Quiescence

It’s funny how you can go an entire day not knowing someone exists, and the next day you spend every waking moment subconsciously looking for them.

My silver-rimmed cross bobs playfully at my lapel, as my gaping, defiant steps carry me down the 300 hallway. I spot Druce twenty feet away, beat-red and scuffing his shoes against the pasty linoleum, talking to a cute blonde who won’t stop blowing her gum. It’s impossible to read her lips when she has that fluorescent tar poking out of her mouth every two seconds.
“Hey, Druce, you gotta sec?” His expression looks mortified, then apologetic, as I save him from the girl. We walk up the ramp leading to the next main intersection, where the AP Brit Lit class is meeting for our presentation. I’ve been looking forward to it all night, as I’m sure you can imagine.

“Who was that?” I try to lighten my tone, but when ‘tone’ is a foreign concept, it can make your voice come out like a barking seal.
“Oh.. haha.. She’s Celeste, she’s in my.. um… school.”
“Did I read your lips wrong, or did you just say ‘she’s in my school’?” I clap him hard on the shoulder as I laugh and strut away, making sure to flash him a smile before I leave for AP Brit Lit. With Laci.

The presentation’s on what would happen if Jane Austen and J.K. Rowling co-wrote a novel, and I’m having a hard time deciphering whether or not it would be disastrous or momentous. The whole project kind of depressed me, any ‘what if’s’ in general depress me. The concept of an altered and yet acceptable reality tends to patronize my mind to a point where I feel every decision I make is a ‘what if’.

My turquoise pleated dress clings to the back of my knees with moisture, causing me to flinch every time I switch which leg crosses over the other. A warm hand on my shoulder startles me, making my back arch up and my feet slam onto the ground.
“Wha-“
“Hello, Ms. Coleson, enjoying the remainder of class?”
“Mr. Haviland,” I snootily acknowledge the green-eyed prince.
“Listen, I know I’m probably not your ideal guy, but don’t write me off so quick, I’m actual-“
“What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t have to make up some lie about you being deaf and all just to get me to leave.” I lunge swiftly forward and place a single slender finger decorated with a band of shining copper and press it to his warm, peachy lips. He could have been talking in a whisper, but that’s not a risk especially I cannot take.

Lie?

My first instinct is to slink away into oblivion, sulking in the shadows of deceit and trickery.

My second instinct is to smile so warmly I’m sure he think’s I’m hyperventilating. Appearing as normal for once has never felt to damn good.

I stammer, and the air brushed coolly over my tinted lips. Biting them in confliction, I try my best to susurrate,

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t right of me to lie, I was just a little… taken back. Please do forgive me, Mr. Haviland.”
“I’ll consider it. Over dinner.”
“You’ve got a date, Mr. Haviland.”
He grins, and tugs at his collar sophisticatedly, and purses his lips into a thin line, caging in the laughter.

I’m hearing; I’m a hearing girl.

At least to this boy I am.