It's been a day and half since Riley Matthews has spoken.
The culprit? Acute laryngitis.
She ignores her sore throat and weak voice for a few days before her voice starts breaking more than Farkle's had during puberty. Even after she gets her official diagnosis Riley tries to power through it with some lozenges and tea but that still gets her nowhere except making broken squeaky croaks that vaguely sound like words so eventually she gives up. She officially goes on vocal rest. It comes with a doctor's note to show her teachers and she either types out texts to her friends or scribbles out quick thoughts on a small notepad she picks up at a newsstand down the street from her apartment.
Riley hates vocal rest. She likes most of her classes, and even though it's nice that she doesn't have to worry about being called on if she doesn't know the answer, she hates how much of a hassle it is to be a part of the discussion now. Not to mention that most of the conversations her friends are moving too fast for her to keep up with; by the time she gets a response ready for one comment they've already moved on to talking about something else. They sort of remember to slow down and ask her opinion on things for part of the first day, but as the hours slip by their deference grows less and less.
She can't wait until her voice comes back.
It's been four days since Riley has said a word to anyone.
The tickle in her throat has receded, and it doesn't really hurt to swallow solid food anymore, but she knows from a couple of tests she has done in the privacy of her bathroom that her voice isn't at full strength. It still sounds a bit more like a broken dog toy than an actual voice.
Her doctor had said it might be a little while before her voice really gets better, so even though she doesn't really like vocal rest, Riley decides to suck it up and continue for a few more days. She tells herself it's because she doesn't want to risk causing any more damage by trying to speak before her vocal chords are truly healed, but she also knows it's smarter to stay quiet. It will surely be annoying for everyone else to listen to her try and squeak her way through a few sentences and for them to have to figure out what she means. The courteous thing to do is to stay quiet and wait until she's healthier.
It's a little less lonely now that her friends have gotten the hang of communicating with her. Lucas in particular has taken to the text message system and Riley knows she can count on her boyfriend to make sure that she's not left out. So even though she's not thrilled about a few more days of feeling like she's a step behind everyone else, Riley figures she'll be OK.
Then she hears the responses to her silence.
It's been a week since Riley last spoke.
The thing about being silent is people forget that you're there. That even though you can't say anything back you can still hear everything they're saying. So Riley hears a lot, and it's not just the hot gossip in the halls.
"Class has been so much better lately. Probably because Matthews' doctor did everyone a favor and told her to shut up."
"At least we aren't being dragged into Rileytown every minute of the day anymore. Or dealing with that stupid, perky voice."
"Honestly, it's been a bit of relief...I mean I love her, of course, but it gets so exhausting, indulging all of that silly gibberish she comes up with sometimes. The songs and the dances, the childish behavior...I know it sounds terrible but it's just been so nice to have a few days of peace and quiet."
When her dad and Lucas ask, Riley smiles and jots down a reply that her throat is still bothering her. Lucas starts bringing her tea with honey regularly, and her dad tells her that if things don't improve in the next couple of days they'll go back to the doctor's and make sure everything's OK.
If they notice that she's lying, they don't say anything.
It's been ten days since Riley Matthews has made a sound in front of anyone.
Her dad drags her back to the doctor's office, insisting that if there hasn't been at least some improvement by now, something must be wrong. So Riley goes and maintains her story. She writes out that her throat's still bothering her and she doesn't want to make anything worse. She goes through the exam, waiting the whole encounter on the edge of her seat for her doctor to ask why she's making things up, but it never comes.
The doctor does, with Riley's permission, speak to her dad, but Riley is changing back into her clothes so she doesn't hear that conversation. She just hears the outcome. A referral to the psychologist.
Riley goes to that appointment and uses her notepad to answer some of the questions, but doesn't explain her silence. She sticks with the laryngitis story. Even if the whole thing is going to stay between them, Riley can't put the whole thing into words. If she says it it's real and it's not like it can be fixed anyways. It is what it is, and it's better to just let it be and be quiet.
The psychologist schedules another appointment in two weeks.
When Riley gets home her mom pulls her into a hug, presses a kiss to her temple, and assures her that they want to be there for her, no matter what's going on.
Riley nods but doesn't say anything.
It's been over two weeks since anyone has heard Riley's voice.
Riley knows people are getting impatient with her. Oh, they're still as indulgent as can be; her parents are trying to shower her with affection, Auggie keeps leaving her little cards and presents...even her friends have started going out of their way to get her her favorite things.
But she sees the rolled eyes. She hears the not-so-hushed whispers.
"Don't you think this sad little silent lamb routine is getting old?"
"Whatever it is, she needs to just get over it."
"Of course I'm worried but if something were really wrong she would have said something by now. She's just looking for attention. At some point we'll have to stop coddling her."
They don't like her when she talks. They don't like her when she keeps quiet.
It's too bad that being silent doesn't make you disappear too.
Riley starts slipping away to the library as often as she can. She doesn't hear a word of protest.
It's been three weeks since Riley has uttered a single syllable.
"Riley, why did you stop talking?"
She and Lucas are walking home from a movie date (because Lucas refuses to stop trying to get her to engage) when he asks the question. Riley steps over to the edge of the sidewalk and stops, pulling her cell phone out of the pocket of her jacket, ready to type out the usual excuse. She's shocked when her boyfriend reaches over and snatches the phone out of her hand, but not nearly as shocked as when he does the same to the notepad she removes from her purse.
"Riley, I know you can answer me out loud."
It's the first time someone has actually called her out and Riley panics. She never thought it would be him. She never really thought anyone would say anything after the doctor's appointments came and went. In a flash of desperation she stomps her foot against the pavement and points at her throat.
Lucas sighs. "I don't believe you, Riley. The first few days might have been laryngitis but you got better a long time ago. Why aren't you talking?"
Tears spring to her eyes and she shakes her head, dropping her gaze to the ground. She can't explain it. She just can't. Who would ever want to admit to any of this? It's beyond humiliating. She wants to sink into the ground and vanish forever just thinking about it; how is Lucas going to look at her if he hears the truth?
"Riley, I promise...whatever it is I just want to help. You don't have to do things alone." Lucas lifts her chin with one hand, and with the other puts her hand in his.
It takes her over a minute to work up the courage and choose her words. Her voice comes out in a rough whisper, partly because she doesn't want to be loud at all, but mostly because it's been so long since she's used it.
"People don't like it when I talk..."
"What?" Lucas half frowns, half smiles as he gently scoffs. "Riley, why would you think th-"
Riley cuts him off, repeating the words that have been echoing in a loop in her head ever since she heard them. The minute she sees the spark in his eyes make way for a glowering shadow, she looks down again. As much as she's avoided talking for the past few weeks, at least partially to avoid this very subject, it's surprisingly easy to go on about it now. Her mental dam has crumbled and everything is rushing out. "'Her doctor did everyone a favor telling her to shut up.' 'At least we're not getting dragged to Rileytown. No dealing with her stupid, perky voice.' 'I love her but it gets so exhausting...it's been nice to have a few days of peace and quiet.'" Her voice breaks at the end, and she wants to pretend it's because she's no longer used to talking, but she knows it's because in addition to the words it's getting harder to fight and hold in her tears.
"Riley-," Lucas reaches over trying to pull her close, but Riley takes a step back.
"Why should I talk when I know everyone hates it? When I know they think I'm annoying and childish and that my voice is too much? Why should I talk when even my own mother finds me exhausting?"
"What?"
"She's supposed to love me unconditionally, above everyone else and even she finds me exhausting and I just...I don't understand. I don't understand how or why I should bother when everyone hates it."
The tears that have been threatening to spill fall over and her shoulders wrench with sobs. This time Riley doesn't pull away when Lucas reaches for her and wraps his arms around her, holding her close. She doesn't know how long they stand there while she cries, while he tries to comfort her, but as her sobs taper off she's left feeling exhausted and raw. Everything hurts from her head to her throat to her heart.
"Riley, I don't know what to tell you about what everyone said. I don't understand how anyone could think any of that about you. I told you this when we got together, but my favorite thing in the world is when you talk to me. I have missed that so much these past few weeks. I've missed the sound of your voice. I hate that I'm hearing it because you're so hurt, but you have no idea what a relief it is to hear it again. And I don't know how to fix this or if it even can be fixed, but I want to do whatever I can to help. I'll stand by you if you'll let me."
It's been three weeks and a few hours since Riley Matthews first stopped talking.
And sitting across from her dad, holding Lucas' hand, she finally starts to explain why.