October 9th

Peyton owes me $40 bucks for the shirt she bought. I know she stole my money, but I'll let it slide for the time being. It's cause I'm such a nice girl and all. No, I'll just wear the shirt more than she will, and then she won't want it anyway. I know just how to push her buttons. Unfortunately, she knows how to push mine too. Like that crap she pulled today in class. She knows the shrug. For Christsakes, she invented the shrug! But whatever…

Speaking of class, the new teacher – Ms. James or whatever. I give her a week. A week and a half maybe. She looks like she's the kind of person that pretends to be able to handle shit and all, but she's going to crack – just like the rest of them. It's a proven fact. And James is just another statistic that…

I slam my notebook shut when I realize that the said teacher is sitting across from me, at my lunch table. She's got one of those crappy yellow trays in front of her, and she's poking the main meal – roast beef – with one of the plastic forks that they give you. We haven't had metal forks for a couple years now, since one of the seniors stabbed a junior with one. I was a freshman then, but the lack of forks doesn't bother me. I never buy school lunch – its hazardous waste. My brown bag lunch in front of me contains the staple of every person's life: a peanut butter sandwich, and apple, a vanilla yogurt with optionally added granola and M&M's. Everyone knows that a lunch isn't a lunch without M&M's. Everyone except for Ms. James I guess. There are no M&Ms on her plate, just roast beef, a lump of white that I'm assuming is mash potatoes, and an indescribable mass of orange that looks so gross I don't even want to know what it is.

"So, Brooke. Where's that come from?" She stops poking her food and looks up at me. It's my first good look at her, and…well. She put her hair back in a ponytail and her eyes – which are bluer than any blue I've ever seen – stand out. She's too goddamn expectant for her own good, thinking I'm going to answer her. Cause there's no way in hell I'm going to.

But she surprises me…again. She doesn't stop to think it over that I'm ignoring her and she just continues talking. "Well, my name – my first name – is Haley."

"In high school, I say by myself at lunch too." I don't tell her it's a choice and let her talk, then think better of it and tune her out again, taking a bite of my sandwich. I'm counting down in my head the seconds until Peyton shows up.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and…0. A hand swoops down over my head and grabs my apple and yogurt/granola, replacing it with a bag of Cheetos and a small baggie of Choy Mien. Peyton never liked Cheetos or Choy Mien, and well, I'd take processed cheese over apples any day. Then without a word, Peyton floats away to her friends – Jenny, Lila, and Anna. Ms. James pauses for a second, but I can't tell if she's curious as to what just happened, or catching her breath. I don't have much time to think it over, because she's talking again.

"So, after high school, I decided to be a teacher." She's done, I think. But just as she's about to take a sip of the water I didn't know she had, I hear someone yelling. I turn around and see Lucas, and he's managed to get himself into trouble again. That boy never knows when to back down. I shake my head and turn back to my Cheetos when I see something out of the corner of my eye. Oh shit. I could be seeing things, it's completely possible. But then Peyton screams and I know I'm not seeing things, not at all.

"Brooke!" I don't even need to be looking at her to know that she needs me. She has a very distinct scream. Shit, shit, shit. The thoughts in my head are flying everywhere, going in every direction, just like the security guards bobbing and weaving through the crowded Lunch Square trying to get to Lucas and some junior kid I don't know. What I do know, is that the junior kid is holding a blade in his shaking right hand. His left hand is clutched closely to his body and I'm willing to bet I know where Peyton got that knife from when they tried to kick Lucas out. Lucas's holding the knife and he looks like he's going to pee himself.

The security guards are still trying to work their way through the crowd who have gathered at the side of the fight. Then I realize that Peyton just wants me to calm Lucas down. Lucas, Peyton and me grew up in the same neighborhood and have been friends since…forever. Lucas, he's just an idiot. But Peyton is still head over heels in love with him, and he'd move the moon for her. Where the hell do I fit in there? I think about it a lot, since Katie left and all, but I finally figured out that I don't really care.

I turn back to Ms. James who is watching the fight with a ton of interest. You'd think she's never seen something like this before. Well, maybe she hasn't, how would I know.

"They do this often?" She asks me. Here we go again with expecting an answer. But she does it again and doesn't wait for an answer. "I thought so."

Peyton drops down next to me, a huge smile on her face. "That junior, Ryan or something, grabbed my ass. Lucas kicked his ass." I gave her the skeptic look, another thing she invented for our no-talking game. She smiled even wider. "Okay, so I kicked his ass and Lucas threw in the last kick while the kid was already on the ground. Either way, ass kicking was accomplished." Then my ever-bright sister caught sight of my lunch guest. Peyton leaned in closer to me. But she's never been too good at whispering, and today was no exception. "Why is she sitting with you?" I do "The Look."

"Why are you sitting with her?" Peyton redirects the question, then sighs. "Whatever." I look up and realize that Ms. James is gone. Shit, what did I do to make her leave? Then I catch myself. Why do I care if she sits with me or not? Peyton looks at me with a smile on her face and grins softly, like she knows some secret that I don't. I mock frown back at her and she reaches over and – god help her – ruffles my ponytail around so that it comes undone. My pin straight hair falls into my eyes and I look down at the table in embarrassment. Peyton laughs as she moves it off my face.

"You should keep it down." Then she leans closer and whispers in my ear. "I think she'll like it better like this." I look up as Peyton rises from the table and places a tiny kiss on the side of my head.

"Be good little sister." She whispers and then sprints across the quad to her friends. She's always doing stupid things like that.

So maybe Ms. James, or Kaitlin, or Haley, or whatever her name is has a chance of making it here. She didn't puke at the sight of blood like Mr. Rutted the Gutted did. And she didn't spaz out and scream at me cause I won't answer her. Mrs. Isles did. She said my "ridiculous vow of silence" was "irresponsible" and "unrespectable." I'm pretty sure she called me a lunatic. Lunatic? Me? No way. She was the one who was yelling at the kid who doesn't talk. Oh well.

Just for the record: I've been silent for 48 weeks now. One more month and I'll have done a year of silence. It's really a cool thing to do, you know. Sure, people give you a hard time at first, but then they get used to it, and soon you can figure things out by just watching.

Like the way I can feel Ms. James watching me from her classroom window right now.

I look up and glare at her, but she never wavers and instead smiles and waves back at me. Her grin is goofy enough to make me smile, but I fight the feeling and think about what Peyton said: "I think she'll like it better like this." What the hell does that mean Peyton? I sneak a glance up again and she is still smiling at me. Then she does the weirdest thing ever. She gives me thumbs up, then laughs so hard I think that I hear it from 40 yards away. She can possibly be the wackiest teacher we've ever had. I pick my pen back up.

Maybe Haley James will make it after all.