Marked with Silence

“Welcome to Cadbury High School! I’m Mrs. Tomkins, the Admissions Director. Now, since you’re a new student we have assigned one of your fellow seniors to, let’s say, make your first day just a little bit smoother…”

I tuned her out there. Six occasions of meeting women just like her has given me the ability over a span of eleven years. I was an army brat—the only son of Major and Mrs. Cornelius Washfield. I had seen Big Ben in London and graced the coasts of North Carolina’s beaches. I had ridden all the roller coasters in Disney World and have eaten fresh jackfruit from Filipino orchards. Last night, I had to say goodbye to Arkansas. And now, I was being greeted by people who could proudly say that they lived in the first state. Delaware. I sighed. I’d really only had one good first day of school. I was eight and it just so happened that it was this girl’s birthday, so I got to eat a cupcake. Since then my first days had been filled with a lot of staring and whispering and not knowing where to sit in the cafeteria. I mentally shrugged; maybe the Delawareans at Cadbury High were a little more welcoming.

“…Ah, and here’s your guide.”

I blinked a couple times before following Mrs. Tomkins gaze to see the person that was going to make my first day “a little bit smoother.”

“Hi it’s nice to meet you Jerome,” he smiled. “The name’s Dylan, Dylan McCoy.” We firmly shook hands.

“Dylan here is on the football team,” Mrs. Tomkins informed me like a cared.

“Yep,” Dylan said, and I tried to smile when he told me that he played tight end. His appearance alone would have let me know that he was a jock. His shirt was tight enough for me to tell that he worked out on a daily basis. Dylan seemed like the classic-all American boy—respectful to adults, friendly to everyone, and had some sort of athletic ability.

“You two may skip homeroom so Jerome can get a full tour of the place.” She put one of her pudgy hands on my shoulder, and the other on Dylan’s, “I have a feeling that you two are going to be good friends.”

I followed Dylan out of the glass office and we headed to the left. He slowed down so that we could walk side by side.

“So what’s your story Jerome Washfield?”

He smiled an awkward smile. And I could tell right then that he was one of the popular guys in the senior class. I noticed my new schoolmates looking at us longer than they should have been. Whether it was because of me, or because I was walking with Dylan, I couldn’t have been sure.

“What do you mean Dylan McCoy?”

“Every mid-semester transfer has a story. Bad grades? Nasty divorce?”

I shook my head, but regretted doing so when long strands of light brown hair flooded my mouth. “Nothing like that. My dad’s in the military so…”

“Mm,” he nodded his head. “I understand. Do you think you’ll stick around for graduation?”

I shrugged, “Only the Major knows the answer to that question.”

I looked around to know that we were retracing the steps that I had taken to get to the Guidance Office. “Where are we going?”

Dylan turned his head to look at me, “I figured we start from the outside and work our way in. It’ll take longer, but I’ll be able to show you what your new classmates will be like. We can get a pass if we’re late to first period.”

Early, on time, or late, I knew that my first period teacher would make me introduce myself to the class.

“Then by all means,” I inclined my head, “let’s walk as slow as we can.”

We lightly chuckled as we pushed open the glass doors of the school’s entrance. I followed him to the curb and turned around to face the school like he did.

“Cadbury High School,” he extended his two arms to gesture towards the massive brown-brick building, “known for its academics but loved for its three-time champ football team. The social break down is pretty much the same as any other high school.” He pointed to a few buff looking guys that were strolling towards the entrance, “The athletes mainly hang out with other members of their team. They aren’t as buddy-buddy with the cheerleaders as you may think, because they’re mainly just girls that couldn’t afford dance classes,” he tilted his head toward two slim girls sitting cross-legged on a bench. “They’re pretty nice. The blonde one is Sarah and the brunette is Jessica, in case you’re interested,” he winked. He looked around and settled his eyes on a section of the parking lot to the left of the school. “The ones in the yellow Nissan are all stoners. Their pretty popular because they throw the best parties when they get enough weed to pass around. Do you do drugs, man?”

I looked at the four men in the car, laughing excessively and making contorted faces, “I did for a little while, and then I got caught. The Major punished me so bad I don’t even think about abusing any type of substance ever again.”

He chuckled before looking over to the right and I followed his gaze, “Underneath the tree are the weird-smart people that are friends with other weird-smart people.” But the skinny boys and bushy-haired girls didn’t keep my attention for long. On the sidewalk, was a girl, coming towards us with a black messenger bag over her shoulder and a couple books hugged tightly to her chest. Long black bangs did a poor job of hiding her gorgeous face, like the loose shirt and sweat pants she was wearing couldn’t hide the curves on her slim body. Fifteen yards and closing, I had to ask Dylan who she was before she passed us to walk in the school.

“Dude, forget about them,” I hit his shoulder. “Who the hell is that?”

Dylan looked over to where I couldn’t tear my eyes from, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him shake his head.

“Don’t even bother. She doesn’t talk to anyone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Girls, guys, upperclassmen, lowerclassmen—no one. Just teachers, and that’s only if she’s called on.”

“So she’s in our class?”

Dylan nodded.

Less than five yards away and her eyes had to leave the ground to make the turn towards the front of the school. With my twenty-ten vision I saw that her eyes were the color of melted milk chocolate.

Dylan grabbed my arm and tugged me so that I lost balance and had to face him.

“Look at me.” I tried to look down at his face but I caught a glimpse of the girl in the purple shirt walking past me to get through the school doors.

“Hey!” I finally looked back towards Dylan once I could no longer see her.

“Dude, I don’t even care if she doesn’t talk. What’s her name? What’s her story?”

He shook his head and looked down, but started speaking anyway, “That’s Sapphira Torres. And besides her looks, I can tell you the only thing that I, or anybody else for that matter, knows about this girl in five seconds. She’s Filipino, smart, and she transferred before the beginning of second semester last year.”

I looked at Dylan incredulously, “She’s been here for almost a year and that’s all you know about her?”

“I know that she’s incredible to look at, but she just doesn’t talk. She has no friends, no secret boyfriend. If she wasn’t so pretty no one would even know she was here.”

“Naw, ‘pretty?’ She is like, the epitome of drop dead gorgeous.”

He shook his head at me again, “I advise you to not get too hung up on her. She won’t even be a tease.”

I ignored him as I frantically dug into my pocket for my schedule, “Do you know what classes she has?”

Dylan shrugged, “Probably all honors and AP. I have P.E. with her this year, seventh period.”

I looked at my schedule and frowned, “I have it fourth.”

“If you want to know her classes you should talk to Kimberly,” he pointed to one of the girls sitting underneath a tree. She’s in all honors and AP so she probably has most of her classes with Sapphira. Or, you can stop being so obsessed and just see how the day plays out.”

“You’re right, I’d rather be surprised to be in the same classroom as her for fifty minutes.”

Dylan rolled his eyes and pushed me towards the glass doors.”


Dylan dragged me all over the school, but no matter how many classrooms he showed me or which teachers meant trouble, her image was burned into my mind. It was like I had gotten photographic memory—I could remember every detail about her. The mole on her left cheek, the black Chuck Taylor’s on her petite feet. I was utterly and completely infatuated.

The bell rang, signaling the end of homeroom. Dylan told me how to get to my first period class and said that we’d meet up at lunch. As I walked down the hallway I noticed how different I was compared to the other boys at my school. I didn’t wear American Eagle and Abercrombie & Fitch or wear flip-flops in autumn. In my Hurley t-shirt and dirty Vans, I was out of place, and the students of Cadbury High made sure that I knew it.

I made another left and looked upwards towards the numbers over the classroom doors until I reached Room E117. When I walked in, most of the desks were already filled, so I stayed in the front of the classroom, waiting for the teacher to see if he or she had assigned seating. I scanned the room for Sapphira Torres, and she was sitting in the last seat of the middle row, her extremely brown eyes being one of the few pairs that were not pretending to not look at me.

Another bell rang and the class quieted down as the teacher walked in. After placing a stack of papers on her desk, she walked over to me with a smile on her face and an extended hand. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Jefferson, your AP English III teacher.”

I took her hand, “Jerome Washfield. It’s a pleasure to meet you ma’am, I’m honored to be in your class.”

“Would you mind introducing yourself to the class? I am sure that they are very anxious to meet their new classmate.”

I nodded to her before facing a sea of eyes.

“Class listen up,” Mrs. Jefferson raised her voice. “We have a new student joining us.”

“Uh, hi,” I held up my hand to greet them. “My name is Jerome Washfield. I’m sixteen years old, and I moved here from Arkansas.”

I heard a variation of “Hi Jerome” as Mrs. Jefferson told me to take any free desk.

Surprisingly, the desk in front of and to the right of her were vacant. I thought that what Dylan had said about her might have been true as I took the seat beside her.

I tried to follow along with the discussion about Desdemona’s handkerchief, but sneaking glances at her was a lot more appealing.

I watched her take detailed notes when her eyes weren’t devouring the words of Shakespeare. Her notebook was color-coordinated and practically doodle-free. She clearly took English very seriously.

First period ended sooner than I had expected. I pulled out my schedule to see what class I had next.

And after I stopped by my locker, I walked alone, hoping I was going the right way to Honors Pre-Calculus. Even though Dylan showed me all the rooms I had class in, the school was big with identical looking hallways.

Then I spotted purple. She was walking a few feet in front of me, and I could see that she was walking alone too, when I peered around the bodies of the two people in front of me. There couldn’t have been too many seniors taking AP Calculus, so there was a good chance that her presence meant I was going in the right direction.

This was my chance to talk to her. I could simply bypass the two in front of me and ask her if I was going the right way to M214. But would she answer me back? Dylan said that she talked to absolutely no one, so why would she talk to me? But I was new; not directing me would simply be rude. But maybe she would even go that far to keep her voice a secret.

Screw it, I thought. I’d never know if I didn’t try.

I rudely cut off the two people in front of me so that I was now walking directly behind her. I towered over her; I didn’t realize that she was so short. I tapped her shoulder before I could talk myself out of it.

Her body kind of jerked, not expecting human contact. I felt guilty when she turned to face me, her confused eyes making me feel like I had just crossed boundaries, committed a crime.

“Uhh, erm,” I scratched the back of my head. “Is this the way to the Mathematics Hallway?”

I half anticipated that she would just turn away, pretend that some boy didn’t even stop her. But to my surprise, she looked to the floor and shook her head twice, before continuing in the direction that she was heading for just ten seconds earlier.

I just stood there, lost—in one of the many hallways of my new school, and in the mystery of a girl that was marked with silence.