Silence
Page 1
Silence
Deborah Lytton
© 2015 Lytton, Deborah.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain®. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lytton, Deborah A., author.
Silence / Deborah Lytton.
pages cm
After an accident robs Stella of her hearing and her dream of going to Broadway, she meets Hayden, a boy who stutters, and comes to learn what it truly means to connect and communicate in a world filled with silence.
ISBN 978-1-60907-945-1 (hardbound : alk. paper)
[1. Communication—Fiction. 2. Love—Fiction. 3. Deaf—Fiction 4. Stuttering—Fiction.
5. Self-acceptance—Fiction. 6. People with disabilities—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.L9959Si 2015
[Fic]—dc232014019063
Printed in the United States of America
R. R. Donnelley, Crawfordsville, IN
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my daughters, Ava and Caroline
Who inspire me with their faith, courage and grace
Table of Contents
ME
LIFE
NEW
IT
One moment is all it takes
NOT ME
Walking an unfamiliar road
HER
HIM
Understanding without words
DAYS
Fading into the shadows
DARKNESS
NORMAL
HIDE
The freedom in honesty
DAYS
Seeing the unseen
SIGNS
A pledge of time
17
BEST FRIENDS FOREVER
Reflection in a mirror
ME AGAIN
16
Postcards from the past
15
STEPS
Speaking the unspeakable
14
Pieces of a puzzle
13
Thinking about not thinking
12
The language of art
11
Saying nothing and everything
10
Games of the mind
9
Walls that crumble
8
Being in the moment
7
Dreams reveal truth
6
Eye to eye
5
Wings to fly
4
Instinct overpowering reason
3
The sound of silence
2
Speech of the heart
1
Bleeding with truth
SOUND
Knowing, just knowing
SONG
Acknowledgments
Reading Guide
About the Author
Music is the silence between the notes.
—Claude Debussy
ME
— Stella —
I hear the thunder of feet moving across concrete floors. Lockers clanging. Cell phones ringing. Flirtatious laughter. Hollered greetings. Books dropping. Doors slamming.
The melody of Monday morning at Richmond High School. It plays in my ears like a soundtrack to a movie about someone else’s life. I watch from the outside. Listen from the outside. Moving through the noisy hallways without making a single sound. Because I am a nobody. Invisible. Silent.
I walk down the crowded corridor, wrapped in anonymity.
My best friend, Lily, waits for me in front of my locker.
“The cast list is going up right now,” she tells me in her soft voice. A hopeful smile lights up her pretty face. She is wearing mascara. And lip gloss. I’m not sure whether I like it or whether it makes me feel like Lily is becoming someone else. Someone I don’t know. Lily tosses her head so her blonde curls dip in front of her face. She grins as two football players pass by. It looks like a move she has practiced in the mirror. Then Lily turns back to me, expectantly. “I’m sure your name will be on it.” And there is the Lily who is my best friend. The kind of friend who really believes in me, even when I don’t believe in myself.
“I hope so,” I answer as we turn toward the hallway that houses the drama department.
I am quiet and unheard. Most of the time. Except when I sing. Then I feel like a nightingale sharing my song. My voice reaches out to the world because in those moments, I can fly. I am suspended in the air. Like magic. When I sing, I’m no longer invisible. I’m no longer the fifteen-year-old who never raises her hand in class, who only has one friend and never volunteers to be first for anything.
When I sing, I make my own soundtrack. I believe anything is possible. Miracles can happen.
Lily is talking about some gossip involving people at school I don’t even know. I tune out. I am more nervous than I imagined I would be.
I remember the exact moment I knew I could sing. I was in first grade. My teacher asked each of us to sing a part in the school performance—alone. My teacher, Mrs. Fisher, was looking down at her notes when I opened my mouth. I felt the notes soar out of me like feathers floating on a soft summer breeze. I curved the notes, held them out, kept them in time. I made the feathers dance on the wind. I was so happy to be singing, I didn’t notice anything else at first. But then Mrs. Fisher’s eyes were on me, not on her papers. A bright smile lit up her face. Every other head in the room turned to watch me. And I got my very first solo.
All of the kids at school knew I was the girl with the voice. I was seen, I was heard, I was somebody. Maybe I still didn’t quite fit in, but I had a place. And I felt safe there. That was before my parents split up our family, before my mother moved my sister and me to new schools. Before everything changed. Nothing like starting high school without one single friend. It’s like entering a cave of lions completely unprotected. Only one thing you can do: hide.
That’s why it’s been over a year since I’ve had the courage to sing outside my bedroom. No one here knows me as the girl with the voice. They don’t know me at all.
But last Friday, I took my chance. I auditioned for the school musical because West Side Story happens to be my favorite musical of all time. And because Lily said she would never forgive me if I didn’t try. But mostly because I knew I would never forgive myself.
“Walk faster,” Lily urges as she grabs my hand to pull me along.
“I don’t know why I’m so excited,” she tells me. “It’s not like I auditioned.”
I give her a sideways grin. Lily has the worst singing voice I’ve ever heard, but she can speak French and Italian fluently, and she does math problems for fun. Still, she wants to change all that. She wants to be seen as more than a brain. I guess you could say that she just wants to be seen.
“On the outside,” I say, “you’re a sophomore, but inside . . . you’re a stage mother looking for your daughter’s big break.”
Lily giggles at my teasing. “I’m calling myself Stage Mom from now on.”
We’ve reached the drama room. The entry to the theater is marked by crimson double doors. Above them is a wooden sign: drama. Around the doors are posters from theater performances at Richmond from the past twenty years: Oklahoma, My Fair Lady, Pippin, Grease, Hairspray, The Music Man, The Phantom of the Opera, Les Misérables.
The red doors are like a stop sign.
Stop. Are you talented enough to enter?
The cast list for the musical is posted on one of the doors. A crowd is gathered in front of it. I can hear emotions circling around me, polarized into
two distinct sounds. Shrieks of joy. Moans of disappointment.
Lily squeezes my arm. “I’ll wait here,” she tells me as she finds a spot near the poster of My Fair Lady.
“Be right back,” I say.
I wade into the melee. Look for my name.
A supporting role is the best a sophomore can expect. The top part of the list will be the leads. I fix my eyes on the bottom half of the list. Scan it quickly. My name isn’t there.
I wasn’t good enough. Rejection is the painful reality of every performer. I know this, but it hurts just the same. Disappointment tastes bitter in my mouth. I had placed more hope in this audition than I realized. I swallow and turn away from the list. I promise myself I will not cry. Not here. Not now.
I try to make my way back to Lily. I will have to tell her. I will have to say the words aloud. She will probably be able to tell from one look at my face.
The crowd presses in on me. Roaring in my ears. I can’t break free. I am pushed back toward the door as I try to move away from it. Everyone clamors to see if their name is listed. Tears burn my throat. I will not let them release.
I will try again next year, I promise myself. The promise wants to make me feel better. It doesn’t. I want to go home, but I can’t break free from the crowd.
Then I hear it—my name. “Stella Layne? As Maria?”
I turn to look in their direction.
“Who is Stella Layne?”
“I have no idea.”
“Isn’t she a sophomore?”
The words whirl around me like leaves in a hurricane. I can’t grasp them.
Suddenly, I turn around again. The list is directly in front of me. That’s when I see it.
My name is there.
Not in the supporting cast list.
But as the lead.
As Maria.
The lead in the school musical.
Me.
Stella Layne.
I can’t believe something so wonderful is happening to me. I don’t deserve it. I must be dreaming. The tears that threatened seconds earlier dry up as though they have been heated by the sun. I feel warm all over. Golden.
Joy fills my heart so full I can’t contain it, like a bright light seeping through the cracks of a closed door. I can’t stop smiling.
This is the best day of my life.
LIFE
— Stella —
The next day, I can’t wait to go to school. I walk to class, chatting with Lily. I obsess about my geometry test. Lily obsesses about boys. Boys equal trouble. Look at my mom and my dad. He’s on to wife number two, family number two. We’ve been left behind. An every third Saturday commitment, like a golf game.
Better to focus on schoolwork. And singing. Always on singing. My dream keeps me going. Broadway. Someday I will sing on a Broadway stage. I can imagine the orchestra playing. The bright spotlight. The hush of the crowd as they wait to hear my voice.
I can communicate through music—feelings, emotions. Things I can’t share in any other way. People feel them when I sing. And somehow, in those moments, I feel connected to the world around me, to the people around me. Imagine being able to do that every day. Forever.
Someday.
Someday Broadway. I say it over and over in my head.
And it keeps me going when I feel lost, adrift. My dreams anchor me to the present. They give me hope. And that hope is what propels me forward each day, knowing that there is something bigger and better in my future. Something worth believing in.
Someday Broadway.
Warmth on my skin stops me suddenly. It shifts across my face like sunshine. Someone is watching me. I can sense it. I glance around. And I see him. Tall, slender. With tousled caramel-colored hair that touches his shoulders. A pale scar runs across his chin. It stands out against the sun-kissed shade of his skin. I’ve never seen him before. Something about him seems familiar. His eyes catch mine and keep me there. Eyes that glow like they are lit from within. A golden-blue spotlight. My skin is still warm from his gaze. He can’t be looking at me; it must be a mistake. I glance around to see if he is looking at someone else. Someone behind me, perhaps, but there is no one. No one except me. I am caught again in the spotlight of his eyes. And I cannot move. I watch him. Watching me.
The bell rings, startling me.
Lily grabs my arm. “Stella, we’ll be late for class,” she says. She looks at him. At me.
“Right,” I answer. But I don’t move. I am held captive.
“Stella!” Lily shakes me again, forcing me to look at her. “Come on.” She rolls her eyes—her signal that this is someone we should dismiss as unimportant. Not good-looking enough. Not a football player. Not special.
But somehow, though I can’t explain it, I know he is special. I don’t know how. I just do.
“Right,” I say again. “Let’s go,” I manage as I break free and move with Lily, heading to class.
I look over my shoulder one last time. He’s still watching me.
Rehearsals begin right away. The cast sits in a circle on stage. We hold our scripts. Read our lines. I love it. I am meant to do this forever.
Tony is played by a senior, Kace Maxwell. He stars in every school play and basically rules the drama department. I know who he is, but we’ve never spoken. I doubt he knew my name before I appeared on the cast list as Maria. The other students worship him, hang on his every word, follow him around, compliment him. Kace has black hair and bright hazel eyes that sparkle like he has a secret. My mother would say he has charisma, that indefinable something that makes people stand out from the rest.
I wonder if I have charisma.
Kace is friends with everyone. He is nice, but reserved. I can tell he wishes his best friend, Quinn, had been chosen instead of me. Quinn is always the lead. If Kace is the king of the drama department, Quinn is queen. Everyone expected her to play Maria. She auditioned for the role, but was cast as one of the Jet girlfriends. She is also my understudy.
“Stella is a sophomore. I’m a senior,” I overhear her complaining. “This is my last chance. She’ll have other years to be the lead.”
That’s how it usually works; seniors usually do play the leads. Her words shake my confidence and make me wonder why Mr. Preston chose me.
Quinn smiles my way, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s like a clown smile someone drew on her face with pink lipstick.
I try not to let it distract me. I have a job to do. I look down at my script. Highlight my lines.
Someday Broadway.
The next afternoon, we run songs next to the piano. Nerves tingle in my hands and feet. I hear my heart beating in my ears as I wait for my turn. I can do this. I know I can.
I listen to the first song. Kace sings “Something’s Coming.” His pitch is perfect, his tone smooth and pure. Kace has a voice that draws you in and makes you want to listen. He doesn’t miss a note. As I sit on stage and listen, my hands become clammy, my throat parched. I have never been so nervous to sing.
I reach for my water bottle. Take a sip. Breathe in and out. Try to focus.
The atmosphere in the room changes. Crackles. An electricity surrounds me like lightning. I sense him before I see him.
Hair like a lion’s mane. Chaos and order at the same time. Soulful eyes with stories to tell. Though he is at the back of the theater, I know who he is. The same as before. It’s as if I know him.
I close my water bottle. Pretend to look at my script. Instead, I watch him. He wears jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a blue backpack slung over one shoulder. Sneakers. He is lanky, like he doesn’t eat much. He moves gracefully and slowly, taking a seat in the first row.
What does his voice sound like? I imagine it to be deep, smooth. His lips are round, in contrast to the sloping arches of his cheekbones. I find myself looking again at the scar on his chin. It must have been painful.
I am awakened from my hypnotism by applause. Everyone is clapping for Kace. I hear my hands clap together. It
sounds overly loud. I try to soften them so my clapping isn’t so jarring. But I am not thinking about Kace and his song.
When Mr. Preston calls my name, I don’t hear him at first. Someone next to me pokes me in the side. “Stella, that’s you.”
Embarrassed, I stand quickly and move toward the piano.