by Rowan Shaw
"What?" He glowered at a gaping couple when we walked up the stairs of the gazebo and sat on a bench.
"To show curiosity for what they view as different," I signed. "They don't wish me any harm."
"It's annoying as fuck," Florian signed back.
His forehead was wrinkled into a frown. He looked overly tired today, his blue eyes underlined by dark circles. I wondered how much of a toll his breakup with Marlène had taken on him. We hadn't discussed it that much, but I knew the whole thing had to be wearing him out.
"Don't you ever feel like flipping them the finger?" he asked, still referring to those who stared.
I laughed without a sound. "If I did, I'd never be done."
"They don't piss you off?"
"As long as they don't shout in my face the way Marlène did, I'm fine."
"Marlène did that?" He winced, his mouth curling down.
"Not everyone treats me as naturally as you do," I signed. "Some people behave really weird around me. It gets awkward."
I always made a point of avoiding such people, though. I didn't need anyone to pity me or imply there was something wrong with my life.
"Is my level good enough?" Florian asked. "When I sign?"
"It's almost as good as mine."
"So I don't make mistakes?"
I gave a tiny smile. "Sometimes."
His eyebrows shot up. "Really? You didn't tell me. Like what?"
"I don't remember, but it's fine. I could still understand you."
"Are we gonna talk about what happened back in high school?"
I pursed my lips. "Do we have to? What is there to say?"
"I never got to apologize. Things happened so fast, and when you came back to school, it was a whole new year, and I was gone."
"It wasn't your fault," I signed, though I did wonder why he hadn't tried to contact me all those years. I had waited, and a part of me still begrudged him for abandoning me when I was at my lowest. I was too chicken to ask what his reasons were, though. I wasn't sure I could take the sting of another rejection. He was here now. Wasn't that what truly mattered?
"My parents didn't see things that way. They blamed me for everything that happened."
I stared at him. "They were wrong. It could have happened to anyone, anytime, any place."
He bit his lower lip hard, seeming skeptical, so I scooted closer to his side. "I can't live my life in fear, Florian. Something bad might happen again, or not. No matter what, I won't let fear define who I am."
I wasn't sure I'd managed to convince him. He kept observing me from the corner of his eye as we finished our ice creams in silence, and I left after another tour of the park because I'd promised to meet my sister at the mall.
Chapter 13
FLORIAN - EIGHT YEARS EARLIER
"How are things at home, Florian?" Enzo's mom asked, standing by the kitchen counter.
I shrugged. Dad traveled a lot. I suspected he wasn't always on work trips. I also had a feeling Mom knew the truth, too. I'd caught her crying a few times in front of the TV, and though she claimed it was because of her soap, I knew better. I'd heard her shout at Dad 'cause he was at the office so much, and then there was the one time a woman's name slipped out of Mom's mouth. I knew the woman was one of Dad's coworkers, but I'd never met her. All I gathered was Dad was having an affair and Mom was aware.
"Things are all right," I replied without elaborating.
"Wanna play? I just got a new game," Enzo whispered in my ear.
I smiled at him, knowing full well we wouldn't be playing for long. I shouldered my backpack and followed him.
Enzo invited me for sleepovers often, but I always slept in the guest room. I wasn't allowed to stay with him at night because his parents knew we were dating. They were cool with that as long as I didn't share his bed. I wished the same were true for my own family, but considering the homophobic slurs spewing out of their mouths on a regular basis, it was best to pretend Enzo was just a friend.
"Come downstairs at seven. I'm making rabbit with mustard," Mrs. Chevalier called after us when we crossed the hallway, heading for the stairs.
Enzo let out a shiver and stuck out his tongue like he was gonna puke.
"I'll make you something else, mon chéri," his mom added like she could see her son's facial expression through the wall. "Goodness forbid you should eat meat. I'm gonna start charging every time I have to cook something on the side for you."
"Sure, Mom, take it out of my allowance," Enzo replied.
The crazy thing was he was serious, even though his allowance was abysmal. That was my boyfriend: the guy who'd rather go broke than eat animals.
He closed the door as soon as we stepped into his room. The walls were covered with so many posters of his favorite bands that the chartreuse paper underneath was barely visible. His twin bed rested in the far corner, close to the window, and its sea green comforter was a complete mess, partially fallen on the hardwood floor. His hickory nightstand table was just as chaotic, covered with fiction novels and a black alarm clock. A wardrobe stood next to the door as well as his desk. Enzo also owned a TV that faced his bed, complete with a video game station.
No TV was allowed in my room, and playing video games was a big no-no in my family, so to say I was jealous of Enzo was an understatement. My parents didn't like that I came to his place to play games, but I figured they'd freak out even more if they knew what Enzo and I actually did when I visited.
We sat at the foot of his bed. Enzo grabbed a blanket that we placed over our laps before he shifted forward to turn on the TV.
"What game are we playing?" I asked when he snatched the controllers and handed me mine.
He glanced at the door before giving me a look. "Surprise."
As if on cue, a picture appeared on the screen, startling Enzo, who jumped forward to turn down the volume.
"We'll use the subtitles. I don't want Mom to hear this stuff."
I cocked an eyebrow but didn't comment. When I took in the action on the screen, I froze. Two animated guys were kissing and groping each other.
"What the hell is this game?" I asked. Damn Enzo and his surprises! I could feel myself getting hard already. The last thing I needed was a raging boner when we went downstairs for dinner. "Where did you get that stuff?"
"I got it online." He beamed at me, all proud of himself for finding a game that was basically soft-core gay porn.
I stared at him, baffled. He pressed a button on his controller without taking his eyes off me. If he was challenging me to stop him, he had another one coming. I was intrigued. I wanted to play.
Another image popped up on the screen, showing the characters we could pick from. There were males and females.
"Oh, I thought the game was gay," I said, disappointed.
"It is gay. These characters can only date the same gender."
I pursed my lips. "What if they're bi?"
"Sorry. Everyone in this game is gay."
I shrugged. "Fair enough."
We chose our characters. Enzo selected a tall dude with fiery red hair and white, freckled skin, packed with a huge bulge. I picked a smaller guy with dark brown skin and a smile to die for.
Once we started playing, we were hooked. The game lasted over an hour before our guys finally got it on. I was so aroused by that point, my dick was pushing against the seams of my pants. Enzo slipped his hand under the blanket and began stroking me over my denim. I gasped, nearly losing my cool. He was gonna make me ejaculate before I could even pull my dick out. He unfastened my buttons without ever dropping his controller, and his hand slipped inside, making me inhale a sharp breath. The strokes were too much. It wasn't the first time Enzo had jerked me off, but each of his touches drove me to the edge.
He paused the video and stood, pulling his warm hand away. I hoped he wasn't gonna leave me like this because I was ready to burst. But he went to lock the door instead. Technically, he wasn't allowed to do that when I was visiting, but he did it ev
ery time anyway. Better to get yelled at for breaking the rules than have his family walk in on us when he had my cock in his mouth.
He glanced at his bed, his silent message clear. I didn't wait. I moved so fast that I almost fell while lowering my pants and briefs to my ankles. I didn't take them completely off, just in case I had to dress quickly. Enzo came to stoop between my legs and smiled at me as he bent forward. When his lips found me, I couldn't stifle my moan.
Chapter 14
ENZO - NOW
I sat in the meeting room and watched as my colleagues—all fifteen of them—and the principal took their seats around the table. It was the last week of school. Though I still had to sit through more students' exams and go over loads of corrections, I could feel my summer vacation getting closer and closer. The year had been rough, to say the least. I could barely wait for some time off.
"I think this was a good year," the principal started, contradicting my thoughts. "Our students got good grades. That'll give the school a good reputation."
Ah! As always, appearances were all that mattered, even if they came to the detriment of our students. Besides, they hadn't taken their final exams yet. How could he tell they would excel? The teachers around the table nodded, except me. I narrowed my eyes and steepled my index fingers in front of my mouth. The principal sent me a quick glance.
"Do you have anything to say, Enzo? I can tell you do not concur."
I clicked my tongue and glanced around the table. Everyone was looking at me, including Cyrille, who was practically glaring. His gray eyes flashed at me while his lips twitched into a snarl. His clean-shaved white skin was already slightly tanned from the sun, and I knew from experience that by September, it would hold a delectable honey tint. His light brown hair was freshly cut into a side part, his style as classy as his clothes comprising a polo shirt and black slacks. Cyrille always looked pristine, which garnered him a lot of attention from other men.
"We only got good results because the curriculum isn't at the highest level," I answered the principal and looked straight at Cyrille, challenging him to drop his gaze first. I knew he wouldn't. It was a constant game of domination and subservience between us, and I always lost. "We've adapted our courses according to the assumption our students couldn't follow the same program as their hearing peers. It's a disadvantage that will hinder their entire future."
I looked at the principal, who gave a pause. "Some students have trouble following our curriculum as it is," he said.
"Of course they do. The program isn't fit for their needs."
"I'm afraid you're contradicting yourself," one of my coworkers cut me off. "You just said it was too easy because it was adapted to their needs."
I shook my head. "There's a difference between the quality of a curriculum and the quality of the instruction as a whole. Our classes are all taught in spoken French, but our students are deaf. It doesn't matter if we lower the level of our courses to make things easier for them. Some of our students will always have difficulties following because the program is not based on their needs. It is not taught in their native language."
Cyrille raised an eyebrow, his gray eyes blazing. "Their native language is French. We teach in French. What is your point?"
I stared him straight in the eyes. "Their native language is French Sign Language, not spoken French. If I were to teach you history in Russian or Chinese, I doubt you would be able to excel, even if I lowered the level of the entire curriculum. It is an insult to their intelligence to try and downgrade what we instruct only because we can't be bothered to teach in their language."
"We're just trying to help with their handicap," Cyrille replied.
I glared at him. "Being deaf is not a handicap. Deaf people can operate quite well on their own. And even if they couldn't, it is no reason to act superior and be so condescending. Being disabled is nothing to be ashamed of. It is people like you who force those handicaps upon us by setting obstacles in our way and treating us differently. Our students are smart and they can do better. They deserve better."
Cyrille puffed at that. I still couldn't understand his attitude toward the deaf community considering his own mom was part of it, and he was a teacher in a school for deaf teenagers for goodness' sake.
"If it's not a handicap, then why did you always need me to call the doctor on the phone to make appointments for you, huh?" he snapped.
His statement was a complete lie. I was quite capable of placing calls myself since my phone had an app connecting directly to my processor. And even if I couldn't, so what? I had asked Cyrille to answer the phone a few times when someone called and we were out in a loud environment. His attack was a low, personal shot, and he knew it.
"I would kindly ask you to remain professional. No one here cares to know about your personal grievances with me," I retorted. "This isn't about you and your problems with the deaf community. This is about our students deserving better than some low-level, half-warmed up curriculum."
Cyrille's face closed off. His gray eyes would have killed me if they could throw real daggers.
"What would you suggest, then, Enzo?" the principal asked, showing genuine interest as he leaned forward and trained his hazel gaze on me.
"I think we should offer the same curriculum here that hearing schools offer. The exact same level. But we should make all our programs bilingual."
"Bilingual?" Cyrille asked. "Are you suggesting the classes be taught in French and English or something?"
He was seriously getting on my nerves. I huffed at him and shook my head. "No. I meant bilingual as in French Sign Language and spoken French, obviously. But since you're bringing it up, yes, I do believe our students should be offered a second sign language—maybe American Sign Language or Spanish Sign Language."
When Cyrille rolled his eyes, I scowled.
"Are you suggesting deaf kids can't learn different languages like any other kids?" I defied him.
"Don't put words in my mouth," he shot back. "I never said such a thing."
The principal raised his hand. "I actually like Enzo's ideas. My only concern is whether the students can keep up or not. It won't look good for the school if the program is too hard and our students can't make it."
"They will keep up," I asserted. "We just need to have faith in them."
"Some of them haven’t even mastered French Sign Language yet. Isn't that why you're teaching them?" another coworker commented. "If we start using sign language, those with cochlear implants will use that as a crutch and not develop their hearing skills. Without mentioning that some of us don't know French Sign Language at all."
I smiled at him, though not so kindly. I was getting tired of the same, repetitive arguments from people whose culture wasn't threatened by the hearing world. That right there was the exact reason why I had a problem working for this school. I was just a rookie in their eyes, but in my opinion, those educators were teaching deaf kids; there was no reason why those kids should have to adapt to the hearing world while studying in a deaf school meant specifically for them.
"They will use sign language as a crutch to learn better," I replied. "That's the whole point. French Sign Language is their mother tongue, or at least, it should be. I know some of them come from hearing families and can't sign too well yet. But that's a shame. These kids are not part of the hearing world. Denying them the use of sign languages means excluding them from the deaf community as well. Where are they supposed to belong?"
The principal raised his hand to cut me off. "That's not for us to decide, though. That's their parents' decision."
I shook my head. "Our classes would still include spoken language, but I think they should incorporate complete sign language as well. Both at the same time. We could hire aids and translators for teachers who cannot sign. It doesn't matter that some of those kids have cochlear implants. They should be given as many tools to succeed as possible, including lip-reading and sign language. Can you imagine the value that would add to our programs
?" I added, tapping right into the principal's ego, knowing quite well how his reputation mattered more to him than what our kids could acquire from such an opportunity.
"Even if most of them got excellent grades, some of them are behind already," he insisted. "How are we supposed to afford translators when we already need tutors for those kids?"
"Exactly," I shot back. "They are behind because they were put in regular schools with hearing kids before they finally came to us. And even here, no effort is being made to meet their needs. Some of them can barely read lips. Some others have issues reading and writing French. For those with such difficulties, I suggest we create specialized classes so they can catch up. They need more than just a few tutoring sessions per week."
"That won't be free. Do you even realize how much that will cost?" the principal asked. "I'm not sure the Board will agree."
"If you present the project to the parents, I am sure they will be supportive. I can't imagine any parents who wouldn't want the best for their children."
"Next, you'll ask that we give them music classes," Cyrille snickered.
My jaw twitched. "It's time we stopped telling deaf children what they can and cannot do. We should never tell them they cannot reach the same stars as their hearing counterparts. I would like to finally see my students treated like every other kid out there. I'm not saying it will be easy for them, or for us to implement a new program, but a teacher's job isn't to rehash old material over and over again just so we can take a rest. A teacher's job is to innovate, be creative, and make the students' learning process easier and always more effective."
The principal nodded at that with a huge smile on his face. All my deaf coworkers nodded too. Two of the hearing ones didn't seem to approve—Cyrille being one of them. I stared directly at him and didn't waver. Not once did he lower his eyes, but this time neither did I.
"Enzo, would you work on a presentation for the Board? General ideas are nice, but I would like something concrete and outlined."
I nodded. "It will be my pleasure. I think we should have the parents vote on this if the Board shows reluctance. It is their money, their kids' future, their lives."
