Full Summary: Emily Bryson, daughter of the town's beauty queen, had good things going for her. She was beautiful, she was well-spoken, and she had a knack for playing her guitar by ear. At the age of eleven, her life changes. In an accident that should have never happened, Emily loses something very dear to her – her hearing. Now, at nineteen, she's still living at home and working in her mother's shop. Life is menial. Life is boring. Until she meets someone by the name of Derek Stanton, who, in one touch, could promise her happiness. The problem? The Stanton family isn't the only one out there, and their rivals aren't happy with them or the way things are going. They want to rewrite the rules. And they figure that Emily could hold some promise.

I'm also using this fanfiction as a sort of exploration as to new characters. Sometimes, I think that our main characters are just too perfect, you know? So anyway, my experiment commences.

Anyway, there's going to be some changes in this. That's right. The hot male lead is not going to be a Jacobson. You heard me. Or… well, read it. Anyway – the point? In Significance (which I am rereading yet again) lists three families in Tennessee, two in Chicago, one in Sydney, two in Paris, two in London, and one in Prague. This story is set in Chicago, Illinois. (;

This story is rated T for TEEN, for romance and possibly some violence.

This story takes place at the end of Defiance (after reunification.)

The Significance Series belongs to Shelly Crane.

Words of the Heart

1: Meeting Forever

People take things for granted. It's true. That's the way of people. Everyone knows the saying: You don't know what you have until it's gone. And that's true, too. I know firsthand. Those things that you think you have, things that you think can never be taken from you, can be. One second they can be there, and the next you're wondering where they went and how to get them back.

The real pain comes when you find out you can't get them back.

My childhood was pretty normal. My parents were high school sweethearts, still hanging onto each other's words when they were well into their twenties. They were happy together, the classic couple. My mom was a beauty queen, with black hair that was darker than a raven's feathers and shinier than an oil slick. She had eyes that my dad described as lanterns late at night – bright, bright blue. She had gotten married and settled down, becoming the soccer PTA mom. My dad was her perfect counterpart. He had been a football star, one of the best in town. When I was still in high school, people would ask me if I was related to the great Charlie Bryson. He went to school on a football scholarship and graduated with a degree in business. He and a friend started a business, of which he was the CEO.

And then there was me – little Emily Bryson, gifted with her mother's dark hair and her father's expressive stormy gray eyes. I had what people referred to as natural poise, a grace that made it seem like I was lightly leaping across a stage when I was really just walking. I had inherited my mother's love for music, and by the time I was seven I was playing a guitar. I discovered that I could play by ear. My mom had always told me that it was the mark of a great musician.

My life was great. My sixth grade year went without a hitch. I was easily accepted into the ranks of those that were considerably cooler. I wore name brands and followed the latest trends, pouring over magazines and gossiping about hot movie stars, daydreaming of the day when I would meet the lead singer of my favorite band. I would talk on the phone for hours to my best friend, Bailey. I went to sleepovers and planned the vast majority of them. My house was the house to go to for a sleepover party, where we always did nails and watched the latest movies and, when it was warm out, went swimming in the large pool in the back. My greatest complaints were that I hated my math homework and that my crush, Joey Martin, hardly paid any attention to me.

And then things changed. Drastically. One moment, I'm a golden girl with a big future in front of her. The next, I'm lying in a hospital, my eyebrows drawn together as I struggle to make out what anyone is saying to me. I see their lips moving, but I couldn't hear a word they were saying. The TV was on, showing one of my favorite shows, and I couldn't hear any sounds playing. My mom leaned over and patted my cheek, saying something to me, and all I could do was stare at her lips and try to understand what she was saying.

It was an accident. Bailey and I had climbed into a go-kart even though neither of us knew how to drive one. Bailey was always the shy one. I was the one that commanded the stage. And so, without any hesitation, I sat down in the driver's seat and put on the seatbelt. Bailey sat down next to me as I tightened my fingers on the wheel, knowing that we weren't even supposed to be messing with my older cousin's go-kart that he'd gotten for Christmas. I remembered pressing the gas, jerking forward while both of us squealed. From then on, my memory was hazy. All I knew was that, at some point, I'd managed to flip over the go-kart and knock it into a tree.

Bailey survived with a twisted wrist and a bruised hip. I lost something much more important. Ever since the accident, I haven't been able to hear. I can't hear anything. Doctors were shocked. I was an anomaly. My brain, which is what they were really worried about because I'd managed to hit my head and give myself a slight concussion, was perfectly fine. But when they went to look at my ears, they noticed that something had gone wrong. I still wasn't sure what. It was like a broken eardrum in both ears except much worse. Like they had all but exploded.

And ever since then, I've been different. How can you not be different? The sense of hearing is natural and innate. Babies are born already knowing the sound of their mother's heart. It's not something that a person has ever had to teach themselves to do. Bailey and I sort of separated from each other. Most of my old friends didn't talk to me anymore. And, in all reality, they couldn't. I couldn't understand a word that they were saying. The phone was useless to me. I couldn't watch any TV unless I had subtitles on. And the worst part? I lost music. It was everything that I was outside of school and friends. My guitar had gone into its case years ago, and it hadn't seen the light of day since.

I couldn't just sit around and be clueless. I used to walk around with a miniature whiteboard and a dry erase marker and have people write down whatever they were saying to me on it. It was embarrassing, sure, but it was the only way that I knew the story. Hearing was the only thing that made it hard for me to hold a conversation. I could still speak. It wasn't like I was born deaf. I had been like everyone else. I could speak fluently, and I could feel the vibrations in my throat, but I couldn't even hear myself talk. It's sort of like being trapped inside your body, in a way. You only have yourself to talk to.

And so I learned sign language, as did my parents. I learned how to read lips and found out that I was actually quite good at it most of the time, even though there is always that one annoying person that hardly ever opens their mouth when they speak. It was supposed to be temporary. But it was soon evident, after tons of visits to specialists and doctors all over America that I wasn't getting it back. It was like I was one of those people on the "Mysteries at the ER" TV show. I just didn't have a good ending.

In middle school, I attended my usual classes with an aid who sat in the back with me and signed out anything that was spoken and wasn't on the written lesson in front of me. But it was embarrassing, and by the time I was supposed to be going into ninth grade, my mom decided to home school me.

That same year, my parents, the high school sweethearts, decided that things weren't working between them. I knew they fought, but I couldn't hear it. I think that was the only good thing that came out of my newfound deafness. I couldn't hear the harsh words that I knew my parents were throwing out to each other. And so that was the end of their relationship. My dad moved into a high-end apartment, which I visited on occasion, and my mom bought a two-bedroom house that was lower than most of her standards (she had always had money in the bank) and opened up her own store. Ironically, it was a music shop.

For five years, I've lived with my mom and worked in her shop. I can't get my license, and I can't live on my own (not yet, anyway. I'm determined to prove that yes, I could, but I doubted that my mother would ever let me. She'd grown extremely overprotective of me and nearly believed that I couldn't do anything on my own.) All I could do was stay with my mom, go to work, and read my books. Reading had become my hobby. It was the only thing that I could do without noticing the fact that I was missing what everyone else was.

And so that's it. That's the history of a deaf girl.

# # #

I sat behind the main counter in my mother's shop. The desk was built so that there was a wall that went higher than the actual desk, big enough that the computer monitor and tower could be stored underneath the counter ledge. Next to the monitor was a small TV that showed me the entire store. It was for security, sure, but it was more for my benefit. I can't hear when someone steps into the room, but I could see when something changed on the screen.

My mom leaned against the counter, her hand hanging over the ledge to catch my attention. I looked up, using my finger as a bookmark. My mom had taken sign language classes with me, and she had picked up the language just as quickly as I did. It was my dad that lagged behind. My mom always signed and spoke at the same time, so I could see the hand movement as well as the movement of her lips. I found myself doing it, too, sometimes. And sometimes I just answered her in sign, too tired to open my mouth and speak to her.

"Emily," she said, "Can you go to the back and get the new boxes of drumsticks?"

Choosing to sign instead of speak, I replied, "Sure." She smiled at me as I reached for a piece of paper on the desk to replace my bookmark. I closed the book and, with a heavy sigh, stood up from the office chair that I'd nearly permanently become attached to. I grabbed the extra set of keys off the hook right next to the computer monitor and headed towards the back room, where my mom stored all of the new things.

I always forgot which key was which. It took me a moment of flipping through the ring to find the right one. Finally, I managed to unlock the door and step into the storeroom. The lights were dim here, and with the bare concrete floor and the slightly musky scent of the room, it was pretty creepy. I had to stand up on my tiptoes to see over the shelf marked drumsticks. Finally, I found it and pulled it down, nearly knocking several things over in the process. With a snort, I tucked the box under my arm and headed back out to the front.

My mom was nowhere to be seen, so I headed over to the back corner, where the drums were set up. I found the matching tray of drumsticks and opened up the new box, unloading them into the tray. Ever since I've lost my hearing, I've noticed that it's like my other senses grow around it, as if trying to replace it. My eyes seemed to pick up on little things that I'd never noticed before, like tiny spiders crawling in the corner of the room or dust motes hanging in the air. I have a particularly sensitive sense of smell – there are some things that just make me instantly sick, and sometimes if there's something pleasant and there's just too much of it, I get a pounding headache. But aside from all of that, it's like a sort of sixth sense, like my skin prickles and I'm aware that there's something around me.

Determined not to look like a sideshow freak if there was someone around me, I continued emptying the box of drumsticks into their tray, only turning once the box was empty. Tucking it under my arm, I stepped up to the counter to dump the box into the recycling bin under the desk. When I stood up, I noticed that there was, in fact, someone in the store.

Out of habit, I glanced at the small TV next to the computer monitor. I recognized that guy. He was the devastatingly handsome guy who had come into the shop a couple weeks ago with a band. My mom had been with me, then, as had one of her other employees, Xavier. I had watched the two of them help the group. I only knew that they were in a band by the way they asked about new equipment and getting their name and logo printed on their drum. I hadn't been able to keep my eyes off of the whole group.

I bit my lip and sat down, picking up my book and opening it up to where I had left off. I wasn't much of a classics fan, like my mom was when she decided to sit down and read, which wasn't often. I was pretty sure that my mom had a huge crush on Mr. Darcy. I had never been able to fully read through the book, preferring instead to read through the young adults' romance novels from the shelves at the library. With the book open just in front of the TV screen, I could watch the guy's every movement while trying to read through my paragraph.

But I couldn't keep my eyes on the book in front of me. At least, it was harder than it should have been. My eyes kept going to the guy walking around the shop, looking at the electric guitars with great interest. I decided that it didn't matter if I was staring or not. I just looked at him blankly. He had dark hair, about the same shade as mine. He was tall and lanky, but sort of broad. It was obvious by the muscles under the sleeves of his shirt that he was fairly strong. When he turned around, viewing the next set of guitars, I saw his face. Framed by almost too-long black hair that was thick and cut in one of the classic rock star styles, I noticed that his shirt was a deep V-neck that showed the warm skin of his chest. He was one of those guys, the ones that took their dream of becoming rock stars to a whole other level. I wouldn't hesitate to say that he was probably cocky and arrogant.

And even though he was completely opposite of the guy that I would have pictured myself with – it was always a respectable man, sometimes with glasses, who was interested in all things concerning the world and the people living on it – I found that he interested me more. I don't know if it was just because of his rock star looks or if it was the confidence he oozed, but there was something about him that made me want to go over there and talk to him.

Which was ridiculous, of course. The only person that had ever taken a romantic interest in me was Xavier, one of the other employees. And even then, it was just a few kisses in the back room. I had never, in my life, been on a date. The reasons why are obvious. Nobody wants someone that's flawed.

But I couldn't help but watch him. He was… well, he was someone that I would have liked to know better. Someone that I could imagine with secrets that he just wanted to tell to someone. Someone who needed a close friend at his side that he could trust unconditionally. Someone who was, actually, a lot like me.

But I stood my ground and kept myself firmly planted in the office chair that I had spent nearly every day of the past five years sitting in at some point. It was well-known that it was my chair. On the back, Xavier had even taken a permanent marker and written, in big block letters, Emily's Butt Only. My mom had just laughed at it when she'd seen it, and it had remained there. Xavier was sort of my best friend. I wasn't really sure where we stood in terms of our relationship, but he was one that I knew I could always depend on, whether he was mad at me or not, and I knew that he didn't care if I couldn't hear him. He had even learned how to sign just so he could communicate with me easier. Sometimes, we made a game out of it, signing to each other whenever customers came into the store and we needed something. People always seemed amazed by it. I guess it makes sense. Sign Language is just another language that people find interesting if they can't speak it.

I glanced over the guy's head, to the clock hanging on the wall. It said that it was nearly three, meaning that Xavier should be scooting into the room at any moment now, probably bearing gifts. He was hopelessly addicted to the coffee shop down the way, and he would usually buy me a brownie or a cookie while he was there. And sometimes, when it snowed, he bought me a peppermint hot chocolate.

My eyes left the clock and, surprisingly, locked with the customer's. He was looking at me with a slightly confused expression on his face, but there was also a look of wonder. I couldn't be sure what he was thinking about, honestly. Unless he had said something to me and I didn't respond. But after a moment of smoldering intenseness, his gaze dropped from mine and returned to the guitar that he was currently looking at it.

He seemed to shake his head, as if he was talking to himself, and I dropped my gaze to the book in front of me, trying to focus on the words. I couldn't, though. They seemed a little blurry, and I looked up again. The guy neared the door, and I felt a slight pang at the thought of him leaving. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to get to know him. I wanted to ask him if he needed any help with anything. Anything to get him to stay here for a little bit longer. But, to my relief, he didn't press against the door and head out. Instead, he turned around and walked directly towards me.

For a moment, it was like I had forgotten how to breathe. How do you do that, I wondered? Forget how to breathe. Even so, I struggled to take a deep breath. Right when I thought he was going to come talk to me, he turned sharply to the right, looking at guitar accessories. With a slight huff of disappointment and a sigh of relief, I stood up. The chair spun as I tried to get around it. Where was my mom? I could offer my assistance in whatever he was looking for, but it would be hard to understand him unless he looked directly at me as he spoke. I was just supposed to sit behind the counter, help in the back with the storage and make sure that the place was cleaned up and was, overall, tidy.

I needed air. I broke out from behind the counter and slid right past the guy, knowing that my mom was in the store somewhere. She wouldn't have left without telling me, and if he needed any help there was a classic bell like what would be at hotels sitting on the front counter. I headed straight for the door, aware of the fact that the ground was slick with rain. It would be all too easy to slip and fall, which I honestly wasn't that prone to doing. But with my luck, the only guy that had ever managed to command my attention like that would see me do something so completely embarrassing that I wanted to dig a hole and hide in it forever.

I didn't even make it to the door, though. I think I might have jinxed myself, because one second I was fleeing towards the promise of fresh air and the next I was slipping on a piece of paper that had, magically, managed to drift onto the ratty carpeted floors of the shop. And, of course, since I was wearing my foam flip-flops with no grip, I went down tumbling.

I would have landed right on my butt, too, if someone hadn't caught my jacketed arm. I looked up, immediately thinking that it was my mom, or maybe even Xavier who had slipped in early while I was in the back room and hadn't come to find me. But instead, it was the handsome customer who looked like he was trying his best to become a rock god.

"You okay?" He asked. I noticed that, up close, his eyes were a beautiful green hazel. As he pulled me up, bringing me closer to him, I could see little flecks of golden green in them. I blinked for a moment, trying to form an answer. I had just settled for an awkward nod when I noticed someone burst through the doorway. Xavier set his coffee cup down on the shelf right next to the door, as well as a little package that was bound to have something sweet for me.

His eyes ran over the guy who had caught me, I was sure that, in this partial embrace, it looked like something different to him. His eyes narrowed in on rock star wannabe, and then he looked to me. I was sure that my eyes were as wide as disks, partly because of the fact that this stranger had such an intense hold over me that I wasn't sure what I was going to do, and partly because Xavier looked like he'd just been punched in the gut.

Without a second's waste, he started frantically signing to me. The guy looked up at Xavier, and then back down at me. His eyes had gone a little wider as he watched the hand signals that Xavier was doing. "What happened? Are you okay? Who is that guy?" He asked.

The guy let go of me, and instead of answering out loud, which would probably embarrass the guy, I turned to Xavier and signed back. "I slipped and he caught me. I'm fine." I looked over the guy, who was watching the exchange with a hint of amusement and concern. "It's okay, I'm fine." I said to him out loud. His eyebrows drew together as he looked between the two of us. I wondered if he thought that Xavier was the deaf one.

Xavier looked between the two of us, as if he wasn't really sure he believed me. And then he let out a heavy sigh – I could tell by the shrug of his shoulders – and then he reached out for his coffee and whatever was in the bag. "Do you need help with anything?" He asked, holding out the bag to me. The guy watched our exchange as I reached for the bag, pulling it open to look inside. Xavier had bought me my favorite cookie (double chocolate chip.) I pulled out a piece and tore it off, handing the chunk of it to him. It was tradition. I always got the majority of the cookie, but I always shared at least a pinch.

I watched the guy's lips to see what he said. Xavier's voice wasn't one that I had heard. I had no idea what it sounded like. And honestly, I had never really mourned it all that much. But this guy's voice… I was dying to know what it sounded like. "I'm just looking at some new guitars," he replied. I narrowed my eyes as I focused on his lips. Some of his words weren't very well formed.

Xavier glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. Instead of heading to the desk, where I usually sat and played solitaire on the computer or read my book, I had remained next to him and to the guy. He raised his eyebrows at me, asking me in our own language if I understood what he said. I gave a slight nod, but when I looked back up, the guy was already speaking. Xavier nodded to whatever he said and then replied, turning to me for a second. He signed, "He's just looking for some new guitar. Says that his band is thinking about some new instruments. Where's your mom?"

"Don't know," I replied out loud, glancing over my shoulder to the back room. "She didn't tell me where she'd be going." The rock star guy looked between us slyly. I'm used to seeing certain expressions on people's face when they realize that I'm deaf. Sometimes, people pretend like it's no big deal. Others stare at me openly, as if there's something on my face. And then there's some that look like this guy – sad that I'm in this predicament.

I just turned and went back to the desk, hand holding onto my double chocolate chip cookie. I took a seat at my chair, spinning around in it as I settled down and reached for the computer mouse. So I couldn't focus on my book. I would play solitaire. I would completely ignore the guy that was hanging around in the front of the store.

And wouldn't you know, I couldn't.

# # #

It had been three whole days since I'd seen the guy. And every single day, I thought about him. I really did. He was the sort of person that was burned into my mind. I couldn't remember why, not really. He was just a guy with a funky style and nice eyes. Gorgeous eyes. But just eyes nonetheless.

It still didn't explain why I sat at my computer chair every day, playing solitaire or reading through one of my favorite books for a second time, hoping that he would walk into the store again just so I could see him. There was something about him that made me want to chase him down, to take his hand, to look at him directly in the eye and tell him every secret I'd ever held.

I caught movement on the video screen. Glancing up over the counter, my eyes met the gaze of someone that I had been dreaming about these last few nights. The rock star wannabe was back.

Like I said, this is an experiment of mine. I wanted to play with the idea of an imperfect heroine, and I've always found sign language interesting. Unless there is a major excitement about this story, I'm just going to work on it when I have extra time. I know, I know, pushing it on the backburner right now is sort of ridiculous, but I'm determined to finish some of my other fanfictions. Still, this one is on the list to be updated as regularly as I can!

I apologize in advance for spelling/grammatical errors. I also want to ask that you take a few moments to leave me a review with your comments and criticism. Guest reviews are turned on. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! Peace. (: