The words I have often go unspoken. No one takes the time to see them. Just because they can't be heard doesn't mean they aren't there. I'm mute. I can't talk. Never have and never will. I can sign, but no one will listen.

When my mother told me we were going to move, I didn't really care. We move a lot, once a year, sometimes every other year. It's just the same where ever we go. This time, though, it would be something different. Normally we were in a big city, Houston, or New Orleans, or Phoenix. This time we were moving to a small town in Washington, Forks I think. From what my mother told me, it's very cloudy, rains a lot, and the temperatures rarely go above eighty. If you didn't notice, all of those places I listed above are all warm, very warm. That's the one thing I have, heat. It's like a blanket cocooning you in a layer of warmth that forms to your body. And it doesn't matter what you say to it, what matters is what you tell it. When you move, it swings in to fill the newly vacated space, like you're welcoming it. Some people say it's crazy that I like it. The prissy girls who like their make up and skirts and high heels. They think that sweat is gross, that the heat is suffocating. But what's really suffocating is not being heard, and I know what it feels like to be strangled and chocked, and not to be able to say a thing.

And when we move, I sat on a plane for hour after hour in complete silence. My mother tried to talk to me, but I didn't want to. When you sign people stare at you, but if you just sit there, well, they just pass you off as another brooding teenager. And when the movers were there to put the stuff into our new house and my mother wasn't there, they would ask me where to put something, and I couldn't tell them.

And then when school started, it would be in a small-town-school where everyone knows everybody and has been with the same friends since the first grade. And not only would I be the new girl, but I would be the mute girl. And people would assume I was deaf and would just pass me off, not even try to talk to me. And honestly, that was better, because when someone does try to talk to you, they expect you to answer them. And I would, but they wouldn't hear.

"Parker." My mother called through the house. "Parker, where are you?"

I got up out of the arm chair in what would be the sitting area and put down my book to go see my mother. I followed the sound of her voice through the unfamiliar hallway and into the back bedroom.

"There you are Parker. I thought we would decorate your room."

I jabbed a finger into my chest, then put my thumb under my chin and flicked it out, then stacked one fist on top of the other, pointed my fingers out like scissors, and rotated the stack in a circle. The signs for "I don't care."

"Parker, come on, it'll be fun. We can go down to the hardware store and pick out some paint and next weekend I'll take you into Seattle to go shopping for some new decorations. We can see about a bed spread and a rug, and maybe a new chair-"

I cut her off with my signs again. "I don't care. What ever."

"Oh, but, Parker, it'll be fun! We can go into the big city."

"I don't want to. You can pick out whatever you want. No pink." I sign, my fingers drooping towards the end, tired of having the same conversation each time we moved.

"Parker..." She sighed.

"I'm not going." I sign sharply, turning on my heel back into the sitting area to cower in the corner behind the entertainment center, curled up in the Lazy Boy with my book.

That night I fall asleep in the middle of a chapter, still curled up in a ball in the soft burgundy recliner. In the morning my mother shook me awake and told me to come to the table for breakfast. She was a big believer in family meals, even though it was just the two of us.

"So, I have some news." She starts over our cheerios. "You won't be going to the Forks high school."

I nod numbly.

"Our house is on the border of the reservation, and since there isn't any real border to their school, I have enrolled you in the LaPush Reservation High School."

I raise a question eyebrow.

"Reservation? Like Indian reservation?"

"Yes, exactly. They have a very nice little school with a very small student base, I though you might like it compared to the other schools you've been attending."

Great. So now I'm going to be the New-White-Mute-Girl. Just keep adding onto the title of why I'm an outcast.

I nod again.

"Aren't you excited?"

"Sure."

"And, you'll be starting immediately on Monday."

"Monday?" My eyes bug. "Like... tomorrow?" I sign frantically.

"Parker, you know I'm not that good at sign language when you go so fast, what was that last word?"

"Tomorrow. I start tomorrow?" I sign a bit slower.

"Yes, tomorrow."

I spoon the last bit of the cereal into my mouth and get up to brush my teeth.

"What are you doing today?" She asks.

"I don't know. Going to the beach I guess."

"Okay, take your phone."

She calls after me as I head to my new room to get dressed.

I know what you must be thinking, what good it a phone to a mute girl? Well, I can still text, just calling is pointless.

I pull on some cargo pants and a t-shirt, brush my teeth, and pull my crazy, dark, curly hair into a loose ponytail then head out the door.

I stepped from stone to stone through the scraggly grass that made up our lawn and into the woods behind our house. Every time we move, my mother orders maps and guides and finds websites about the area to give to me. I guess if there was one good thing about this place, it would be that I could go for walks in the woods anytime I wanted. I don't necessarily like hiking, but I don't consider walking through trees a hike. I pick my way around shrubs and stumps and trees and eventually make it to where the forest met the beach, about twenty or thirty minutes from our house, as I expected.

I slipped off my white flip-flops and drag my feet through the sand. It wasn't like the sand sand from the deserts in New Mexico that would cushion your steps and wrap around your toes though. It was wet and hard, and every now and then you would find a patch that was squishy, but your foot dropped into it and pulled back out with a sucking sound, some pebbles and sharp shards of sand sticking in the mud caked to the bottom of your foot instead of brushing across it. And the water wasn't like the waves in Galveston or the splashes in Mississippi, but more like a slapping force that whacked the already hard packed sand.

And it was cold. And drizzly. And dreary. And I don't know a soul who would want to go swimming in this weather. But, none the less, there was a group of guys at the other end of the beach, cliff diving. I plunked down on a log and started doodling in the wet sand, but my peace was interupted almost imediatly when one of the cliff divers resurfaced and swam to shore a few yards away from me.

His skin was a dark tan with black tattoos stretching over his shoulders, short cropped black hair covering his head and a pair of blue jeans cut off at the knee hung loosely at his waist.

"Hey, haven't ever seen you around here, out of towner?"

I shake my head.

"Are you from the reservation?"

I shrug.

"How do you not know?"

I sigh, and turn to face him full on.

"I'm mute." I sign.

Though I assume he doesn't know sign language, most people figure that I can't talk after they see me sign.

"Oh... are you... uh... deaf?"

I shake my head and trace my finger over the wet sand, spelling M-U-T-E.

"Oh, so, you can like... still hear."

I nod.

"Oh. Well, I'm Embry Call." He says, reaching out a hand.

I tentatively shake it then scratch out my name in the sand.

"Parker?"

I nod my head.

"Cool. So, you gona be going to the school on the Reservation?"

I nod again.

"What grade?"

I hold up ten fingers.

"Same here, if you wana' I can introduce you to some of the guys in our grade. You ever been diving?"

I raise my eyebrows and point to the cliff.

"Yeah, cliff diving, way better than jumping in a pool."

I shake my head.

"Wana' try?"

I shake my head again. The idea of jumping off the side of a cliff just didn't appeal to me.

"Why not, you never know until you try."

I gesture to my clothes, looking for an excuse.

"It's fine, people go diving in their clothes all the time."

I shake my head again.

"Okay, it's fine. Wana' meet the guys anyways?"

I glance at the other people standing on top of the cliff in the distance. From this far, they all looked general the same as this Embry guy. Tall, dark skin, tattoos and black hair. Quite frankly, I wasn't a big fan of hazing, and this seemed like it wasn't going to turn out well no matter what I did.

I shake my head and turn towards the forest again, and walking off with a slight nod of my head.

"Okay, well, I guess I'll see you in school on Monday." He calls after me.

I glace back and nod, then break into a sprint once I pass the treeline.

I hate people. They always either ignore me, or treat me like an idiot. In several schools I have even been put into special education just because I couldn't talk.

When I am about five minutes into the run I slow down and stop to slip my feet into the flip flops.

I continue at a slower pace.

I'm surprised that Embry guy kept it going so long, most people just cut off the conversation as quickly as possible once they realize I can't talk. But Embry, no way, he has to draw it out and torture me with it.

This was going to be a long year. A very long year.

When I got home, I Swung open the door and made my way into the back bedroom to find my mother holding up paint swatches to the walls.

"I was thinking purple maybe?"

"No." I sign glumly.

"Well, would you like to come with to pick out the paint?"

"No."

"Fine. You're coming anyways."

I glare at her, but sit down on the tan carpeted floor and look up as she holds up another set of paint swatches in lime green.

"What about this?"

"No. White?"

"No, we are going to do your room in a color. It is always white."

"Because I like it."

"Just choose a color."

"I did."

"Not white. White doesn't count."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so."

I grit my teeth and look around the room. It has two closets, in between them a little cubby, maybe three feet wide, three feet deep, and six or so feet tall. It would make a nice little reading nook. There was a wide window that stretched across the better part of one wall, and a pile of paint chips sitting next to my mother's feet.

That afternoon, after we had eaten a late lunch, she practically dragged me into the car and into the closest hardware store, in front of a display of paint chips.

I thumb through a few colors and eventually settle on a medium tan and a deep, olive green.

"Really?" My mother critiques.

I nod and hand her the swatches.

"You don't want anything more colorful? Like a nice blue, or maybe just a brighter green?"

I stare at her, refusing to sign in public.

"What about this?" She holds up a peachy sunset color.

I shake my head and hold up the tan and green again.

"Well, it is your room." She mutters under her breath and takes the samples to the mixing counter to have the paints prepared.

We had only been here for two days and she was already complaining about how I wanted to do my bedroom! Normally we didn't get to this point until late in the second week and she would just give up and leave it white. I'm actually sort of surprised she let it go so quickly though. She's pretty stubborn on the color of my room most of the time, I don't see how this changes anything.

That very same night, she started painting. Three of the four walls were the sandy tan, and the one with the closets, along with the back wall of the little reading nook were olive green. I slept on the couch that night, my bed still hadn't been assembled since the wall it would be against was covered in wet paint (thanks to my mother). Early the next morning my mother shook me awake and pointed to the clock.

"Hurry! Hurry! I didn't realize you were still asleep, you're going to be late for your first day!"

And I didn't hurry, not the least bit, because if there is one place in the world I didn't want to be right now, it would be sitting in a cafeteria, waiting for classes to start. But, apparently, the classes here start earlier than they did at my last school, and when I arrive, it is already halfway through first period. And when the teacher introduces me, she asks me to say hello to the class. And Embry is siting in the back row, starring at me, as if waiting to see what I did.

When I don't do anything, the teacher prods me in the side and urges me on.

"Well, come on now, introduce yourself." She chides.

" , she-" Embry starts

"Don't interrupt ." She scolds.

"But Pa-"

"Don't interrupt!"

"She can't talk." He spits out quickly.

She turns to me and raises an eyebrow.

"She's mute."

"Yes, well, in that case, you may take a seat in any empty desk Miss..." She flips through some papers to find my name.

"Parker." Embry says.

My cheeks burn pink and I look around the room.

There are only three empty desks. One is in the front row, and I immediately disregard it. Another is next to Embry who has done absolutely nothing but embarrass me, and the last is in the back corner, away from the door and out of sight. I go straight for the seat and duck my head as I set down my bag and get ready to endure my first day at the Quileute Reservation High School.