Silence

by Deborah Lytton

  I thought I was prepared to see Lily with Connor. After the mall, I thought I could handle it. I knew they were together. She told me herself.

  I just didn’t know I would react this way.

  Even though I want to run as far away as I can, I don’t. I can’t move. I stay and watch the routine. Over and over again. Lily performs it well. Brimming with confidence, her smile is bright as neon. Her moves crisp and sure.

  I breathe in and out. To calm myself. To bring myself back to the present. I think of Hayden. My white feather of hope. And the thought gives me strength. Thinking of him reminds me that this is just one moment. And I have many other moments to live. To enjoy. I can do this. I can get through this.

  Second by second, I talk myself through it. So much so that by the time Lily finishes her routine and does a perfect split jump, I can clap for her. I wave. Give her a thumbs-up. I move down the bleachers to the side gate. And I am free. I don’t look back.

  Thinking about not thinking

  — Hayden —

  The afternoon sun beats on my back, and sweat runs down my face. I brush it away with the back of my hand, the only part of my arms not covered in mud. I lift pieces of sod one by one, stacking them on wooden risers. It is physical work—demanding, exhausting.

  Just what I need right now. My work at the nursery is an escape from the rest of the world. An oasis of calm where I am surrounded by life, color, quiet.

  Usually I can find a meditative peace here. Whether the work is physical like today or monotonous like lining up flower pots in rows, I can find my center. Not today.

  Because today, all I can think about is Stella. The way she looked when she told me she was eating lunch in the drama room. The way she didn’t quite meet my eyes, as though she couldn’t bear to talk to me. But actions speak louder than words; this I know to be true. Stella was eating with Kace Maxwell. She didn’t say the last part; she didn’t have to. It shouldn’t bother me—she doesn’t belong to me. Stella can eat wherever she wants, and being beautiful and popular, she has many offers, I am sure. Just last night, I was telling myself I needed to pull away to keep myself safe.

  She did me a favor today. This is what I wanted.

  But if it’s what I want, then why does tension have me knotted up so tight that my muscles scream with every movement? Why do I revel in the aching of my biceps, the shooting pain in my back, the throbbing of my hands, the sweat, the exhaustion?

  I pull another piece of grass and dirt and heave it into the air to land on top of the waist-high stack.

  I push Stella’s face from my mind. Her sunflower eyes and petal-soft skin, hair that reflects light like a mirror, lips that tease with the hint of a smile even when she is sad. I force it all from my mind—only to replace it with a memory.

  Stella kissing Kace on stage.

  I know they were acting, that it wasn’t real. But I’ve seen how he looks at her, even if she hasn’t.

  I may have promised seventeen days, but I can walk away now. She doesn’t need me, and I certainly don’t need her.

  My thoughts are jumbled, and I can’t make sense of the confusion.

  “Whoa there, Hayden,” Jeremiah calls, walking my way.

  “I didn’t expect you to finish already. This is a three-day job. How’d you do this all by yourself?”

  “I-I don’t—know,” I stammer sheepishly. “I w-was th-thinking and time fl-ew by.”

  Jeremiah pushes the beaten cowboy hat back on his head. “Well, you must’ve been thinking about somethin’ pretty important.” He nods at the stacks of sod.

  I shrug.

  “It isn’t a lady, is it?” Jeremiah’s eyes twinkle, making his craggy face look young and vibrant.

  I shrug again.

  Jeremiah sits on one of the stacks. “Woman trouble. I been through it all. Me and the wife been together goin’ on thirty years. Try me.” He waits, like he has all the time in the world instead of a busy nursery to run.

  “Th-at’s just it. I-I don’t k-know.”

  Jeremiah nods his head. “Confused. Lots going on inside yer head. You don’t know whatcha want.”

  He’s summed it up pretty well. I nod.

  “Hmmm. Seems to me you gotta know your own heart first. You gotta figure out whatcha want. You like her?”

  I do like her. “Y-Yes. May-be t-too much.” This is the most I have ever spoken to Jeremiah.

  He shakes his head. “Never can like a woman too much. Too much means you’re scared of bein’ hurt. But there’s nothin’ to be gained if you don’t try.” He places a large, heavy hand on my shoulder. “Think of it this way—you’ll be hurtin’ yourself if you walk away. And she might be hurtin’ you if you don’t. But maybe, just maybe, it’ll work out.”

  His words make sense, and his point is a good one. I’ll be hurting myself and my chances with Stella if I just walk away, but if I give us a chance . . .

  “Anything worth havin’ is worth fightin’ for. My wife ’n’ me, we work hard to stay together because we’re better together than apart. Ask yourself—are you better together? If you are, then fight for it, Hayden.” He gently taps my shoulder then gestures at the sod.

  “Next time don’t work so hard. I’ll be hearin’ from your grandpa about it when you can’t get out of bed tomorrow.” He laughs low and throaty. It makes me smile.

  Jeremiah and Gramps have been friends since high school. That’s how I got the job. But to hear Jeremiah tell it, I did him the favor. I never call in sick, and I always show up on time. I do more than he asks me to do. Truth is, I’m grateful for the job and the spending money. But I also like the work. I love the peacefulness of the place, with its running fountains and flats of flowers, blooming trees and nestled houseplants.

  So it seems fitting that today, here, I have made a decision about Stella. A decision that has been causing me so much confusion and pain.

  It’s simple, really. She makes me happy. I am better with her. I don’t want to lose that. So I am going to take Jeremiah’s advice and fight for her. Even if the one I am fighting against is me.

  12

  — Stella —

  I’m sorry about yesterday. I wanted to talk to you last night. To tell you about something.

  After I write the text, I delete it. I try again.

  Will you have lunch with me today?

  It’s simple. Direct.

  Better.

  He may say no. May be angry with me. Still, I hope he will say yes.

  There’s so much I want to say to Hayden. So much I want to tell him. But I will have to go slow. Take my time. When I was little and saw a butterfly in my mom’s garden, I would rush toward it. Scare it away. I remember crying and crying, so sad that the butterfly had disappeared.

  As I got older, I learned to wait and observe. And sometimes, if I was very lucky, a butterfly moved closer. Once, an orange and black monarch landed on my shoulder. I stayed very still and watched it closely. It watched me back. My patience showed the butterfly that I was safe. It stayed for a very long time. Long enough for my mother to run and get her camera and then shoot a photo of me and my butterfly friend. I still have it in a frame on my desk. I look at it now. Remember the rewards of patience.

  I don’t have to wait long for his response. By the time I have finished braiding my hair, Hayden has answered me.

  Ok.

  That gives no clue to how he feels. But it’s the answer I want. Now I have to ask part two. I take a deep breath. Prepare myself for rejection. Even though I know it will hurt whether I am prepared or not.

  Would you stay for a little while after school today? I wanted to ask for your help with something.

  It’s vague, but I am not ready to tell him yet about the possibility of another play. That I want to know if I can still sing. If he agrees, I will tell him today. If not, I will keep it to myself.

  Sounds mysterious. And yes. I will always help you. All you have to do is ask.

  I expect lunch to be awkward—that th
ings will seem different between us after yesterday. But it’s not. Hayden and I sit under our tree. We face one another. Hayden wears a knit cap today, stormy gray. It makes his eyes look like my favorite faded jeans. His hair curls around the edges of the cap, trying to break free. When he catches me staring, I look down at my carrots. After a few moments, I dare to peek again. His eyes rest gently on me.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “I should be the one apologizing.”

  Hayden shakes his head. “It wasn’t fair of me to act like that.”

  I shake my head now, unwilling to let Hayden bear responsibility for yesterday.

  “It was all my fault.” I don’t shift my eyes from his. If I do, I’ll lose my nerve. “I was afraid again,” I say, referencing my very first text to him.

  He remembers, because he answers with an echo of what he texted back that day. “We’re all afraid, Stella. Some more than others.” Now I think he’s talking about himself. His cheeks color. But he doesn’t look away.

  “My dad left my mom,” I begin. “For someone else.”

  Hayden’s expression caresses my face. I am comforted as though he were touching me.

  “And you never want to be left like she was,” he finishes for me.

  I nod. Unable to speak or breathe now that my greatest fear is revealed. I wait to see how I will react. I gingerly test my emotions. Surprisingly, I am calm.

  “I’m not afraid anymore,” I tell him. “Not with you.”

  Hayden’s expression softens, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me.

  He doesn’t. Instead he reaches out and smooths a piece of hair off my face. His touch is light yet weighted with emotion. “I didn’t expect this,” Hayden says.

  “What?” I say, not understanding.

  This time, his eyes drop to my lips. Linger there. His eyes slowly move back to meet mine before he speaks. “You.”

  After lunch, I stop at my locker. Lily is waiting there. Note in hand. I made the squad!

  “Of course you did,” I say. “You were the best one there.”

  Having a boyfriend on the football team probably didn’t hurt either. But I don’t say that. It’s catty, and I don’t want to be like that. I just want to be happy for her.

  Lily beams at me, beautiful and perfect. From the curls bouncing below her shoulders to the brand-new pink cowboy boots on her feet. I return the smile. She takes out a pink pencil and writes one more thing on the note.

  Thank you for being there. YMMD!

  I translate the Lilyspeak: You Made My Day. Even if it isn’t true, it’s a nice thing to say. I grin again. “What are friends for?” We turn and go our separate ways. We are only going to our fifth period classes, but it seems like a metaphor for our friendship. Because though she will always hold a special place in my heart, Lily and I have gone our separate ways. And we will never be the same again.

  After school, Hayden meets me in front of the rehearsal rooms—small, soundproof rooms where students can run lines, sing, or play instruments. Two of them have pianos. I have already reserved one of those.

  Hayden grins when he sees me like it’s the first time he has seen me all day, even though it’s been only two hours. He has taken off his gray sweater and now wears a white shirt with his dark jeans. The gray cap still hides most of his curls, but a few more have escaped.

  “So you going to tell me what this is all about?” he asks.

  I don’t say a word as I push open the door and move inside. I take a seat on the worn piano bench.

  Hayden follows me. He closes the door and stands in the middle of the small room, facing me. The space between us suddenly seems really small. And very intimate.

  In silence, there are many things unsaid, things I am not ready to say. Responses I dream of hearing with my own ears, not reading with my eyes. So I hurry to fill the space with words.

  “Rumor has it Mr. Preston is going to do one last show before the end of the year. He’s never done one then, so there is a lot of speculation about what it will be, a play or a musical, and I want to audition for it. Whether I can hear—or not.”

  I watch him closely for his reaction. He looks at me sideways, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. He is proud of me. I can tell. But he still doesn’t speak.

  “Will you help me?”

  “Always.” His eyes say more. They say words that make me glow. I am a precious gem that has been hidden in a dark cave for centuries, and he has discovered me. Revealed me. Now I can shine the way I am meant to shine. I sparkle under his gaze.

  Something is different about him today. I sense it. He’s more open, somehow. More present. I have no idea what caused the change, but I like it. Then it occurs to me that maybe the one who is different is me.

  Before I get lost in the moment, I bring myself back to the reason we are here. “I want to see if I can sense the rhythm of the music, even when I can’t hear it.”

  Hayden nods his understanding then sits beside me on the piano bench. I slide over to give him space. I smell citrus and sunset, wind and sea. When his bare arm brushes against mine, I tingle. Skin against skin.

  His fingers press the piano keys, giving them life. I watch his hands move. Marvel at their grace. His fingers are confident; they know exactly what to do without hesitation.

  He speaks to me while he plays. “Close your eyes. Concentrate on the air in the room. See if your body can absorb the rhythm.”

  I close my eyes. At first, all I can feel is the pounding of my heart, the rush of my adrenaline. The brush of his leg against mine. His nearness. But then I notice something else. Something churning the air. A change. A pulsing.

  And I realize.

  It’s rhythm.

  I can feel the music.

  I focus on it. Block out everything else. Even Hayden. I reach for the energy with every part of me—embrace it. Let it in.

  The sound rolls through me, feeding me a beat. I begin to move my head in time. Then my foot. When I am certain it isn’t my imagination, I open my eyes.

  I look at Hayden. He knows without my speaking. He can tell from the expression of wonder on my face. Because as much as I wanted it to be possible, I didn’t truly believe it could be until this moment. I didn’t truly have faith.

  A smile breaks out on my face. I am filled with joy and happiness, hope and dreams.

  Music is not lost to me. Music is part of me. Even more than when I could hear it. Because now it is inside of me.

  “Thank you,” I manage as tears fill my eyes. Tears of joy. Tears of gratitude.

  Hayden doesn’t answer. He rests his forehead against mine. Sharing in my moment. My triumph.

  I have a long road ahead of me. There is a big difference between sensing rhythm and being able to sing notes. But just knowing it’s possible is all I need right now.

  I stand and move to the side of the piano. Place my hands on the instrument itself. “Play something I know,” I say.

  I close my eyes again and wait for the melody to course through me. Each note Hayden plays breathes life into my soul. Each note pushes through my bubble of silence and leaves a small hole to the world outside, the world I used to know. I am no longer isolated. I am connected.

  Hayden plays and plays until his hands must ache. But I am not tired. I am full of song.

  Hayden gestures to the keys of the piano. “Do you want to play?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t know how.”

  “Want to learn?”

  I have always wanted to learn, but the black and white keys are a mystery to me. They hold the power to rhythm and melody.

  “Will you teach me?” I say as I sit next to Hayden on the bench.

  “What do you think?” His mouth twists into a sideways grin that is both teasing and hypnotic.

  Hayden takes my hand in his. Lifts it to the piano keys and sets it down with one finger on each white key.

  “Play one at a time,” he says.

  I press a key. And anothe
r. The keys are smooth, responsive. I can’t sense the music they make like I could when listening to Hayden play. This is something else. Even though I am playing just one key at a time, I control it. I create the melody. Like when I sing. It’s empowering. I am playing the piano. It doesn’t matter that I can’t hear it. I am making music.

  “Can you read notes?” Hayden asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “I learned in sixth-grade choir.”

  “This is C.” He points to the key under my thumb. Next to it is D. Then E, F, G. Then it goes to A and B before returning to C.”

  He’s teaching me the notes so I can read the sheet music and then play the right key on the piano. That’s when I realize that there is no sheet music sitting on the piano. Hayden has been playing all of these songs from memory.

  “How did you do it?” I ask. Impressed.

  “What?”

  “Play all of those songs without sheet music?”

  Hayden shrugs, downplaying it. “I have a good memory.”

  “I think it’s called talent. You’re really talented.”

  He seems embarrassed by my compliment. He glances at the floor for a moment before responding to me.

  “You’re the one with all the talent,” he tells me. “I’ve never heard anyone sing like you. You were like a siren on stage, hypnotizing me with your voice.”

  His compliment releases fluttering butterflies into my veins, heightening my mood from joy to euphoria.

  “As I recall,” I say, “sirens led men to ruin with their song. I hope you don’t think I’m a danger to you.” I hope he can tell I am teasing.

  For once, Hayden is all seriousness. And I realize that even if I am teasing, Hayden understands the depth of meaning behind my words. “I do think you’re a danger. A very serious danger.”

  The butterflies circle in a frenzy. Make me short of breath.

  I want to touch him. To show him that he is safe with me. Just as I know I am safe with him.