‘Okay,’ says Mrs Diaz. ‘I will be interviewing some students myself to see if I can get to the bottom of it. I will also be speaking to all the seniors tomorrow to discuss the issue of rumours and to impose consequences on anyone caught starting them. That’s all I can do right now until I have more information.’
I sigh.
‘Don’t worry,’ says Mrs Diaz. ‘I’ll handle this for you.’
When I stand up to leave, I know exactly what I have to do.
West drives me home from school and when he makes a move to come inside like he usually does, I reach out a hand to stop him. I give him a tired look. I need to be alone. Please.
‘Okay,’ says West. ‘But message me later.’
The eyes always work on West. I kiss him on the cheek, but he catches my face and kisses me softly on the lips.
I go straight to my room and set up Mum’s video camera on its tripod stand. I hit record and sit in front of the camera for a long minute.
Speak. Speak. You’re alone. You’re not talking to anyone, just the camera. You do it all the time for school assignments. You can do it now.
I take a deep breath. ‘You all wonder why I don’t talk, but have you ever stopped to ask yourself what impact your words have?’ My voice is shaky and raw, as if it’s not used to being used. I speak slower than I intend because I don’t really know what I want to say. But I keep going, ‘Maybe because I don’t speak around you, I hear more of what you all say. I hear you calling your friend fat behind her back. I hear the mean things you say right to each other. I hear the names you call yourselves when you think no one is listening. Some of the things I hear make me wonder if the world would be a better place if no one spoke.
‘There’s been a rumour started that the reason I don’t speak is because I slept with a teacher. This is not true. In fact, it’s insane. The reason I don’t speak is that I have Selective Mutism. It’s an anxiety disorder. Nothing horrific or scandalous happened to me. It’s just how I am and how I’ve always been. I want to speak but when I’m around you all I can’t. It’s like constant stage fright and it can’t be fixed by picturing everyone naked. I shouldn’t even need to explain myself, but I am because I hope that by doing this maybe one person might see this and in future instead of believing the rumours they hear, they might think for themselves. How does not speaking have anything to do with sleeping with a teacher anyway? Rumours like this can hurt a lot of people.
‘As for the person who started the rumour, I want you to know that I don’t hate you. I feel sorry for you. I hope you can find happiness within yourself, instead of looking for ways to destroy other people’s happiness.
‘Some of you will probably still believe the rumour even after watching this video and I can’t change that. But I urge you to think about the power of your words. They might be free but they add up to so much.’
I stand up and stop the recording. I’m breathless, as if I’ve run a marathon. I can’t bear to watch it back. I have to upload it before I change my mind. I plug the camera into my laptop to transfer the video. Then I upload it to Facebook.
Obviously, very few people will see it on my page, so I send West a message.
If West shares it, pretty much the entire school will see it eventually. I look through West’s friends list and Taylor is no longer there, but I’m sure she’ll see the video on someone else’s newsfeed.
After dinner, I come back upstairs and find a message from West waiting for me.
I click onto West’s page and see that he has shared it. Not only that but it already has 450 likes, 71 shares and 124 comments. Indiana is one of the people who has liked and shared it. I’m terrified to read the comments, but if I don’t read them, I’ll be up all night wondering what people wrote. What I invent in my head will probably be worse.
My eyes scan through the first twenty or so comments.
There’s not one negative comment. After I read the entire list, I stare at the computer screen in disbelief. Are the comments sincere? At least some of them have to be. A message pops up from West.
The holiday house was a good idea until it comes to working out what I’m going to tell my parents. The obvious thing is to tell them that I’m staying at a friend’s house but the only friend I can think of is Tanvi, and I’m not sure she’s the fake-sleepover type. By nine o’clock I can’t think of a better idea so I send her a message.
Mum drops me off at Tanvi’s house just after ten. She’s still wearing the smile from this morning, when I told her about the sleepover. ‘Don’t study too hard. Make time for fun too,’ she says as I get out of the car.
I grab my bag and pillow from the back seat. The pillow was Mum’s idea. She’s even made me take a packet of microwave popcorn and a movie. I feel so guilty for lying that it physically hurts. This is not the way I want it to be. I’m not the way I want to be. I started the year so determined that I would kick SM in the butt. And what progress have I made? I can’t speak to my new friends. I can’t even speak to my family when my brother’s friends are around. And I can’t talk to my own boyfriend. How long until they all get tired of waiting for me?
Tanvi answers the door with a huge smile.
I exhale.
I can do it.
I open my mouth. Speak. Speak.
Still nothing.
‘Hey,’ I say softly.
Tanvi blinks and cocks her head, processing what she just heard. I wait for the dreaded celebration that comes when someone hears me speak for the first time. It’s usually something like, Oh my God, did you say something?
She looks down at my things. ‘You brought a pillow! Sexy.’
I burst out laughing. The pillow is the big deal, not my talking. One word alone cannot describe how I feel. I’m relieved, grateful, shocked and overjoyed all at once.
‘Is that West?’
I turn around and see his car pull up in front of the house. ‘Yeah.’
Tanvi gives me a hug. ‘Have a good weekend and be safe. Maybe we can do a not-fake sleepover sometime.’
I smile. ‘Totally.’
‘Hey, beautiful,’ says West when I get in the car.
I open my mouth but no words come out. Why could I do it with Tanvi and not West? Why does everything have to be so hard? Maybe he won’t make a big deal of hearing me speak, just like Tanvi. But with West, it’s more than just the initial reaction I’m worried about. If I speak, will things change between us? They might be better, but they also might be worse.
‘Are you okay?’ asks West.
I nod and then I whack him lightly with my pillow.
‘Hey!’ he cries. ‘Don’t make me turn this car around.’
I laugh and throw the pillow onto the back seat.
‘I’m going to take the back roads because I told my parents that I was going camping with the Duke of Ed program so I don’t want to risk being spotted.’
West drives along roads I didn’t even know existed while songs play on a radio station I’ve never heard of. West sings along in a loud voice. I laugh and lie back. I could do this for hours, all the way to Melbourne in fact. The thought of our road trip after the HSC fills me with the effervescent feeling that kept me awake all night.
After a few hours, West turns down the radio. ‘Do you want to stop by Minnamurra Rainforest? It’s a bit out of the way but there’s a nice picnic area where we can have lunch. I packed a picnic for us.’
I nod enthusiastically. My dad likes to tell this story about the time when I was five and I decided we were all going on a picnic. I even made invitations. I spent all morning packing the perfect picnic, which was basically a couple of slices of bread, a jar of Nutella and milk. Each time we got in the car to leave, I went back inside because I had forgotten something. First it was Flopsy, my stuffed bunny. Then it was my favourite book. By the time I had everything, a storm had rolled in and it was pouring. At first I was devastated, cry-your-eyes-out devastated but then I had an idea. We could have the picnic inside. I laid
the picnic blanket out on my bedroom floor and used a lamp as the sun. We even put on our hats. It was the best picnic ever. I want to tell West this story so badly but I can’t.
He drives into the rainforest and follows the road until we reach the car park. There are a few other cars there but otherwise it’s quiet. As soon as I get out of the car, the coolness in the air hits me and I pull my jacket around myself. This place is so impossibly green and lush, very different to the parts of the Blue Mountains I’m familiar with.
‘If I remember right, the picnic tables are this way,’ says West, taking my hand. We walk along a path through the rainforest. The birds chatter noisily in the trees and I listen to each of their calls. I can’t be sure but it looks like West is listening to them too.
We reach a sheltered area with picnic tables. I run to a table, for no particular reason. West begins unpacking the picnic basket. ‘So these are cinnamon and pumpkin muffins. I don’t know how good they are. It’s the first time I’ve used that recipe.’
I pull the cling wrap away from an orange-coloured muffin. It smells amazing, like Christmas and Easter all at once. It tastes even better, soft and sweet. I show my appreciation with a moan. One day when I can speak to him, I’m never going to moan when eating again. I’m going to say things like, That was delicious. It tastes amazing. Or even just yum.
West pulls out the rest of the food, everything from fresh strawberries to onion rings. When we finish eating, I lean forwards sleepily and rest my head on my arms, looking up at West.
‘I can’t stop thinking about that video you made.’
I sit up straight.
‘I want to hear your voice again but for real.’ He reaches across the table and runs his fingers over my lips. I keep my eyes averted. How do I make him understand?
‘You can say whatever you want. You could even say “West is a pain in the arse”.’ He laughs.
I’m not finding any of this funny and I feel my eyes filling with tears. I try unsuccessfully to blink them away.
‘Please don’t cry. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you, Pi.’ West wipes my tears away with his fingertips and kisses my cheek. He looks at me like I’m hurt. ‘You’ll talk when you’re ready, right?’
I nod. It feels like I’m making promises I can’t keep. Why can’t I live in a world where no one speaks and there’s only the sound of the birds?
‘We should probably get going.’
I nod and stand up. As we’re walking to the car, I hear a strange noise. It sounds like a kookaburra but there’s something not quite right about it. I move towards the start of a bushwalking track and listen for the sound, but this time it’s different again. I know what it must be. Treading lightly, I follow the track in the direction of the sound, with West a few steps behind. Up ahead, I see a fan of long delicate feathers. I freeze. West stops beside me. I grip his arm with one hand and point with the other. The lyrebird slowly comes towards us. Its brown body is smaller than I expected but just as beautiful. My camera is in the car but I don’t move.
A few moments later, something startles the lyrebird and it’s gone. I look at West and shake my head in amazement. I thought if I ever saw a lyrebird in the wild it would be in the Blue Mountains. I’m glad it was here with West. I reach out and take his hand. The tension between us is gone.
I don’t mean to but I fall asleep in the car. West gently shakes me awake when we reach the lake house. ‘Wake up, sleepyhead.’ I sit up and rub my eyes.
Through the windscreen, I see a light blue, double-storey house on stilts. West carries both our bags and manages to unlock the front door without putting them down.
‘This is it,’ he says when we step inside.
It’s simple but nice. It has the feel of a holiday house, like it’s been waiting for us.
West holds up the bags. ‘I’ll just put these in the bedroom.’
Instead of waiting here, I follow West down a short hallway. When he opens the door to his bedroom, the first thing I notice is the Buzz Lightyear quilt cover. I look at it and laugh.
‘Hey! Buzz is awesome. Don’t ever knock Buzz.’
I put my arms out like wings and pretend to fly around the room. West drops the bags and grabs me around the waist like a football tackle. We fall onto the bed. Laying on top of West, I lift myself up slightly and stare down at him. I softly kiss one dimple and then the other. Then I kiss his lips, putting everything I can’t say into it.
West’s hands move up the sides of my body and lift my shirt over my head. I feel a rush, a surge. West sits up and I pull off his shirt. His back is smooth and hard. The feeling of his skin sends shots of electricity to every part of my body. West kisses my bare skin. I moan when his lips reach my neck and sink into the bed. When he lowers himself back on top of me, I close my eyes and push my body up against his. My leg curls around his and my fingers work at undoing his belt, then the button of his jeans.
‘Are you sure about this?’ asks West.
I nod. I’m afraid it will hurt. I’m afraid of making every mistake. But I’m sure. I kiss West deeply to show him how sure.
Sex is absolutely everything I did not expect: intuitive, slow and long.
Afterwards, West lies next to me, tracing circles on my stomach. ‘Wow,’ he says breathlessly.
‘Wow.’ My lips move but no sound comes out.
The response I get at school on Monday morning is not one I predicted. My video has gone viral. Everyone has watched it, or at least that’s what it seems like when I get to school. I can’t take more than a few steps without someone stopping me to say how much they liked the video and what it meant to them.
I’m glad to see it’s had such an impact and even more glad that no one seems to be talking about Taylor’s rumour any more.
The one message that doesn’t seem to have got across is about Selective Mutism. Some of the people that stop to talk to me want to know which uni I’m planning on attending, what conditioner I use, if I watch Teen Wolf. They all seem to think that now I’ve broken my silence, I’m going to host my own talk show. All I can do is screw up my face in an expression of disbelief, shake my head and keep walking. Tanvi loses it at a few girls in Year Seven. ‘Didn’t you guys watch the video? She has Selective Mutism. She’s not going to answer your questions. Get lost!’
‘Thanks,’ I whisper when they’re gone. I’m not so worried about people seeing my lips moving any more, since everyone now knows that I can and do speak.
English speeches are due this week, so it means sitting through speech after speech. The first few are interesting and then it gets repetitive.
I do mine at lunchtime. It’s just a video camera and me alone in a classroom. Mrs Edwards sets it up, hits record and leaves the room. I speak confidently and clearly in front of the camera. Five minutes later Mrs Edwards returns to press stop. ‘Don’t worry, Piper. If it’s anything like the video everyone is talking about, you’ll be fine.’
I run into West between third and fourth period on the way to modern history. ‘How did your speech go?’
I give him a thumbs up.
‘That’s awesome. Now here’s the bad news. We can’t do tutoring this afternoon.’
I raise my eyebrows.
‘I’ve got soccer. My coach called my parents and told them that I’ve been skipping training again. So I’m stuck with extra training sessions this week, including this afternoon. I’m sorry. It should only be for the next few weeks. You know, I actually used to love soccer but since I started playing rep in high school, I’ve hated it.’
I open to the back of my history book.
‘It’s not that simple. The finals are coming up and I’m part of a team. Plus, there’s no way my dad would let me quit. It’s easier to go along with it.
‘You could come to training with me? You can study there and then I can look over and see you whenever I want.’
This is the sort of girlfriend things I was dreading. When you do these types of things,
you run into people, people who don’t know about your SM.
I nod because West is right, sometimes it’s easier just to go along with it.
We agree to meet at West’s car after school. I’m there before him. While I wait, I text Mum and tell her that we’re staying back at school to use the library. Lying comes naturally now. My parents still think I spent the weekend at Tanvi’s house.
The car park is half empty by the time West appears. He’s changed into his soccer gear. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him in it. He looks hot. Maybe I could get used to these sorts of girlfriend things.
The soccer field is quiet when we arrive. There’s a group of kids running after a ball but I wouldn’t call it soccer. It’s more like a group of kittens chasing a ball of string. There’s also a girls’ team on the other side of the field who is packing up. West is the only one from his team here. His coach is waiting for him near the goalposts.
‘Coach, this is Piper, my girlfriend,’ says West.
The coach looks at me with accusing eyes. ‘Make sure she doesn’t get in the way,’ he says.
Damn, I was totally planning on getting in the way. West winks at me and I go sit on the bottom row of the bleachers. I get out my English homework but it’s hard to focus on Shakespeare when I can watch West. His coach makes him run laps and then kick goals. West is really good. Every kick makes it between the goalposts with ease. But I can see that his heart’s not in it at all.
If West is determined to finish the season, how can I help him find the passion he once had for soccer? If his thing was photography, I’d take him to a gallery or exhibition. Maybe I could get us tickets to a Sydney FC game?
Excited by this idea, I stand to stretch my legs and take a walk. When I reach the toilet block, I circle around it, looking for the entrance. As I come around the corner, I spot two girls shouting at each over. I recognise Taylor immediately.
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