Your Voice Is All I Hear

by Leah Scheier

  And then I heard a shuffle on the porch outside, and I sprang out of my chair and ran down the hall to meet him. The knob turned, the door creaked open, and I stepped forward with a cry—and my mother was standing in the entrance. She stared at me for a second, and I saw her take in my disappointment. She dropped her purse onto the ground and gathered me into her arms. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know you were hoping that I was Jonah.”

  I held onto her for a minute, and she hugged me tightly, whispering sympathy card words about pain and time. I couldn’t imagine how she knew what had just happened, but at that moment, it didn’t matter to me. It was a relief not to have to explain anything to her. “I don’t think he’s coming back,” I said as she led me into the living room. “I really think that this is it.”

  “I know,” she replied. “I just had lunch with Rachel. She told me that he was coming over here today. So I took the afternoon off. I figured you might need me around after he spoke to you.”

  Her timid smile hurt me a little. I’d kept her at a distance these last few months. I’d been afraid of her advice, afraid of hearing what everyone had told me already—that I didn’t need Jonah, that I’d be better off alone. But maybe my mom could have helped me if I’d let her. All this time, even when she’d seemed like she was against me, she had actually been waiting patiently for a chance to comfort me.

  “He said that he needs time to heal without me,” I told her. “That his guilt about hurting me was one of the things that kept him from getting well. I tried to argue with him at first, but in the end, I wasn’t sure which one of us was right.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “It’s not about being right. It’s just what Jonah needs now. And what you need too.”

  “I don’t need anything,” I protested. “I just want to be with him.”

  “I know you do, baby. I wish there was something I could say that would make it easier for you.”

  There was nothing to say, of course. She could have told me that I was going to be all right, eventually, even if it took months to get over missing him. But there was no point in saying that; she knew that I didn’t want to hear it anyway. It was hard to believe then, when I could still feel the pressure of his lips on mine, that one day all of this would be a distant memory—lazy afternoons curled up beside him, his arms around me, our almost perfect interrupted kiss by Quarry Lake. It seemed impossible that one day I’d think of Jonah as just a bittersweet daydream.

  “Does he actually expect me to forget him?” I wondered out loud. “Is that really what he wants?”

  “I don’t think he expects you to forget,” my mom answered. “I just think he wants you to give yourself a chance without him. To see what happens. You’re starting a whole new chapter soon, and he wants you to be free to really experience it. And then—”

  “And then, who knows?” I finished for her.

  Who could tell what the next year would bring? Maybe a fresh start would be good for me. Maybe it would be good for both of us. He wasn’t ready to come with me yet; we’d agreed on that, at least.

  I need to be sure of myself before I can ask anyone to be with me.

  “Who knows?” I repeated softly, smiling at my mother’s worried, faintly hopeful face. “Maybe in the end, it’ll be okay.”

  And in that moment, I honestly believed it would be. It was too soon to give up hope; I would hold on to that belief for as long as I needed it, the faith that eventually Jonah and I might find each other again. There would be new schools and teachers, new friends and doctors between us for a while. But someday, far off in the future, maybe we could put together a different ending. We’d both be a little older; he’d have learned to trust himself again, and I’d have learned to stand on my own without him. Then maybe we would run into each other one last time, somewhere when we least expected it, in a mall or at a park, some simple place like a corner bus stop. And maybe then Jonah and I would finally finish our first kiss.

  Acknowledgments

  I owe so much to my agent, Rena Rossner. We met as university students at Johns Hopkins; I was a senior juggling a new baby and premed studies, she was a freshman majoring in poetry and nonfiction writing. Twenty years later, thousands of miles from my hometown, we found each other again, with the help of a college buddy. Thank you, Morry, for introducing me to the greatest agent and an amazing friend. Without you, Rena, I wouldn’t be holding this novel in my hands.

  I want to thank my editor, Annette Pollert-Morgan, for her dedication to April’s story. Your insight and enthusiasm made the revision process enjoyable and exciting. Thank you to the publishing team at Sourcebooks Fire, especially Elizabeth Boyer and Sabrina Baskey, and Nicole Komasinski for the beautiful cover design.

  My three daughters are a constant inspiration and joy. Aviva, thank you for the tireless advice on all things musical, and especially for composing and editing April’s lyrics. Miriam, thank you for being my first faithful beta reader and expert consultant on all things teen. Talia, thank you for inspiring the character of Katie. By now you are much older, but Katie’s fairy magic and innocent wisdom will always remind me of you.

  Thank you to my husband, Eric, for urging me to write, and for waiting patiently while I messed around in my imaginary world. Thank you to my mother and father who encouraged me to daydream and to my sisters who smiled when I communicated with my fictional friends. (For the best “spacey Leah” imitation, please see my sister Tammy.)

  And thanks to my readers for the kind support and the lovely emails asking when my next novel is coming out.

  About the Author

  Leah Scheier is the author of Secret Letters, a historical mystery featuring the daughter of the Great Detective. After finishing up her adventures in Victorian England, Leah moved back to modern times, and currently writes about teens in her hometown of Baltimore. During the day she waves around a pink stethoscope and sheets of Smurf stickers; at night she bangs on her battered computer and drinks too much caffeine. You can visit her website at leahscheier.com or say hi to her on Twitter @leahscheier.

  Author’s Note

  April told her class, “There are no casseroles for schizophrenia.” But there is support for families and patients dealing with mental illness. For information, discussion forums, and the latest news, visit www.schizophrenia.com. For advocacy opportunities and locations of schizophrenia anonymous group meetings in your state, visit www.saarda.org.

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