Your Voice

After the park, I walk home. Gemma leaves me with a hug and tells me how happy she is that Dylan and I are together; it makes me blush bright red but I appreciate it. She says she hadn't seen Dylan happy in so long and that he was always so focused on work and school it was unhealthy. And that made me really ecstatic. To think I was making a difference in his life was crazy; he was changing mine so drastically I couldn't help but think that really it was a one-way street. Gemma made me second guess that.

Though I doubt I make him half as happy as he makes me.

When I get home, it's beginning to get late. Nearly seven any way; Gemma and I spent quite awhile at the park, messing around and we even stopped at an ice cream truck. Gemma forced me to eat some even though I wasn't exactly in the mood, which sort of upsets me. Her and Dylan both are obsessed with my weight and eating habits. I don't really see how it's their business. Well, maybe Dylan's but not Gemma's.

In the last hour there, Chris showed up. I was able to hang up with them for a little bit but eventually the cutesy moments of Chris pushing Gemma on the swings got to me. I told them my parents were expecting me home, which was a lie, but I saw no harm in it.

When I walk into the house, I'm bombarded with the smell of beef and something else. I know the smell because I knew my mum's cooking anywhere, and she definitely had a knack for it. She'd made shepherd's pie. And instantly I'm hungry, because no matter how little I typically eat I can always have a helping of my mum's shepherd's pie.

I feel like loving her cooking is bitter considering we have no mother-son relationship. We're practically strangers; I can't even tell you what my mum's favorite color is. Nor can I tell you what my dad's favorite meal is. These are things that you learn when you actually have communication with your parents, which is something I lack. The last time I spoke to them was when I told them I was going to Gemma's the first time. Since then I haven't bothered, knowing they wouldn't notice anyway. If I wasn't in my room when my mum came to call me down for dinner then I bet they just let it go. I don't think they really cared where I was.

My mum must have heard me come in the door, because she comes out from the kitchen and looks at me curiously. I smile, a bit tight, and she just nods before walking away. I sigh to myself, wishing I could go back to Dylan's where I felt welcomed. I hadn't known him or Gemma long and already their house felt more like home to me than my own house felt.

I follow my mum into the kitchen and smile lightly at the smell. It's like heaven, and I want to dig in. I think Dylan would be proud to know I'm probably going to eat an entire helping for dinner tonight. Shepherd's pie was like my guilty pleasure.

I sit down on the left side of the table, glancing up as my parents sit down as well. My mum has a large pan in the center of the table and has put water out for all of us to drink. I wait for both of them to get platefuls of the dish before I get my own, putting just a little more than usual on my plate. And the first thing I dive for is the mashed potatoes; even though I'm skinny I eat loads of unhealthy stuff.

We eat quietly for awhile; or so I assume we do, the both of them are probably talking and not bothering to involve me. Nothing new there.

But then there's a fork jabbing into my line of sight, making me jump. With wide eyes, I glance up at my parents. My dad's mouth is set and my mum is staring at her plate. I blink, wondering what it is they want when my dad asks, his mouth moving wide and obvious as if I'm stupid, "Where have you been lately?"

I blush, setting my fork down slowly, suddenly not very hungry. I want to tell them I've been at my boyfriend's. After all, that's the truth, and I should be able to share the happy news with my family. But I'm afraid they would hate me more than they already do. So I swallow past the lump in my throat- there despite the fact I will not speak -and lift a hand to sign the letters, "F-R-I-E-N-D."

My dad looks to my mum who looks a little confused before turning to him to say, "Friend." I nod, letting them know that's right and my dad furrows his brow. He probably wonders how I have friends when I go to a regular school now, and everyone there is hearing. But he doesn't say anything about that, thank God.

No, instead he says, again obviously as if I'm stupid and I'm sure if I could hear he would be talking like I couldn't understand English. "You have been lacking in chores," he says, shrugging. "Haven't been around often. You better just be sure to keep your room clean."

I blink and realize I really am not hungry anymore. I nod slowly, unsurely. Looking down at my plate of food I want to throw up. I set my fork down and stand up abruptly, not caring if the chair squeaked against the wood floor. My parents don't bat an eyelash as I walk away, upstairs to my bedroom, where despite having the perfect weekend, I cry myself to sleep.
~

The next day I don't let myself think about my parents. They aren't worth my thoughts. I should be grateful I have parents when Gemma and my boyfriend didn't, but I couldn't bring myself to be thankful for parents who didn't even want me. Not since I got sick and became deaf. So I can't help but wish that maybe I had a little sister who was amazing and dead parents rather than what I have now.

But I also feel like a dick for thinking that.

I don't know, it's all sort of confusing.

It seems my day only gets worse, though. When I walk into English Literature with Gemma, and we both stutter in step when we see the 'group project' on the board. I didn't realize I'd be doing so many of these, especially in my two favorite classes. I had a hard enough time as is in Literature, because my teacher was really tough. He didn't give me any slack, and sure I liked that because he didn't treat me like I'm unintelligent. But he also was a little too difficult at times. It's as if he didn't want me in his class because I couldn't hear, and that wasn't okay with me. I wasn't any different to his other students, I don't see why he should treat me like I am. Just because Mr. Smith had to stand up there with him?

It was my favorite subject taught by the worst teacher.

Though maybe it was just me who thought he was awful. Gemma seemed to like him, although she agreed he could be a bit inappropriate and rude at times with how he taught me. Maybe I was looking too much into it, but English Language and my other courses were definitely easier to handle than this one.

I can only hope I'll be paired with Gemma, and she tells me she hopes this too when we sit down. She asks me, "What do you think we'll have to do?"

"Evaluate a poem?" I offer, shrugging. "Analyse a short story?"

"I hope it's a poem," Gemma signs, grinning. "I love poetry!"

I smile at her, shrugging my shoulders again. I love anything really. I got into it all; poetry, short stories, and novels. All of it interested me. I guess I was a bit of a nerd in that way, but reading was my escape. It's the only place I felt like I belonged, like I wasn't an outsider. I didn't need to hear to know how to read and how to interpret someone's work. It sort of just came naturally. I think that's why I wanted to be apart of it in more than the way of reading.

Mr. Roberts calls attention to the front of the class, and Kyle stands up there as well, smiling lightly back at Gemma and I. To be completely honest, I sort of hated to man. He was nice and everything, but he struck me as such a dick most of the time. Like he didn't really care at all about anything. I bet he was only doing this to make some extra cash, and that peeved me more than it should. I didn't need someone who was just here to pay the bills. I wanted someone who cared.

I'm probably not much worth it. My parents sure as hell don't care. Mr. Roberts doesn't care. Kyle Smith doesn't care. None of the other students care. It seems the only people in the entire world who did were Gemma and Dylan, brother and sister. And I was already counting down the days until that ended.

Kyle signs as Roberts explains what the project will be over and that he has already paired us. Apparently we will all select a classic poet and then analyse one of their most famous pieces of work before presenting it to the class. Before he was even done explaining I was thinking of people I could write over. There was a large list, and I just prayed whoever I got paired with would let me pick someone I wanted to write over.

He begins to pair everyone off, and Kyle doesn't bother to sign as he does this. I don't really care about the groups unless I'm in them, anyway, so that doesn't bother me. But then he gets to my name, and he seems to sigh heavily, glancing up over his glasses in my direction. I think he's looking at Gemma though.

Mr. Smith signs, "Kade will be with Gemma. Gemma, I'm sorry, but I've paired you with-" and he abruptly stops there. My eyes widen as I look to Mr. Roberts who continues speaking, but Kyle is no longer signing it for me. Actually, the assistant teacher looks incredibly uncomfortable, glancing anywhere but the teacher and myself. Blinking, I look over to Gemma who is frowning deeply, her hand grasping the edge of the desk as if her life depends on it. I'm confused as to why she's doing this, but it dawns on me her and Roberts are obviously talking about something. And if I had to guess, it's the reason why she got paired with me and not someone else.

I sink down into my seat, covering my face with my hands. A few students glance over at us, some frowning and others uninterested, and I wish more than anything I could hear. I have a feeling I wouldn't like knowing what he said.
~

All class Gemma and I debate on what we're going to do. In the end we settle on Christina Georgina Rossetti as our poet, but we can't seem to decide on an exact piece. Gemma wants to do A Baby's Cradle With No Baby in It, but I argue with her that it wasn't long enough for us to extend on. She disagreed and in the end, we decided to meet back at one of our houses this weekend to go over it. When we were sitting waiting for class to officially end, I asked her what it was Mr. Roberts said. She just got red-faced and told me nothing, and it pissed me off.

I think I have a right to know what was said in that classroom. Especially if it involved me and I'm ninety-nine percent sure it did. Mr. Smith should have kept signing and when I asked Gemma should have told me. The fact that I didn't know what was going on made me feel incredibly uncomfortable and ostracized. I was out-of-the-loop enough, a freak because I couldn't hear. I didn't need to add to that list of reasons how.

We separated after class, which was unusual for us. We typically stuck together, but today I was too angry at her for not telling me and she said she had to go talk to Mr. Lynn. I was happy to separate though; after that class I just wanted to go home and lay in my bed. I wanted to curl under the covers and never resurface.

Actually, curling up in Dylan's bed with his arms around me sounded much more appealing.

There's a rock in my stomach once I get to my locker. I pull it open, putting some of my books away as I wouldn't need them for my next class. Checking over my shoulder, I see there's no teachers and I slowly pull my phone out, keeping it hidden inside the small cubby. Biting my lip, I pray Dylan has his phone on him as I send out the text, I miss you </3.

Fortunately, I have enough of a passing period to wait for his reply, which comes in less than a minute. I miss you too baby x, he says. And then right afterwards asks, What brought the sudden confession? xx

Biting my lip, I lean against the locker as I say, In English Lit. some people were obviously talking about me but no one was signing and I felt so uncomfortable... I can't decide if sending it is the best thing, but in the end I do. I know Dylan might get over-protective and threaten to do something, but I want him to know. I want to tell him things, I want to confide in him. At least about things like this, when I need his arms wrapped around me the most and I know I won't be seeing him for the next several days.

Before I have the chance to read his reply, my locker door is shutting. I jump about a foot in the air, moving to avoid getting my hands slammed in it when I trip over my foot and go stumbling backwards, landing on my arse like an idiot. I blink slowly, glancing up to see two boys I don't quite recognize, though I think I have English Language with them. One snickers and the other says obviously, as if I can't speak English and won't understand him, "Sorry." He then laughs too and blushing, I realize they're making fun of me. Bullying me.

The one who spoke is pushed out of the way suddenly, and I realize it's Chris who's come. He says something to the guys and they both roll their eyes before stalking off. Chris looks kind of mad, and it worries me as he's always smiling, before he extends a hand and pulls me up to my feet. He fixes my tie a bit, grinning widely.

"You okay?" He asks me, lifting a hand to sign clumsily as well. Biting my lip, I nod even though I'm not sure if it's true. But Chris just nods and says, "They're jerks, forget about them. On your way to lunch?" I nod again, straightening my blazer a bit and pulling my locker back open to check my phone. I have a message from Dylan but decide not to look at it. I feel guilty for mentioning anything to him in the first place; being a grown man with a full-time job, he probably didn't want to hear about my petty problems.

"Hey," Chris says, nudging me with his elbow. I look up at him, frowning as I grab my lunch and shut my locker. He smiles a little, resting a warm hand against my shoulder. If Dylan was here he would shit a brick. But I find it comforting, and I kind of want to let Chris console me right now. Like I need someone else to care; someone else to add to my short list. "Chin up, mate. You are better than them."

I smile a little, deciding that even though my boyfriend seems to disapprove of Chris, I don't care. I needed someone else, someone that I could call a friend. Someone that would care. Dylan could get over that. And Chris was a great guy and told a lot of good jokes, so if anyone could get me to laugh on this god awful day, it will hopefully be him.