Silence

by Deborah Lytton

  We use tablespoons to drop balls of dough onto the cookie sheets. I’m not surprised when Emerson barges into the kitchen. She grabs a spoonful of dough and dashes away before we can stop her. I know she will be back when she smells the scent of baked cookies. Hayden seems to find it amusing.

  “Life with a little sister,” I say as I roll my eyes.

  Hayden picks up the cookie sheet dotted with clumps of dough. Puts it into the oven. I set the timer for 10 minutes. We sit at the kitchen table with glasses of orange juice to wait.

  “This was a good idea,” I say.

  Hayden fixes me with his sapphire stare. I see a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. I’ve never noticed them. What else haven’t I noticed?

  He grins and tilts his head to the side. “You don’t need to hear to cook.”

  It’s not a question. It’s a simple statement. A reminder of his challenge. He is showing me all of the things I can do whether I can hear or not. He is showing me that life is beautiful.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  He nods. Once again, words are not necessary.

  For a long moment, neither of us moves. We just watch each other. I feel bonded to him. Sealed, as though this moment was decided long before I ever fell into the pool. Before I ever auditioned for Maria. Before everything.

  Hayden breaks eye contact first. The sweet smell of sugar, butter and chocolate fills the kitchen. Tells me the cookies are done. I am not surprised when Hayden moves toward the oven. I know the timer is beeping even though I can’t hear it.

  I bring over oven mitts and remove the trays. The cookies are golden brown, the chocolate chips slightly melted. They look delicious—soft and chewy.

  Bringing back memories of baking with my mother.

  “My mom and I used to make chocolate chip cookies together,” I say. “Whenever I had a bad day at school.”

  Hayden has a faraway expression in his eyes. “I don’t think I have any good memories of my mother.”

  I imagine the emptiness in his voice from the expression on his face. He doesn’t envy me. He just grieves for something he never had. I ache for him, for his loss.

  “She hurt you, didn’t she?” I don’t think about it. I just

  say it.

  And bam. It’s like I’ve slapped him. He reels back. Wariness crosses his face. I sense he is about to change the subject. He has done it before. Every time I start to get close to the truth. So before it’s too late, I blurt out, “I’m so sorry, Hayden.”

  This time he doesn’t speak for so long, I am sure he won’t answer. Then he says, “It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”

  But I can see from the look on his face that the wounds are still raw. Hayden hasn’t healed. I want to hear his story. To listen to him. But his expression has shifted. It’s closed off. He won’t let me in.

  That’s when Emerson saves me by sneaking into the kitchen and making a big fuss over the cookies. Stuffing them into her mouth. If she notices the tension in the room, she doesn’t show it.

  I’m grateful for the distraction. I busy myself with making her and my mother a plate of cookies and glasses of milk on a tray. Not until she leaves the kitchen with the tray can I face him. I am sure he will leave, offended by my imposition. I am prepared to apologize. To tell him that I have no right to pry into his past.

  But he doesn’t leave. He waits while I make a plate of cookies for us. When I dare to raise my eyes to his, he is still here. Not running away. Still with me.

  I reach for something to say. Anything.

  “Do you play backgammon?” I ask.

  His smile is all the answer I need. I hurry to the cabinet in the hallway to retrieve the game. I hope he won’t disappear while I am gone.

  When I return to the kitchen, he is still at the table. He has waited for me before eating any cookies.

  I grin at him. “I have an unfair advantage, you know.” I set up the backgammon board on the kitchen table. “I’m the family champ.” I can beat everyone in my family, including my father. I expect to beat Hayden as well. He just doesn’t know it.

  “Not so fast, Layne. I may be better than you think,” he teases me.

  The cookies are delicious. Warm and sweet, they taste of happiness and comfort. I will never bake them again without remembering the sweetness of this day.

  Within a short time, I am not surprised to find myself the winner of our game.

  I sit back and tell him, “I did warn you.”

  “Fair enough. Do you have a chess board? That’s a game I can win.”

  “I’m pretty good at chess, too,” I say. “You’d better bring your A game.”

  I love chess. Not because I am so good at it—at least, not as good as I am at backgammon—but because I love the idea of it. Chess takes thought and strategy. There’s no luck to it—winning is all about the talent of the player.

  We don’t speak while we play. I can’t read lips and watch the board at the same time. Hayden seems to understand, so we play in silence. I open my thoughts to hearing Hayden—not with my ears, but with my mind. I try to anticipate his moves by watching him. I study the expressions on his face, watch his body language. I move my pieces accordingly. I’ve never played chess like this before. Truthfully, I’ve never played this well before.

  I move my queen, putting his king in check. I glance at Hayden’s face. His expression is one I haven’t seen on him before, sort of a half-smile with a raised eyebrow. I have surprised him and impressed him. He is seeing a new side of me. I can tell all of this without words. I grin at him, and then watch in dismay as, with only two moves, he escapes my queen, and puts me into checkmate. Hayden has won.

  He stands and bows. A really formal bow. “That was the best chess game I have ever played,” he tells me. With anyone else, I would think they were lying. But I see nothing but truth in Hayden’s eyes. So I smile and thank him.

  Then I add, “Me, too.”

  Mom comes into the kitchen. Taps her watch. It’s getting late. Hayden stands. His grandfather will be waiting for him. I walk him to the door. He has shown me yet again how to enjoy my life without hearing. And I am grateful to him.

  “Thanks for today,” I tell him. I hand him a baggie with four of the cookies we baked. “For your grandfather.”

  He grins. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” I echo. And then, to my surprise, he reaches over and trails his fingers across my cheek. His touch is as soft as a daisy petal brushing across my skin. But it leaves an imprint that I can feel tingling even after his hand drops back to his side.

  “Sleep well, Stella.”

  And then he is gone.

  Pieces of a puzzle

  — Hayden —

  I almost told her. I almost told her everything.

  I drive home slowly, thinking of her. The way she looks at me, as if I mean something to her—something real. Stella is the first person outside my family who knows something bad happened to me. I can tell by the emotion in her eyes, the expression on her face.

  What makes her different from everyone else is that I sensed no pity in her. It was more like an embrace. In her reaching for me, I was comforted for one split second. And in that second, I was understood.

  I can’t allow that to happen again. I can’t let her get so close. I have fit the pieces of myself back together. Pieces that were tossed around by my mother. Some were destroyed, but I glued myself together. If I let Stella in, she could pull some of those pieces loose. I don’t think I could put myself back together again—not after Stella. She could destroy me.

  If I were smart, I would pull away now, before it’s too late. But I made her a promise—seventeen days to show her that she can imagine herself differently, without sound. I am showing her what she can do without hearing. I am opening her mind to possibilities. I can’t walk away now.

  I will just have to be stronger.

  Love brings pain. Don’t let yourself fall in love.


  Anything but that.

  13

  — Stella —

  The second day of school is better than the first. I know what to expect now. And time seems to move faster at school. In less than two weeks, I will know if I can hear again.

  Lily is waiting for me at my locker. Looking prettier than ever, she smiles and hands me a note.

  Would you come to my cheerleading tryouts after school today? It would mean a lot to me to have my BFF there.

  Before I even finish reading the note, I know what my answer will be.

  It’s hard for me to say no to Lily. Even now.

  I nod. “I’ll be there.”

  I text my mom and ask her to pick me up an hour later. Then I hurry to class. I can’t hear the bell ring, but I can read the clock. And I am about to be tardy.

  We watch a film in health. It isn’t captioned, so I can only watch the images. Time for my mind to wander. I think about yesterday. About Hayden.

  Because of him, I have started to see the world differently. I see myself differently. Walking through the halls this morning, I couldn’t hear the melody of school. But it didn’t matter. And people stared at me. Before, I would have cared, worried about what people thought of me. How they viewed me.

  But I am changing. I’m stronger somehow. Less afraid. I am more myself without a part of me than I ever was with it.

  So I open my senses and use them. I may not be able to hear the melody of Richmond High, but I can smell the paper on the hallway floors and the markers used to make the posters announcing the school dance. I can smell mints in the backpack next to mine. The guy in front of me uses the same shampoo as my mom. And I can see the giggles on the face of the girl to my right. I play a game with myself.

  I look around the room at each face. I try to see if I can tell what they are thinking, feeling, doing, just by watching their expressions.

  Some are enjoying the film. Others are lost in their thoughts. Daydreaming. Sneaking bites of breakfast from under their desks or texting. A few are sleeping. I never noticed how much was going on around me. I never looked around to see. Not like this.

  My mind drifts back to Hayden, although he is never far from my thoughts. Yesterday, I tried to draw him out, get him to trust me. I asked him a question about his mother. And I got my answer. She did hurt him. I saw it on his face. As clearly as if he had spoken the words. She broke his heart.

  He told me it was a long time ago and didn’t matter anymore, but it isn’t until this moment that I register the importance of what he said.

  His disillusionment. What that means for me. He is broken. Damaged. It isn’t his speech; it’s his heart. It’s been silenced. I sit nestled in the quiet of my world. Allowing me to look deep inside him.

  I have vowed for years never to make the mistakes my mother made. Never to trust my heart to another. But it happened. Even when I didn’t want it or ask for it. It just happened.

  And Hayden needs my help.

  So I ask myself the question: Am I willing to risk my own heart to save his?

  When lunchtime arrives, I still have no answer. It seems like a stroke of luck that I have already promised to eat with Kace in the drama room. I’m not ready to be with Hayden. Not until I have resolved my own feelings.

  He is waiting in front of my locker just like yesterday. Today, his hair is loose, almost covering his eyes. But it can’t hide his smile. It is just for me. I meet it with one of my own. The now-familiar butterflies fluttering in response.

  “I’m eating in the drama room today,” I tell him. I don’t know why I say it. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to call them back, but it is too late. His smile fades instantly. He is expressionless, like his face is carved in ice.

  “No problem.” He forces a grin. His eyes are frozen. Nothing could melt them. Then he walks away, disappearing into the crowd.

  I watch him go, wondering why I have made this choice. Even though I already know the answer.

  I am afraid. Afraid of my feelings for Hayden. And I am pushing him away. Just when I need him most.

  Lunch in the drama room is an honor reserved for only the top echelon. Kace and Quinn preside. You attend only by invitation. I’ve dreamed about this moment for over a year. Only now that I’m here, it doesn’t matter to me anymore.

  The drama crowd eats in the mini-theater’s green room, which we use for running lines before shows or waiting for class. It has big old, plaid sofas and coffee tables. Mr. Preston’s office door is on the right side. The backstage entrance is on the left. It’s like a coffee lounge minus the coffee.

  Kace is sprawled in the big armchair. He has saved a seat for me on the sofa next to him. Quinn sits opposite on her own throne, a faded blue director’s chair left over from Mr. Preston’s acting days. Someone has ordered a pizza. Someone else passes a box of donuts. There is camaraderie and friendship here. No one stares. I am treated like one of the group, like I belong. Kace writes notes to me, explaining the conversation.

  Preston is thinking about having one last play at the end of this semester. He’s never done it before. We’re tossing around possibilities. Some say it’ll be a play like The Crucible or Our Town. I’m casting my vote for Shakespeare. Quinn is hoping for Pirates of Penzance or Singin’ in the Rain.

  I glance across at Quinn. She would make a wonderful Mabel.

  Kace hands me another note. I think it has something to do with you. I think he wants you to have your moment in the spotlight.

  I look up at him. His smirk tells me he can read the surprise on my face. “Seriously?” I say.

  Kace winks. Nods. His expression reminds me of something. My memory searches for it, then seizes on it. The moment on stage after the kiss. That fleeting moment of sensing something more, something unsaid.

  It is gone almost as quickly as I grasp it. But it warms me just the same—a compliment. Even if I don’t feel that way about Kace in return, it is flattering to know he sees me that way.

  I watch as he scribbles.

  (Quinn thinks he’s doing it for her, since it’s her last semester and all, so don’t say anything!)

  I mock locking my mouth with a key and throwing it away. Then I crumple the note and shove it into the front pocket of my jeans.

  I pass the donut box. Take a bite of my apple. I think about Kace’s note. Another chance in the spotlight. For me.

  Could it be true?

  I watch Quinn laughing and throwing a pillow at Kace. The idea of performing again sends tingles up and down my arms. In my first days of silence, I let go of my dream for Someday Broadway. I was sure it could never ever happen. Not with my hearing damaged forever. But I am different now. I am hopeful. Because of Hayden. I can see possibilities for myself. Chances.

  Maybe it won’t be the same as before. And it might be a whole lot harder to do things that came so easily to me before, but that doesn’t make it impossible. Excitement bubbles inside of me. I want to tell Hayden. Right now. On impulse, I pull out my phone to text him. And then I remember how I treated him today. How I acted like he isn’t important to me, when he’s exactly the opposite.

  I put my phone away. I don’t share the news with him because I am ashamed of myself. Of my fears.

  In this moment, sitting with the drama crowd, I know. Here, in my moment of triumph, of belonging, I know that the only place I want to be is with Hayden.

  And I have the answer to my question. I am willing to risk my own heart to save his because I have already given him my heart, whether I wanted to or not. I must have always known, ever since the first moment I saw him. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.

  I have fallen in love with Hayden. Even knowing that he might not love me back. Might never be able to love me back. It doesn’t matter. I love him.

  After school, I make my way to the football field. I know where the cheerleading tryouts will be—in the same place Lily and I watched the tryouts last year. I take a seat on the bleachers and scan the crowd of girls
in shorts and miniskirts, looking for Lily.

  There. There she is. Her blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail. She came in the Richmond colors: red shorts and a white polo shirt. Smart.

  The girls have to learn a routine and then perform it one by one. Lily stands in the front line. She’s marking the moves. When she looks up and spots me, I wave. She waves back, beaming.

  Lily is in the first group; I won’t have to wait long. Just before the girls take their turns, the football team arrives. They are conditioning now that the season is over. Today they are running around the track. A bunch of the girls turn to watch them. They point and giggle. Some wave. The guys don’t wave back. But they do start to run faster. I roll my eyes and shake my head at the Neanderthal display. That is, until Connor Williams runs to the front of the pack. Sprinting off of the track, he catches Lily around the waist. Swings her right off the ground like one of those commercials for perfume.

  Wear this scent and you, too, can have the romance you’ve always dreamed of.

  He kisses her. Right in front of everybody. It’s such a display that I can’t look away. I have to watch.

  There is one split second, though, right before Connor runs off—it’s shorter than the time it takes to breathe in and out—when he looks toward the bleachers. At me. He tilts his head slightly, as though challenging me. I freeze, not daring to take a breath. Not until he moves off. And then I can’t be sure any of it happened at all.

  Lily tosses her hair. Grins like the Cheshire Cat. She’ll make the team now no matter what. Even if she forgets the entire routine (which she won’t) or doesn’t do a perfect split jump (which she will). I may as well go home.

  But I can’t move. The blood in my veins is on fire. I want to scratch my arms. Tear them to pieces. Shred my skin to stop the burning. A scream chokes me, longing to be freed. I swallow it. Taste the bitterness. Hold it in. Holding it all in.