The Silence Between Us

by Alison Gervais

  I sat upright when I saw a pair of bare feet heading my way and was relieved to see it was Nina walking up.

  OK? she signed, looking concerned.

  FINE, I replied.

  “Where’s Beau?” she said, looking around.

  DON’T KNOW, I signed with a shrug.

  Nina gave up with a shrug too and said, “You want . . . dance?”

  “Sure,” I said, suddenly feeling like I had nothing to lose. “Let’s dance.”

  I let Nina pull me out onto the dance floor. Despite my earlier hesitation, it only took a few moments before I got lost in the beat I couldn’t hear and let go.

  CHAPTER 13

  Beau must’ve said something to Jackson after our little run-in out in the hallway Saturday night. That Monday after homecoming I didn’t feel Jackson’s noticeable stare during AP US History, and he didn’t once glance my way during lunch. It came as a relief, but I was also stupidly curious, wondering if Beau had played up the leave the poor Deaf girl alone angle.

  I’d immediately pegged that thought as dumb the second it flitted across my mind. Even if I still had a laundry list of questions about him, there was no getting around the fact that Beau was just a genuinely nice guy.

  I could have spent a lot more time contemplating the mysteries still surrounding Beau, but with midterms the following week and that homecoming incident, my conversation with Beau had to be forcibly shoved to the back of my mind.

  With our presentation just on the horizon, Nina and I spent every spare moment in the library doing research and practicing our speech. We’d decided to present on a major event from the twentieth century . . . but not one that was in the history book. Deaf President Now—or DPN—was a huge turning point for the Deaf community back in the 1980s. DPN was a student-lead protest at Gallaudet University (the first all-inclusive university in the United States for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing) where they’d protested the appointment of yet another hearing president who didn’t even know sign language.

  At that point in time, not once in Gallaudet’s 124year history had there ever been a Deaf president. Over a hundred years, and there’d never been a person in charge who could understand the students in a way no hearing person ever could. It took days of protests and thousands of people marching on Capitol Hill to make the Deaf students’ demands heard.

  I had this idea that by making our presentation about DPN we would get my classmates to understand that just because a person was Deaf it did not mean they were incapable of living a successful, meaningful life. I hoped this presentation would inspire people to treat me like a normal person, like I had felt at Pratt.

  So, I had reason enough to be nervous about the presentation for Mr. Wells’ class, but then there was the midterm for Mr. Burke’s chemistry class to throw on top of that. Chemistry was a pretty essential subject in the medical field, and I was on the border of an A-/B+ in the class. A good exam would push me to an A, but a bad one could tank my grade.

  NERVOUS? Kathleen signed as we walked into the chemistry classroom.

  A LITTLE, I answered.

  If the midterm was going to be a multiple-choice test or something, I would’ve been okay, but Mr. Burke announced last week that our midterm was going to be a lab. Labs got me nervous. There were far too many ways to get off track. My lab partner, Eli Collins, never seemed keen to do labs with me either, so it was anybody’s guess how this was going to go.

  I took my seat at the lab table beside Eli, who was repeatedly tapping his pencil on the tabletop. He looked more nervous than I felt, barely giving me an acknowledging nod.

  Once Mr. Burke was ready, we put our lab aprons and protective glasses on and were given the go-ahead to start.

  HAVE 5-0 MINUTES, Kathleen signed with one hand, skimming over our instruction sheet.

  “. . . beakers,” Eli said, nodding toward the lab table where our supplies sat. “You . . . math.”

  “Deal,” I said, settling myself on the stool.

  It was more difficult than I thought to split my attention between the lab and Eli, looking back and forth between him and the equations I was attempting to work on about every thirty seconds, watching him to make sure I wouldn’t miss anything he might be saying to me.

  Kathleen was there to interpret for me, but she was a few feet away on the sidelines to give us space to complete the lab rather than hover.

  You can handle not having Kathleen here to interpret everything. So far so good, I kept telling myself, tapping out a beat on the tabletop with my pencil as I worked through my equations. Math genius here.

  Eli’s attention had been solely fixed on the test tubes since the start of the lab, measuring out a baking soda and vinegar mixture, handling the pressure sensor. So far so good.

  I kept a tight grip on my pencil as I pounded out each equation, making sure to press down on the paper hard so every number and letter was perfectly legible.

  I had no way of knowing how much time had passed when Kathleen’s hand suddenly came down on my shoulder, and then Eli had me around the arm, yanking me to my feet, pointing to the beaker full of the sodium bicarbonate solution now overflowing onto the table, spilling over the side and onto the floor.

  Kathleen was signing, OK, FINE, NOT HURT, but Eli wasn’t having any of it.

  “I told you . . . watch . . . pressure sensor!” He had to be shrieking at me, all scarlet in the face. “What the . . . wrong with you?!”

  “I’m sorry . . .” My voice felt funny coming up my throat and out of my mouth.

  Everyone was fixated on us, their own labs forgotten as they watched Eli tear me apart.

  “I want . . . new lab partner,” he said to Mr. Burke, who was now working quickly to mop up the mess on the lab table.

  I stood there in a daze, my feet glued to the floor. I didn’t know what to do. Eli was freaking out, people were staring, and this was my fault. I ruined the lab and probably tanked the midterm too, and it was all because I couldn’t hear Eli tell me to watch the stupid pressure sensor.

  “Eli, calm down,” Mr. Burke said, holding a sopping mess of paper towels in both hands. “We’ll . . . cleaned up. You . . . retake the midterm.”

  I’d almost forgotten Kathleen was there, a foot away from me, until she approached Eli. She didn’t look all that thrilled.

  WHY YOU NOT ASK ME INTERPRET? she signed, and it looked like she was raising her voice to match Eli’s with the way her eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened wider. YOU KNOW M-A-Y-A DEAF, WHY YOU THINK SHE HEAR YOU NOW? WHY YOU NOT CATCH HER ATTENTION?

  “Everything . . . okay,” Mr. Burke said when he returned from tossing the paper towels. One of my classmates had taken the overflowing beaker to a nearby sink. “I’ll let them retake . . . midterm.”

  “. . . not the point!” Kathleen said, forgetting to sign.

  Mr. Burke didn’t respond, instead turning to me and reaching over to pat my hand. He didn’t look angry.

  “It’s fine, Maya,” Mr. Burke told me. “Don’t worry.”

  I knew I was about to burst into frustrated tears, and I didn’t want to break down in front of my classmates. I hurriedly signed, TOILET, to Kathleen, pulling off the lab apron and my glasses. I walked on unsteady legs to the bathroom down the hallway. Breathing made my chest hurt. My eyes hurt too with the effort it took to keep back the tears threatening to fall.

  I had no idea where I was going or what I was supposed to be doing, but putting as much distance between myself and that classroom felt like the best idea I’d ever had. In less than two minutes I was out of the science hallway, halfway across the school, walking right into Ms. Phillips’ classroom.

  Maybe I unconsciously knew I’d find the classroom empty because this was Ms. Phillips’ planning period. She was sitting at one of the worktables sketching and did not look up until I approached and tapped a finger on the tabletop.

  “Can I paint?” I said when she looked up at me, pointing toward the corner of the room where our self-portraits were bein
g kept.

  For whatever reason, Ms. Phillips didn’t seem surprised by my request. Rather than fire a bunch of questions at me, she must’ve gotten everything she needed to know from the look on my face, and she simply nodded, smiling. She gestured toward the pile of canvases as if to say have at it.

  I turned my hearing aids off after I got settled with a water cup and fresh paints, wanting nothing more than to be left alone in my own world of silence right then. And now that I was sitting down in front of my half-completed self-portrait, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to finish the thing or ruin it with a bunch of paint. It looked sloppy somehow, and all the colored paints I’d been trying to incorporate looked dull.

  I could barely think straight as it was, so trying to pick what colors I wanted to use or what feature of the painting I wanted to focus on was pointless. The only thing I could hone in on was what if that chemistry midterm was just a preview of what would happen if I got hired on at a hospital as a respiratory therapist?

  Sodium bicarbonate was just baking soda, so it wasn’t the end of the world that there had been an accident during that lab. It could be cleaned up and forgotten. But what would happen if I were at work in a hospital and somebody went into respiratory failure and I didn’t hear the alarms? That person could die, and it would be my fault.

  To reach the point of even being able to get a job at a hospital would take years of busting my butt to prove myself, graduating from college and completing internships, and to have that suddenly snatched away in an instant because I couldn’t hear a simple alarm? The thought was terrifying.

  I gave a start of surprise at the sudden gentle touch to my shoulder and almost groaned when I looked over to see who was standing beside me now, staring at my self-portrait on the easel.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  Beau kept staring at my self-portrait, and a lifetime seemed to pass me by before he finally looked at me.

  YOURS? he signed, nodding toward my portrait.

  YES, I signed, curling my fingers tightly around the paintbrush in my left hand.

  I LIKE, Beau signed with his usual smile and the dimples, and then I started to feel like I was collapsing in on myself again.

  Beau stayed put when I didn’t say or sign anything to him, and he signed, WHAT’S WRONG?

  NOTHING, I signed back, but I couldn’t even get through the sign without my lips trembling.

  Beau raised one eyebrow, clearly not accepting my response. The heavy rise and fall of his chest indicated he must have sighed when I didn’t exactly respond. He went and grabbed a stool from the closest worktable, dragged it over, and sat down beside me.

  WHAT’S WRONG? he signed again.

  “What are you even doing here?” I asked, blowing off his question. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

  “I’m . . . office . . . this period. Running . . . for Mrs. . . .” Beau said, and when I just stared at him in befuddlement, he finger spelled, E-R-R-A-N-D-S. I felt another sigh escape when he added, WHAT’S WRONG? again in sign.

  “Ask me what’s wrong one more time, I swear . . .”

  Beau paused, and a grin broke out across his face as he signed, WHAT’S WRONG?

  I couldn’t help but throw my head back and laugh, then immediately regretted it when I almost lost my balance and fell off my stool.

  Beau watched me with a small smile and waited until I was done grumbling to say, “Seriously. Can you . . . me what happened?”

  I didn’t mean to spill my story, but I didn’t have the energy to squabble with him anymore.

  “I just had my chemistry midterm,” I began, and I could feel the hitch coming out in my voice.

  Beau raised his eyebrows as if to say, and?

  “It . . . it didn’t go well. Actually, it was a freaking disaster if I’m being honest.”

  WHY? Beau signed immediately, leaning forward with interest.

  “I think my lab partner, Eli Collins, forgot I’m Deaf,” I told him. “He asked me to watch the pressure sensor we were using for this sodium bicarbonate solution, but, you know, obviously I didn’t hear him ask me.”

  It took half a second for Beau to get where the rest of my sad little story was heading, and he started to frown, his lips tightening. I felt like I didn’t need to finish explaining how messy everything got after that.

  Rather than signing, Beau mimed something like an explosion going off, and by the way his cheeks puffed out I knew he’d added some type of sound effect there.

  “Correct,” I said, fighting back a little smile.

  Beau gave his head a disgusted shake. “Eli is a . . .”

  “A what?” I said, adding, AGAIN, in sign so he could repeat himself.

  He gave a dismissive wave. “Never mind. Maya, that wasn’t . . . fault.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But you can’t deny it only happened because I can’t hear.”

  It was enough to shake my confidence—something that hadn’t been all that stellar to begin with.

  “Seriously,” Beau said. “Just ignore Eli.”

  “He wants a new lab partner now, so that shouldn’t be a problem,” I said with an eye roll.

  GOOD, Beau signed, and said, “You’re better . . . without . . .”

  “Sure.”

  Beau tapped me on the knee, wanting me to look him in the face as he signed, YOU SMART. NO WORRY.

  WORRY A LOT, I signed, pointing back at myself.

  SAME, Beau agreed with a crooked smile. BECOME BETTER SOON.

  Soon? I almost laughed. I didn’t see myself feeling unworried anytime soon. Maybe not until the end of college at the earliest.

  YOU SIGN BETTER, I told Beau after we sat there for a few moments and I’d been swirling my paintbrush around in some green paint.

  Beau seemed surprised at this as he signed, REALLY?

  I nodded, suppressing the urge to smile. PRACTICE A LOT? I asked him.

  I had to finger spell the word practice for him before he understood, and he gave a nonchalant shrug, signing, MAYBE.

  I was hesitant to ask, but the question had been bugging me for ages.

  WHY YOU LEARN SIGN? I signed to him slowly, not meeting his gaze.

  Beau didn’t answer for some time. He just sat there staring at me, head tilted to the side.

  It felt anticlimactic when he just swiped two fingers against his nose—the sign for fun.

  We were sitting there now, not signing or speaking, and it was both weird and . . . calm. Normal, almost. Like we were friends.

  Beau looked up suddenly and then got to his feet, pointing a finger up at the ceiling. “Bell rang,” he told me.

  SEE YOU LATER, I signed to Beau. I STAY.

  FOR? he signed, pointing to my self-portrait.

  “I’m feeling . . . inspired,” I answered.

  HAVE FUN, Beau signed, giving a small wave. SEE YOU LATER.

  I started smiling when I swiveled back around to face my self-portrait again.

  This time as he walked away it sort of felt like I was looking forward to seeing Beau again.

  CHAPTER 14

  Wait. What do you mean, you have to leave?”

  Nina rocked back on her heels with her hands clasped behind her back, a thoroughly apologetic look on her face. It took her longer than a minute to finger spell the words academic decathlon as I waited impatiently beside my locker.

  “Our presentation for Wells is tomorrow,” I pointed out.

  Less than twenty-four hours before we were supposed to give a presentation to class for our AP US History midterm, and Nina was telling me she had to leave for some academic decathlon? Nina was always on top of her game when it came to schoolwork; why hadn’t she mentioned this before? With the chemistry mess behind me, I couldn’t survive another exam screw-up.

  “Here’s . . . thing,” Nina said. “I talked . . . Mr. Wells . . . because Beau’s partner . . . with me too, he . . .”

  I turned to Kathleen, desperate for her to interpret.

  Nina
launched into some explanation, including her apparent remedy for our presentation for Mr. Wells tomorrow. I learned my partner was bailing on me to go to an academic decathlon in Greeley, over an hour away. Apparently so was Beau’s partner, Kyle Matthews. Mr. Wells agreed to let Nina and Kyle write an essay in place of presenting, and his wild solution was that Beau and I were now partners. Apparently, we were being given the choice to present on the topic Nina and I picked, or the one Beau and Kyle had chosen.

  Nina kept signing, SORRY, and said, “. . . warned Mr. Wells . . . might happen, but . . . didn’t think . . . get . . . finals for . . . last minute . . . another school dropped . . .”

  I started to space out, blanking on the rest of Nina’s explanation.

  I could take comfort in the fact Beau took his grades very seriously and would want to give as professional and well-planned a presentation as possible, but this was so last minute. And what if Beau didn’t care one iota about our presentation topic? That I would not stand for.

  The universe was definitely conspiring against me.

  I gave a start when Nina got hold of my forearm and squeezed gently.

  “. . . fine,” she said. “. . . total faith . . .”

  TRUE, Kathleen signed when I glanced her way. GIVE B-E-A-U CHANCE.

  I bit down on my lip to keep from huffing out a disgusted sigh.

  I supposed Beau did deserve a chance. I didn’t completely understand his reasoning behind wanting to learn sign language, but he was getting pretty good at it. And it was fun talking with him, annoying Jackson during lunch with our overly dramatic signing and pointing toward him.

  If he was that interested in sign language, maybe he’d catch on to DPN just as quickly.

  “Fine,” I said. “But you owe me.”

  “Deal,” Nina said, shaking my hand.

  “This is hardly necessary,” I told Beau, standing beside his car in the student parking lot with my arms crossed.