Your Voice Is All I Hear

by Leah Scheier

“You’re in my class,” I told him. “It’s downstairs. Come with me. I’ll show you.” Somehow my breathing had slowed a little; my heart was no longer drumming in my ears. “I’m April Wesley,” I said as we headed down the stairs.

  “Jonah. Nice to meet you.”

  “So, did you just move to Baltimore?” Good job, April. This is how normal people introduce themselves.

  “Yeah, just a few weeks ago.”

  “You’re from Boston?”

  “Uh, yeah, actually. Wait, how did you—?”

  Oh. Oh crap!

  I realized my mistake as the words came out of my mouth. I wasn’t supposed to know that. Now he’d guess that I’d tried to Facebook stalk him. How much more pathetic could I be? Who looks up classmates before they meet them? Bad Burrito Stalker Girl, that’s who.

  I had to say something clever quickly—anything, to distract him…

  “April, did you…did you look me up?”

  Too late.

  Oh well, I thought. I might as well own up to it. Embrace the weirdness and tell the truth. It was over anyway. We were almost at the classroom door.

  “Well, no, not just you. I looked up all the new kids,” I admitted, my voice quavering a little. “My best friend switched schools this year, and I really didn’t want to come back here without her.”

  It wasn’t much of an explanation, but it was the best I could come up with. Besides, it didn’t really matter what I said. All he had to do now was push the door open, step into the classroom, and pick a chair somewhere far away from me.

  Why wasn’t he moving then? Why was he looking at me like that? There was a strange flicker of a smile in his eyes, but his face was sober, quiet. One hand was on the doorknob, and the other played with his bag strap.

  “You’re missing your best friend,” he said finally. It was more of a statement than a question.

  I nodded. “Attached at the hip since second grade,” I replied, mimicking Kristin’s expression, then paused, suddenly self-conscious again. Why had I just told him that? Why would he care?

  His eyes were still on me, but they were darker now, and the laughter in them had drained away. “Two friends against the world,” he murmured, almost inaudibly.

  “Something like that.” I smiled. “I’ve got nothing against the world or anything. But things were perfect when it was just the two of us. We didn’t need anybody else.”

  He nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.” And with a quick shove, he pushed the classroom door open.

  Chapter 4

  Jonah didn’t pick a seat far away from me. In fact, he sat down right next to me. Of course, by the time we got to class, there were only three seats left—two empty ones by the door and one by the opposite wall near the window. So he hadn’t felt the need to sprint the length of the room to get away from me. That was something. I thought the occasion deserved a text to Kris.

  Cute new guy sitting next to me in math. Details to follow.

  My phone flashed. FLIRT WITH HIM

  Easy for her to say. That was Kris’s default mode when talking to guys.

  I glanced over at Jonah and saw that he was scribbling in a thick spiral notebook. It was hard to see past his arm and hunched shoulders, but from what I could make out, the cramped writing didn’t have anything to do with the subject on the board. In fact, it didn’t look like math at all. I looked up at the teacher and then back at the crowded margins of Jonah’s notes. What on earth was he writing? Today’s lesson was just an introductory review of last year’s material. Most of us were barely paying attention. But Jonah was working with the concentration of a student at a killer final exam. He appeared to be completely oblivious to the fact that I was staring at him; even as the class bell rang, he didn’t change position. Only when I reached out and nudged him on the shoulder did he finally spring up as if I’d startled him awake. His hand came swiftly down over the notebook.

  “What were you doing back there?” I asked him as we filed out the door. “You seemed really wrapped up in your schoolwork.”

  He looked confused for a moment; his bright eyes, distracted, shifted quickly between my perplexed face and the notebook clutched firmly to his chest. “It’s just something I’ve been working on,” he said in a low voice. “A project.”

  “Oh, like independent study?”

  “Something like that.”

  I was hoping he’d elaborate, but his phone buzzed in his pocket before he had a chance to explain. Then my cell vibrated while he was answering his text.

  Well, how did the flirting go?

  I looked up from Kris’s message to find that Jonah had disappeared. Not sure, I wrote. Does talking about indigestion count?

  Her response was very prompt: Please tell me you’re joking.

  And then five minutes later: OMG, you weren’t joking, were you? Sorry. Maybe you should try again at lunch?

  I sighed and slipped my phone back into my pocket.

  I wasn’t looking forward to next period. With my best friend by my side, lunch hour had been easy and simple. Kris had friends in most of the cliques and I’d gotten used to slipping in beside her, unnoticed. But with Kris gone, I had no idea if I’d be welcome anywhere.

  As the hour ticked by, I glanced anxiously from my Spanish teacher to the clock. Could I sit next to Jonah at his table? Would he think I was being too bold? He wasn’t in my Spanish class, so maybe he’d made a bunch of friends during the last period—and maybe those kids wouldn’t want me to sit with them.

  If Kris had been there, she’d have rolled her eyes and pushed me toward him. Or better yet, walked up to him and declared, “My friend there thinks you’re hot. You want to ask her out?”

  I was overthinking the whole situation, and I knew it, but I didn’t want to ruin our chances at a friendship by acting like I assumed that Jonah and I were friends. So it was a bit of a relief when Jonah stopped me on the way into the cafeteria and asked me where I was sitting.

  “I don’t know yet,” I answered cautiously, “Where did you want to sit?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t care. Just far away from those two.” He pointed at Cora and Tessa, who’d arranged themselves in the center of the sophomores’ table. “Is it okay if I sit with you?”

  “Yeah, no problem! Of course!” My voice echoed through the hall.

  Wow. Too loud and very eager. I had to tone it down. “Sure. I mean, you know, if you want, whatever.”

  Perfect.

  He went off to get a tray, and I used the opportunity to update Kris. (It wasn’t as if I felt the need to compulsively text her every time I burped or anything. There was just something calming and encouraging about her replies as I was trying to start this new friendship. It was like she was cheering me on.)

  Cute guy sitting next to me at lunch, I typed.

  Well, great, came her reply. THEN WHY ARE YOU TEXTING ME?

  Fair point. Still, it was better than scribbling conversation notes on my hand. I was making progress, and it was only the first day. As I tore open my crumpled lunch bag, Jonah returned, carrying his tray, and slipped onto the bench across from me. His plate was piled high with noodles and meatballs, and somehow he’d scored two extra slices of cake. “Do you want some of my food?” he asked me, glancing at my Melba toast and probiotic yogurt. My mom had packed me a weird lunch again. She has a thing against normal food.

  “Oh, no,” I told him. “This is supposed to be good for me.”

  He wrinkled his nose and twisted his fork into his pasta mountain. “Stomach still bothering you a bit?”

  I felt my face grow hot. Oh, for the love of God. We were not going back to that topic. “No, all better now, thanks,” I muttered into my toast.

  His lips curled down a little at the edges, and his dark brows came together. “So, I’ve been wondering about what you told me earlier.” He tapped one fi
nger slowly on his cup rim and swirled the liquid around the glass. “I can see that you don’t like it here, and not just because you miss your friend. But come on—there must be something good about this school. No place is completely awful, right? Maybe you can cheer me up? I’d love to have something to look forward to.”

  I smiled and felt the tension drain from me. He was actually trying to start a conversation; I didn’t have to scramble for a topic or reveal my inability to make small talk. He’d asked me for my opinion and actually seemed to care about the answer. I was secretly grateful. “The teachers are really dedicated,” I replied. “Like Ms. Lowry, for example. She’s amazing. Everyone loves her.”

  Jonah shrugged and took a sip of juice. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here. My mom heard about Fallstaff’s reputation—or the great staff or something. Anyway, she told me that I had to give it a chance, so here I am.”

  “But you’d rather be somewhere else?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Well, I’d rather be back in Boston, for one thing.” He hesitated for a minute and glanced up at me. “But my mom thought Baltimore would be a healthy change for us—for me,” he concluded in a bitter tone. “So I have to give it one whole year. And then maybe I can transfer—if I’m miserable enough.”

  Only a year, I thought unhappily. What chance did we have if he was so set on leaving? “Where would you go?” I asked him, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice. “Back to Boston?”

  He shook his head and poked a meatball irritably with his fork. “No, that’s never going to happen. My mom has a new job here. So I think that’s pretty final.” He stopped eating and was staring sadly at the muddled pasta on his plate.

  Was he missing his hometown so much? I wondered. Or was it something more? He hadn’t mentioned his dad at all. Had his parents recently divorced? Is that what was behind the sudden mood shift? It was probably too soon to ask about that.

  “Is it just the two of you?” I inquired.

  “Yeah, and my little sister, Katie.”

  I was right about the father then. Probably the reason that they’d moved, I guessed. “My parents are divorced too,” I told him after a brief silence. “I never see my dad.”

  There was a flicker of protest in his eyes, a blush of color; a muscle in his jaw tensed for a moment. “Yes, well, neither do I,” he muttered.

  I’d clearly touched on a sore topic. I shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench and cast about for another subject, a safe and easy one.

  “Where do you live?” I asked him finally.

  “Berkley Road. Near some apartment complex.”

  “Berkley! You’re just around the corner from me. Why didn’t I see you on the bus?”

  “My mom drove me this morning—and she’s planning to pick me up this afternoon.” His voice was warm now, like the rumble of a bass string. He paused thoughtfully and took a long sip of his juice. “So, you know,” he concluded hesitantly, “if you want, we can give you a lift home after school.”

  I stared at him. Was he serious? It was one thing to sit next to me at lunch. He was new in school, and maybe he’d latched on to the first person who’d spoken to him. But he didn’t need to offer me a ride! I could hear Kris’s voice squeaking at me, Stop overanalyzing and just answer him already!

  “That would be great, thanks!” I said, snapping out of my trance. “I’ll have to think of a way to pay you back though—”

  He grinned and his eyebrows shot up. “Well,” he suggested playfully, “in return for the ride, maybe you can help me unpack my room?”

  His room? He was inviting me to his house?

  That was good, right? Better than good?

  But wait, a little annoying voice cautioned me. Wasn’t he being strangely forward? We’d only just met. Was unpacking his room a code for something else? Was he the kind of guy who invited girls up to his room to “unpack” and then dumped them?

  I couldn’t accept just yet, I decided. I needed to talk to Kris. She’d ask all the right questions and get to the bottom of this. Kris had been with enough jerks to know a user when she saw one.

  “I forgot, I can’t today,” I told him regretfully. “On Tuesday afternoons, I take the bus to my piano teacher’s house.”

  He didn’t seem upset by my refusal. “You play the piano?” he asked eagerly. “What kind of music?”

  “Some jazz and blues when I’m at home. But mostly classical at my teacher’s. I’ve been playing since I was little.”

  “Then you must be pretty good.”

  I wasn’t anything special, really. I could play well enough to enjoy myself, and it was my favorite thing to do when I was stressed or sad. Once a month, I uploaded a recording to YouTube. So far I’d gotten a total of twenty views, mostly from my mother. Still, with Jonah looking at me like that, his eyes fixed on mine, I felt a sudden surge of confidence.

  “I write lyrics too,” I blurted out. “I’ve written pages of lyrics.”

  “You’re a songwriter?”

  He looked so pleased that I was sorry to admit the truth.

  “Not songs, exactly. Just the words. I don’t have the music yet.”

  It sounded a bit pathetic to me, but he didn’t seem disappointed by my admission.

  “That’s pretty cool.”

  “Really? Well, I’m glad you think so. Except for my friend Kris, no one even knows I play.”

  “Why not?”

  The bell rang, and everyone started gathering up their trays and tossing their leftovers into the trash. I glanced over my shoulder at the crowd of students pushing their way out of the cafeteria.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I shouted over the roar of the rushing crowd. “Being artistic doesn’t get you cool points at this school.”

  Chapter 5

  When you’re walking through a sea of normals

  And nobody knows your name

  When you keep on nudging shoulders

  With words that no one claims

  You’ll write and you’ll erase

  From a safe and secret place

  Sheltered in a forest

  Where trees fall but never make a sound.

  My cell rang as I was walking home. “Please come over,” I begged Kristin. “I don’t think we can talk about this day over the phone.”

  Less than an hour later, she was sitting on my sofa, balancing a Coke in one hand and my laptop on her knee. “Try again,” she urged me for the millionth time that evening. “He should be home by now.”

  I logged in again, and a new screen popped into view. “He accepted my friend request!” I announced.

  Kris leaned close to peek over my shoulder. “Oh, you’re right, April. He’s really hot,” she breathed into my ear.

  “He’s just a friend,” I replied cautiously, trying to keep the excitement from my voice and failing. It’s too soon to get all squealy, I told myself.

  But still, I finally had a little drama of my own.

  The soap opera life was Kristin’s, not mine. It was no wonder romance and heartbreak followed her everywhere she went. She looked like a teen movie star: blond, tall, and leggy, with long-lashed green eyes and impossibly full lips. I’d spent years listening to the ups and downs of her love troubles, the idiots, the jocks, the losers who paraded through her life. I’d been more than happy to look on from the outside and comfort her as best I could when, inevitably, her relationships ended in tubs of chocolate ice cream. But sometimes, after she’d gone home, I wondered how she’d react when I finally had my own adventure.

  “This is a gold mine!” she exclaimed, clicking across his page. “He has a dog—aw, what a cute puppy. Likes to listen to indie bands. And he draws and paints! Wow, very artsy. Ooh, here are some great pics. Wait, why does he look so shocked in all of these?”

  I laughed. “That’s how he smiles,” I told her. “His eyeb
rows go up. I think it’s kind of cute.”

  “Hmm. Looks like he’s surprised that a girl he’s never met is stalking him on Facebook. Can’t say I blame him.” She opened up a folder titled “Boston summer” and scrolled through shots of Jonah bicycling, swimming, and climbing rocks. A freckled, red-haired boy appeared in most of the photos, but his image wasn’t tagged. There was one album titled “Broadway!!!!” that showed Jonah with his arm around Neil Patrick Harris. The red-haired boy was standing behind them and pointing at the famous actor. The boy’s mouth was open in a brilliant smile, and his eyes were shining with excitement.

  “There are girls in some of the school pics,” Kristin remarked after we’d browsed through his page, “but none of them seem too important to him. That’s good—I think.”

  I looked at her suspiciously. “What’s that supposed to mean? His relationship status says ‘single.’”

  “Oh, I know. It’s just—well, never mind.”

  “What, Kristin?”

  She sighed and plucked nervously at her sleeve. “Don’t get mad—I was just thinking—well, he’s into art and stuff, and you said that he seemed so sensitive—”

  All right, so I did get a little mad then. I couldn’t help it. I realized that she meant well, but it bothered me that she thought I was so naive that I would crush on a gay guy.

  “Next to ‘Interested in’ he’s written ‘women,’” I pointed out.

  She shrugged. “That doesn’t mean anything. No one comes out in high school. Not at Fallstaff, anyway. It’s suicide.”

  She was right, of course. And even the bravest boy wouldn’t come out on his first day in a new school. Maybe he’d just been interested in me as a friend. Maybe he’d called me pretty because he thought that it would make me happy, not because he was actually attracted to me. That made him sweet, as I guessed before, but hardly boyfriend material.

  I thought back to the timid smile he’d given me, the way he’d leaned in to listen to me at lunchtime when we’d chatted for a precious half hour. It felt so perfect.

  “I don’t care,” I declared. “I don’t care if he’s gay or straight.”