, peering over my shoulder as I inspected the trays of colors resting on the easel in front of me.

  Kathleen signed, COLOR TODAY? when I looked up at her.

  I shrugged.

  MAYBE, I signed back. DON’T KNOW.

  Kathleen tapped a finger to her lips in thought while her eyes swept over my canvas.

  I felt myself frown when she signed, BLUE, after a moment and pointed to the corresponding color on the tray.

  WHY? I signed in confusion.

  Kathleen curved her index finger and tapped the top of her ear twice, the sign for hearing aid. YOU, RIGHT? she added in sign with raised eyebrows.

  She has a point, I thought.

  My hearing aids were a rather big part of myself, and in my opinion neon blue was a pretty awesome color. It didn’t seem like it would be too difficult to incorporate that color into my self-portrait.

  OK, I signed to Kathleen after a moment. I TRY THAT.

  Kathleen gave one of her big smiles and a thumbs-up, and then the moment was ruined when she signed TRY DANCE? next.

  The expression on Kathleen’s face was so earnest I couldn’t find it in myself to outright sign, NO. So I settled for signing, MAYBE, again.

  Homecoming probably wouldn’t be so bad if Nina and Beau were there. They did know some sign language. And at least I knew homecoming dances were never like what you saw on TV—no one breaking out into choreographed dances or songs, no embarrassing confessions of love from the homecoming king.

  At the very least I knew I’d make an okay wallflower.

  Nina ended up wearing down the last of my resistance about going to homecoming. She was nothing if not persistent, and she assured me homecoming at Engelmann was always a good time and the homecoming committee—which she was a proud member of—put on a good show. That was all fine and dandy, but I still had serious doubts I would end up enjoying myself.

  But I went along with it anyway because it was nice hanging out with a friend when homework or school assignments were not involved. Nina had done so much to make me feel welcome at Engelmann, and if she wanted me to go to homecoming with her as her “friend date,” how could I say no?

  Mom had a smile about a mile wide stuck on her face as she drove me to Nina’s house early on Saturday evening, a few hours before homecoming. Connor was in the backseat, engrossed in a video game. He still had plenty of time before he had to brave the perils of high school dances.

  At a stoplight around the corner from Nina’s place, Mom turned to me and signed, YOU KNOW I BUY YOU NEW DRESS IF YOU WANT.

  I HATE GO T-O M-A-L-L, I reminded her. Clothes shopping was the worst and had never been a favorite pastime of mine. I FINE BORROW DRESS FROM N-I-N-A.

  SHOP FUN, Mom disagreed.

  SOMETIMES, I signed back.

  Mom pulled up into the driveway of the Torres’ house, and the front door whipped open a second later. Nina came bounding over to greet us, a peppy bounce in her step.

  Mom rolled down the window to greet Nina, and she leaned into the car, waving happily. I tried to smile back, but I was still feeling a little iffy about this whole homecoming thing now that it was finally upon us.

  “Promise . . . have good time,” Nina was saying to Mom, and Mom was laughing, nodding along as she spoke. “Homecoming always . . . fun.”

  Nina peeked into the backseat next and waved to Connor, who somehow managed to return the wave without looking up from his Nintendo 3DS.

  I grabbed my bag off the floor by my feet and gave Mom a fleeting hug before getting out of the car, promising to keep her updated throughout the night. She gave
one massive yawn as she signed, SEE YOU LATER, and I stood there on the driveway for a beat, looking at her more closely. It wasn’t something I did often, but that yawn caught my attention.

  Mom had dark circles under her eyes, and her hair looked greasy pulled back into a messy bun. The lines around her eyes and mouth, from laughing and smiling, seemed more pronounced, like she’d been aging faster than normal.

  I felt both guilty and sad seeing how rundown Mom was. She wasn’t taking care of herself, and I knew it was because she devoted all her time and energy to Connor, making sure he was healthy and as comfortable as possible, on top of being our family’s sole financial provider. And there I was, her daughter who certainly hadn’t made life any easier, kicking up a fuss about moving to Colorado and going to a hearing school.

  I had to make it up to her somehow.

  HEY, Nina signed to me when we were in the entryway of the house and I’d kicked off my shoes. YOU OK?

  “I’m fine,” I said aloud, holding my bag tightly to my chest. “Just distracted.”

  “Don’t worry,” Nina said, leading me toward the stairs. “Homecoming will be . . . you’ll love . . . promise.”

  “Sure,” I said. “It’ll be great.”

  Nina dragged me up to her bedroom on the second floor, and I could tell from the second I walked in that she’d been taking her time preparing for homecoming. She had all sorts of makeup carefully lined up across her dresser, a curling iron plugged in, a bunch of hair products out, and a handful of dresses laying in a neat row across her bed.

  “I think we’re . . . same size,” Nina said as I set my bag on the floor. “I pulled out . . . dresses I think . . . might like.”

  I went over to the bed to inspect the dresses. She’d set out four for me to look over, and they were all far more stylish than anything I’d ever worn. One was purple with a lot of lace and a little too low cut for my liking, two were black and simple but would probably fall a few too many inches above my knees since I was taller than Nina, and the last was yellow, more like a sundress than something you would wear to a school dance. It seemed like the perfect fit for me.